Nightshade

beloved daughter’s voice anywhere. She turned away from the window and started toward the bathroom, moving so quickly that she nearly lost her balance. Recovering herself, she tottered through the bathroom and put her shaking hand on the knob to the door connecting it to the bedroom next to hers. Then, with Cynthia’s voice still ringing in her ears, she pushed the door open.

The room was illuminated by candles burning on Cynthia’s vanity table.

The air was filled with the musky aroma of Cynthia’s favorite perfume, a heavy scent called Nightshade that never failed to bring images of her beloved daughter into Emily’s fogged mind.

“Cynthia?” she called out, her voice choking with eagerness. “Cynthia, darling, where are you?”

Something flickered in the mirror of the vanity. A moment later she saw it again — a movement near the door!

A small cry catching in her throat, Emily turned, and there she was.

In the glow of the candlelight she could just see Cynthia, standing at the door to the corridor. Her daughter was facing her, her lovely figure draped in a diaphanous negligee that Emily herself had given her years ago. Her hair, framing her perfect features and flowing down over her shoulders nearly to her waist, seemed to radiate with a light of its own.

As Emily gazed at the perfect vision, Cynthia raised her arm as if to beckon to her mother.

Then she turned and disappeared through the door.

“No,” Emily croaked, her heart pounding. “No, Cynthia — don’t leave me! Not again.” She lurched toward the door, moving as quickly as she could, once again steadying herself against the furniture. “Please,” she breathed as she came to the door. “Please — wait for me!”

She stepped out into the hall. The darkness was almost complete, save for a faint bluish glow coming from a night-light at the top of the stairs. But as her eyes adjusted to the dim light, she could once more make out Cynthia starting down the stairs toward the floor below. “Wait!” she cried out once again. “I’m coming, Cynthia! Don’t leave me! Please?”

Bracing herself against the wall, she hurried toward the top of the stairs as quickly as her thin legs would carry her. Coming to the landing, she clutched the banister and peered down into the entry hall below.

Cynthia was there, beckoning to her, waiting for her!

Emily was halfway down the stairs when she thought she heard another voice, a voice calling out from somewhere above her, but she shut it out of her mind, every part of her focusing only on the apparition below.

“I’m coming!” she cried out. “Just don’t leave me. Not again, Cynthia. Please, not again.”

Coming to the bottom of the stairs, she paused in the darkness.

Where was she?

Where had she gone?

A flicker of movement, toward the front of the house.

A faint glimpse of flowing blond hair.

The musky scent, heavy on the night air.

Her heart pounding with excitement, her breath coming in ragged gasps, Emily pushed herself onward, struggling to keep up with Cynthia, determined to follow her wherever she might lead.

This time, she wouldn’t lose Cynthia.

This time, wherever Cynthia went, she would go too.

Her heart racing, a spurt of adrenaline giving her a strength she hadn’t felt in years, Emily Moore followed her adored daughter into the darkness…

CHAPTER 11

THE HOUSE ON Burlington Avenue was silent, and she could feel its emptiness.

But that wasn’t right — her mother and sister should both have been there. Why weren’t they? Where had they gone? She got out of bed and crept to the closed door of her room. Pressing her ear against the wood, she strained to listen.

Silence.

Then something changed.

The room behind her seemed different.

The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end and she felt a rippling chill as goose bumps covered her skin. Unconsciously holding her breath, she struggled against the panic that threatened to overwhelm her, then forced herself to look back over her shoulder.

Empty!

The room was empty — her bed was gone, and so was the pretty white dresser the woman next door had given her last month for her tenth birthday. The pictures on the walls — the stuffed bear that had kept her company as long as she could remember — all of it was gone! A terrified squeal bursting from her lips, Joan jerked the door open and ran downstairs to the living room.

It was as empty as her room, stripped of its furniture, even the curtains gone from the windows.

In the kitchen, the familiar chipped enamel table had vanished, the cupboards were empty, and a gaping empty place was all that remained of the refrigerator.

Her heart thudding with the terror of abandonment, her cheeks wet with tears, she went back upstairs.

Her mother’s room was as empty as the rest of the house, but in her sister’s room one single piece of furniture remained.

Cynthia’s vanity table.

All her cosmetics were still there — all the wonderful things Cynthia liked to put on her face. Why had Cynthia left them?

Mesmerized by the sight of the bottles and boxes and pots and tubes, she took a step into the room, then another.

Could Cynthia have left them for her?

The terror of a moment ago now giving way to excitement, she went to the vanity and sat down. Opening a container of powder, she began patting it onto her face. Then, in the mirror, she saw her sister — Cynthia was standing right behind her, glowering at her.

“How dare you?” Cynthia demanded. Her arm lashed out, knocking the open powder container to the floor, its contents exploding into the air. Joan’s nostrils filled with talc and she began coughing and choking.

She heard another voice then — her mother’s voice. “What’s going on in here? What are you doing?”

“It’s Joan’s fault, Mama,” she heard Cynthia saying. “Look what she did! It’s all Joan’s fault!”

Now she was looking up into her mother’s angry face, and she knew what was about to happen. “No,” she whispered. Her mother’s arm rose, and she cowered away. “No,” she cried. “No!”

* * *

THE SOUND OF her own voice jerked Joan out of the nightmare, and she instinctively reached out to Bill, needing to feel his strength — his warmth — against her flesh.

But he wasn’t there, and as the vestiges of the bad dream faded away and she saw the gray light of dawn beginning to drive the night away, the terrible empty feeling of the house she’d dreamed about was replaced by the even worse emptiness that now imbued her.

Bill was truly gone, and would never lie next to her again.