Peripheral Vision: A Supernatural Thriller

by Timothy Hammer

  “Teresa?” The old man asked. “Don’t you have a test today? Where is your mother?” He’d taken five steps into the room before he even noticed Sarah. When he did finally realize that she was there he gave a short smileless wave hello, and then went immediately behind the counter and started fussing with papers. “I can’t believe this!”

  “She said she needed me to watch the front desk over lunch. I don’t know where she went!”

  “Well get on over to the high school now dammit.”

  “Grandpa, it’s almost 2. School’s out at 3. I can’t go back now.”

  “I don’t care about that. Just go back and I’ll call and tell them why you aren’t there.”

  “Fine!” Teresa yelled and picked up her book and left.

  Sarah stood there for a moment wondering what she had just witnessed, before the old man spoke and broke the silence.

  “I’m sorry about that. What can I help you with Miss?”

  “I was just checking out. Room 312. But I’m not in a hurry, so if you need to…”

  “No, no. It’s okay. I’m sorry about all that, just my good-for-nothing daughter is always fucking up. Excuse me…messing up. And now she’s got her own daughter covering for her. Ridiculous…I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Let me get you all squared away here.” The old man wiped his watering eyes with the back of his hand. It was a feeble attempt and only seemed to make his eyes water more.

  Sarah had noticed the tears welling up in the man’s eyes and now felt completely sorry for him as he handed her the receipt to sign. She smiled at him hoping that it would somehow make the old man feel better.The old man smiled back and cleared his throat changing the subject.

  “I see that you’re friends with the Fielding boy.”

  “Oh, you know, Nick?” Sarah asked.

  “Well, he was quite the football star around here when he was in high school. About the last good team we’ve had, I think. Go Eagles.”

  “I didn’t know about that.” Sarah said.

  “Also used to drink a few cold ones with his father every now and then, when he was alive.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Ah, don’t be. He was an asshole.” He said matter-of-factly.

  The phone on the desk began to ring loudly. The old man picked up with lightening speed for a person his age- before the first ring even finished.

  “Wagon Wheel Motel, this is Todd…yes, yes…Oh hello, Mary.”

  He flipped open a blue spiral bound notebook and began to jot down notes. Sarah waited for a few moments and then, realizing that the conversation was destined to be a long one, waved to Todd and headed out the door.

  The sun was bright out in the parking lot. The day was still cold, and it felt good on her face, warm and safe. Sarah unlocked her truck and got in. She turned the ignition key, and grinned at the sound of the country love song that escaped from the truck’s speakers. Her eyes glanced up at her reflection in the truck’s rearview mirror and she laughed out loud at her current surroundings. Things sure have changed over the last two days, she thought, and then put the truck in gear.

  ●

  It was forty-five minutes later that Sarah, arms filled with brown paper bags, exited through the slowly opening automatic doors of the Corner Market. I really should’ve taken the carryout boy up on his offer to help, she thought. Too late now. She was having trouble locating her truck keys from inside her purse while balancing all of the grocery bags. As she dug deep into her seemingly bottom-less purse to find them, she noticed two men across the parking lot. They seemed to be watching her. They were watching her. She looked away when they made eye contact with her and finally her fingers desperately grasped around the keys at the bottom of her purse. She placed the bags in the back of the truck and tried to wedge them behind the wheel well. She doubted that they would hold up to the washout bumps on the river road, but it was worth a shot.

  Sarah snuck a peek back over her shoulder and noticed that the men were still staring. The tall one smiled at her. Sarah looked away and quickly walked to the front of the truck and got in. She locked the doors and let out a deep exhale. They’re not really staring at you, she told herself, but she immediately squashed that lie as she backed out of her parking spot and pulled forward. The two men were definitely watching. They were both smiling. The tall one spat his chewing tobacco on the ground. Sarah hit the accelerator and whipped out of the parking lot.

  The entire drive to her Aunt’s house, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was being watched. Don’t be paranoid, Sarah, they’re not following you, they’re just some local creeps. Finally, Sarah pulled up the gravel driveway in front of the white house and came to a stop. The drive back from town hadn’t taken too long- only about 20 minutes, and she’d only made one wrong turn. Not bad, considering it was her first solo drive out.

  No Handyman Nick to help out. She climbed out of the truck to inspect the grocery situation. Just as she had imagined, the grocery bags had tipped over during the bumpy journey along the rutted river road. She re-bagged the groceries and went inside the house. The old house once again seemed to grind and grate, welcoming her back. Sarah headed straight to the kitchen and dropped the bags on the counter. She began to quickly unpack and put away the food and then her eyes came across the bottle of wine on the counter. Now that’s a good idea, she thought and immediately poured herself a glass. She took her first sip. Her tastebuds sang just like she knew they would. Fruity and a little acidic.

  “Not bad, Auntie” she said, and raised her glass to the sky. The thought of her aunt suddenly made her more curious about the box she found upstairs. Time to check it out. She started to walk out of the kitchen, but thought better of it, and topped off her wine glass first. As she walked through the house, the floorboards moaned beneath her feet. She made her way upstairs, fully expecting that every step she took would be followed by a chorus of groans and sighs. The stairs did not disappoint.

  The doorknob to Elizabeth’s bedroom slowly turned and then Sarah was there, standing in the open doorway. The house was darker now. Nightfall approached. Sarah sipped from her large glass of wine and walked over to where she had left the box marked ‘Lizzy’s things’. She picked it up again, and quickly exited the bedroom, but not before stopping to close the door behind her.

  Even though her body should’ve been feeling warm from the wine, Sarah still had a lingering chill that slid from the base of her spine to the bones in her toes. She’s got ice in her veins a voice inside Sarah’s head whispered, but it wasn’t her own. But who’s was it? Sarah’s mind raced.

  “Elizabeth? …Mom?” She whispered aloud her questions, not really wanting a reply, but still expecting an answer. There was no answer.

  Sarah sat down on the rocking chair in front of the fireplace, sipping her wine as she looked through the contents of the box. The flames danced as they warmed her. She looked at the old birthday cards, occasionally opening them to read the messages. She held the old cloth doll in her hand for a moment and looked at its face. Then touching its features with her fingers, she whispered “Hello, dolly.” She couldn’t remember this dolly, but something told her that she had loved a dolly like this one very much as a child.

  Finally, she slowly and anxiously, opened the scrapbook. Inside the worn bindings were old newspaper clippings. Sarah looked closer and realized that they were all about the missing girls from Nick’s story. She started to flip through the pages faster and faster. Why would my aunt keep these clippings in her scrap book? She thought grimly. The question made her feel dirty. She didn’t like it. But she’d only dwelled on the thought for just a moment, when her fast flipping hands discovered a photograph wedged between the last two pages of the scrapbook. It was a picture of a dark-haired little girl with rosy cheeks, sitting on a red tricycle. The girl had her back to the photographer, but was looking over her shoulder into the camera and smiling. One eye was visible and sparkled from behind her long, brown bangs. All at once, it hit her and Sarah real
ized who the little girl in the photo was. It was her as a child, but she’d never seen the photo before. She flipped it over and saw the writing on the back.

  “Lizzy, here’s little Sarah and her new trike. Isn’t she getting so big? Love to you, sissy Michelle. June ‘82”

  Mom... Sarah thought and read it again while polishing off her glass of wine. She picked up the bottle that rested strategically on the floor beside the chair and refilled her glass once more trying to wash the pain away. Her eyes watered as she looked at the photo. She sifted through the box again, this time with more urgency, hopeful that she would discover more from her mother. Her flicker of hope faded quickly, and when she knew for sure that she had gone through every last thing, she put the box down.

  Defeated, confused and more than a little tipsy, Sarah walked aimlessly around the house again, looking here and there and nowhere, all at the same time. She carried the photo with her- she liked it- and continued to drink from her wine glass until she found herself at the basement door. After a moment of hesitation, she opened the door and looked down. She crossed her arms around her chest as a cold rush of air slipped past her through the open doorway. The stairway was pitch black. Sarah flipped on a switch and a lone hanging light bulb lit up, feebly illuminating the dim basement beyond. There was much more to explore it seemed. She took a step forward and then stopped, feeling uneasy.

  “Not tonight” she said out loud.

  As she closed the door, her foot slipped and she accidentally kicked a glass jar that was sitting at the top of the stairs, “Oh shit!” she cried. The jar bounced from one step to another, surprisingly, not breaking until it hit the concrete at the bottom, shattering the jar and its contents all over the basement floor. Sarah noticed little spheres rolling and bouncing all around in every direction. They were marbles. Their bright colors sparkled in the starved light of the lone bulb.

  Sarah thought about going down to clean them up, but decided she was too drunk to fare the stairs in the dimly lit basement. She closed the basement door, thankful to leave the cold air behind her, and looked at her empty wine glass.

  “I think you’ve had enough for one evening, baby.” She slurred to herself.

  She stumbled a bit as she walked toward the kitchen. She placed her empty glass on the counter, opened the fridge and poured herself a glass of water this time. As she drank the water, she again found herself looking at the photo in her hand. She looked at the fridge, beat-up and bare, and a little depressing. She reached out and stuck the photo on the fridge with the solitary magnet she found abandoned on the freezer door. She stood and stared at it for a moment, pleased with what she had done, and then turned and stumbled off and up the stairs to the guest room. She collapsed on the bed and passed out. Almost immediately the dreams began.

  11:46pm

  Sarah was walking through a dimly lit basement, while an old-fashioned record player skipped softly in the distance. The cinder blocks of the far wall were cracked. There was an old wooden pump organ, a strange looking artificial Christmas tree, and number of broken sewing machines resting along the wall... she kept walking. From the shadows, at the far end of the basement someone called her name. She walked towards the sound. In the darkness, she heard a woman scream. She turned toward the scream and saw a woman with long, black hair standing in the corner of the room, facing the wall.

  Sarah awoke suddenly from her dream and sat straight up in her bed. Half asleep and disoriented, she saw a figure standing in the corner of her room. She screamed and at the same time flipped on the bedside lamp, but when she turned back the figure was gone.

  “Great, now I’m in a cheesy, B horror movie.” She mumbled. It was easier to joke sometimes- much easier.

  But she was still spooked by both the dream and the vanishing figure. She reached blindly for her cell phone, which sat next to the digital alarm clock on the nightstand. The clock read 4:15 A.M. She knew this was an ungodly hour to call someone but ungodly seemed to be the ongoing theme.

  “Hey. You’ve reached Nick Fielding. Please leave a message.”

  “Hi it’s Sarah. Sorry to call so late, but I just had the strangest dream, and to be honest, kind of a strange evening. I’m sorry, I just didn’t know who else to call. Can you... would you be able to come over in the morning? I’ll tell you all about it... It’s Sarah... I said that already... alright, good night. Sorry. “

  Sarah hung up the phone and hugged her knees up to her chest, not sure if she was more afraid to sleep or dream, she instead decided to just listen. She strained her ears. She wasn’t sure what she was listening for, but eventually the creaks of the house faded away and she drifted off to sleep once more.

  Chapter 8

  Small Town Hero

  The following morning, Nick was at the front door with a well-rested smile, two coffees in hand, and some hot breakfast, eggs, bacon, and buttered triangle cut toast in styrofoam. The steam escaped from beneath the lid and rose up into the early morning air.

  “Morning.” He said as Sarah opened the front door. His breath came out like clouds. It was growing much colder. “I hope you’re hungry. I brought you some of Homewood’s finest for breakfast.”

  “That’s sweet, thank you.” Sarah was exhausted and embarrassed, but she was happy to see Nick.

  “Are you okay?” He seemed genuinely concerned.

  “Yeah, just tired. Please come inside.”

  Nick followed Sarah into the house and towards the kitchen.

  “I’m sorry about calling so late, Nick. I didn’t really sleep very well last night. I had this strange dream. It freaked me out a little bit... being here alone.”

  Nick could see the exhaustion in her eyes. The dark bags were hard to miss. Sarah sat down at the kitchen table, but Nick turned back to the living room.

  “Let me get a fire going for you, Sarah. Meanwhile, why don’t you try some of that coffee I brought you. It’s cold in here, it’ll warm you up.”

  Sarah didn’t object and found the hot coffee soothing and safe. The idea seemed ridiculous, but it was true. She always started the day with hot coffee back home, and this took her there. It was a bittersweet feeling. Sarah missed Emma. She missed her job. She missed her life. Trying to get out of her thoughts, Sarah found herself staring at the cup sleeve. “Home Brew” it read. She smiled at that, but her mind was somewhere else.

  Sarah found herself struggling hard trying to remember the details of her Mother’s face. Why can’t I see it? She questioned herself. The outline would be there, but the edges grew fuzzy and grey. Why can’t I see it?! Her mind shouted, and that’s when Nick came back into the kitchen, and Sarah’s thoughts came to an unexpected stop.

  “Do you still remember it?” Nick asked.

  “What?” Sarah replied. She was confused and still thinking of her mother.

  “Your dream?”

  “Oh… yes, I mean, sorry… I was thinking about something else. Yes, I remember my dream.” Sarah sat there at the kitchen table just staring at Nick. There was something else that she wanted to ask him about but what was it? Then it hit her- the scrapbook. She got up and walked over to the box on the kitchen counter.

  “You knew my aunt pretty well. I want to show you something. I found this last night.” Sarah sat back down next to Nick, and opened Elizabeth’s scrapbook to reveal the newspaper clippings. “Why would she save these?”

  Nick flipped through the pages silently and then shook his head. “I can’t speak for Elizabeth, but like we were saying yesterday... it’s a pretty big story in a pretty small town.”

  “I guess, but in her scrapbook? That’s just creepy and weird.“

  “It’s not weird. People get infatuated with bad stuff sometimes. Like driving by a car accident or watching the news. I’m sure she had her reasons. We can’t judge Elizabeth when she’s not around to defend herself. That’s not fair.” Nick shut the scrapbook. “Is this what you were doing before you went to sleep last night? No wonder you were having nightmares.”r />
  “I didn’t say I was having nightmares. Just a dream.”

  “Okay, I’m sorry, a dream then.”

  “Listen, Nick, I don’t mean to talk ill of my aunt in her own house. I’m sorry, it’s just… this isn’t the first time I’ve had a dream like this. The other night I, I...” Sarah stopped mid-sentence and jumped up from the table, bumping her knee and knocking over a coffee cup in the process. She ran out of the kitchen and headed straight for the basement door. Her memory was returning.

  “Sarah? What is it?! What’s going on?!” Nick shouted after her.

  Sarah swung open the basement door, flipped on the light, and stared in disbelief at the broken jar and the scattered marbles lying at the bottom of the steps.

  “I…I dreamed about this... “

  “What are you talking about, Sarah?”

  “The marbles. I saw this. Two nights ago, in the hotel room, I had a dream about a woman with long, black hair placing glass jars on a shelf. I was in a dark cellar. The woman dropped one of the jars and it shattered on the floor scattering marbles everywhere. Last night I was going to go down into this basement, but I got scared and then when I went to shut the door I accidentally kicked that jar of marbles down the steps.”

  Nick took it all in for a moment and then stepped past Sarah and headed down the stairs.

  “Hey, where are you going?” Sarah asked, but Nick didn’t respond, only continued down the stairs. “Nick?”

  Nick stopped, turned up the stairs and extended his hand out to Sarah. “There’s nothing scary about this basement, Sarah. I’ll show you.”

  Sarah reluctantly took his hand and Nick lead the two down the stairs and into the dark basement. At the bottom of the stairs he flipped on another light switch, and the shadowed room became a bit brighter. The new light revealed a couple rusted bikes, and a broken cobweb tangled wooden organ across the room from the stairs. The ceiling in the basement was somewhat low and the concrete foundation was cracked and broken in some spots, exposing the cool dirt from below. Three wooden support beams connected the floor to the unfinished floorboards of the ceiling. The pillars ran down the center of the room, which, looking out from the stairs, seemed longer and narrower than it should be. Sarah stopped and pulled her hand away from Nick who was still moving forward.