Sylvie

by Stacy Galloway

  Bridgette willed herself to hang on. Her mind longed to settle into a peaceful, senseless madness. To go away from this terrible reality and never return. It was just a matter of a few steps. She could feel it. A few more steps and the descent into lunacy would be complete.

  Bridgette clenched her hands into fists and forced herself away from the brink. She wasn’t dead, yet. Even with no hope, she had to hang on. She would never give up on finding an answer. She would never give up on trying to get a message to Tom. She was trapped. Death was around the corner. But no matter what, she would hang on. She promised herself, that for Tom’s sake and for hers, she would stay sane, lucid, and fight this losing fight until the bitter end.

  A brutal coughing fit wracked through her. She gagged and doubled over. She wheezed and tried to catch her breath. Her aching lungs struggled to fill with air, but couldn’t. With no warning, bloody vomit spewed out of her. She gagged, she was drowning and she violently vomited again. Her breath wheezed through her sore throat and she was finally able to take a small breath. Another coughing fit wracked through her. Nettie’s hands patted her back. Bridgette wheezed another small breath and the cough subsided.

  Bridgette fell back onto the pillow. Dazed images flashed by. She felt Nettie undress her and then she felt warm water on her skin. Her head was too heavy for her neck. Her entire body ached. She felt like she was on fire and then her teeth were chattering from the freezing cold. Nettie dressed her and she blearily looked up while Nettie pulled a warm, soft, dry blanket up to her chin.

  Bridgette heard a distant pounding and Nettie’s concerned face went out of focus. She heard far away voices and approaching footstep. Then her hand was cradled between two strong, gentle, comforting hands. Someone sat near the bed. Bridgette focused and a man’s round face come into view.

  “There now,” the man leaned close his blue eyes twinkling.

  “Sylvie, Reverend Tilley is here to visit for a few moments.” Nettie hovered behind the round faced man.

  “Reverend, would you like some coffee? It’s hot and fresh.” Offered Nettie

  “Oh, that would be wonderful! A warm cup of coffee during a chilly day. Yes, please, dear Nettie, and please do call me Clarence.”

  “Of course, Rev- Clarence, I’ll be right back.” Nettie bustled out of the room.

  Reverend Clarence Tilley gazed at Bridgette. Laugh lines crinkled his happy round face. His sky blue eyes gazed into her soul.

  “I have some happy news,” he said, “Now, I remember that you said ‘no’ when I asked you if you wanted anything in remembrance of your family. And I understand their gravestones are a memorial, but,” he paused and smiled, “we’ve made a beautiful memorial in your family’s honor.”

  “Now,” he quickly continued, “This is a gift from the town. After the funeral, there were several people who wanted to do something special. Something to memorialize your family. Richard and Molly were very loved by everyone.”

  Nettie walked in with a tray holding two cups of coffee.

  “I brought one for you too, dear,” She said gently, as she handed a cup to Bridgette.

  “Now, I’ll be right out in the kitchen if you need me,” she said as she quickly walked out the door.

  Clarence took a big gulp of coffee and said, “Delicious!”

  He took another drink and set the coffee on the table.

  “So, my dear, I’ve brought it here. It’s a perfect match to the angel carved into Molly’s gravestone. And it’s so pretty, I’m sure you’ll like it. We just need to know where you want it placed.”

  Bridgette looked at him confused.

  Clarence paused and smiled, “Oh, dear me, I left out the most important part. It’s a marble angel in memory of Richard and Molly. It’s beautiful. It’s about three feet tall, can weather any storm and will last centuries. Where would you like us to place her?”

  Bridgette gasped. It couldn’t be… Could it? An angel? Their angel? The one Tom was going to dig up?

  She cleared her throat. “An angel? For the yard?”

  Clarence gazed at her, smiled gently and said, “Yes, and I know Nettie will have Floyd and the boys put it wherever you’d like.”

  Bridgette quickly replied, “Under the apple tree. It goes under the apple tree.”

  And then she remembered that there weren’t any trees in this yard. The apple and oak trees were in the yard she had left behind.

  Nettie came into the room holding the medicine bottle, “Dear take some medicine.”

  Nettie poured the red syrup onto the spoon. She held it out and Bridgette drank it.

  “Nettie, our dear Sylvie would like the angel to go under the apple tree,” said Clarence.

  Bridgette cringed. There was no apple tree. That was one of the first things she noticed when she looked out the living room window what seemed like centuries ago.

  “And Richard would have thought the same thing,” said Nettie, “Why when he planted that little apple tree this past spring, he said it was in the perfect place. Once it grows, it will provide shade and fruit and you’ll be able to see it right out the living room windows. And then he planted those Oaks the very same day. He had such hopes and dreams for this place and his family.” She finished with tears in her eyes.

  There’s an apple tree? Bridgette struggled to sit up and started to swing her legs around to the side of the bed.

  “Can I see the apple tree?” Bridgette paused, “To…. I would like to see how much it’s grown lately,”

  “Well, now, let me help,” said Nettie putting her arm around Bridgette and pulling her up, “I think that’s a fine idea, but the damp outside will do you no good. Let me take you to the window.”

  And so Nettie and Bridgette hobbled to the living room window followed by Clarence. Nettie pulled the curtain and pointed.

  “See how it’s grown? Richard picked a good one,” she said full of pride.

  Bridgette peered out the window. And there, right where her full grown apple tree would be, was a small stick of a tree.

  “How tall is it now?” Bridgette asked Nettie.

  “Why I’d say at least four feet. Richard picked a good, healthy tree. Why Floyd said that one should last 100 years or more. And Floyd and the boys have been keeping an eye on it. The rain has done it some good, too.”

  A wave of dizziness washed over Bridgette. Her legs wobbled. Nettie tightened her grip on her and dropped the curtain.

  “Let’s get you back in bed. It’s been a hard morning.” Nettie said as she guided Bridgette back to the bedroom.

  As they neared the edge of the bed, Nettie let go of Bridgette and straightened the covers, “Here you…”

  And Nettie’s voice faded away. Black spots clouded Bridgette’s vision. The room spun. Bridgette’s legs crumpled under her as she passed out.

  Bridgette opened her eyes when she hit the floor. She was looking at the underside of Molly’s bed. There was a box. It was identical to the one she had seen in her dream of Molly’s birthday present.

  Strong arms lifted Bridgette up and placed her gently on the bed.

  Clarence stepped back. Sympathy filled his compassionate face.

  “The angel will be lovely under the apple tree,” he said patting her hand.

  “I will go for now, but I will be back soon for another visit,” he said.

  He turned towards the door and then looked back, “I pray for you, my dear, every day I pray for you.”

  “Thank you,” whispered Bridgette.

  Bridgette heard Nettie and Clarence talking, but she couldn’t make out the words.

  Nettie came into the room, “I’m going to step outside to see your angel, will you be all right? Do you need anything?”

  Bridgette shook her head.

  “Rest, dear, it will do you some good,” said Nettie as she left the room.

  Bridgette closed her eyes. Her breath wheezed through her throat. Her chest ached. Her whole body was weak and sore. She drifted. She imagined Tom digg
ing up the very same angel that Clarence was talking about. She imagined the little twig of a tree growing into the lush full apple tree. She remembered how the angel looked under the tree. Clarence was right, the angel had lasted 100 years. Bridgette’s mind wandered to her dream and she watched Molly take Miss Lovely out of the pretty wooden box.

  The box that was under Molly’s bed. Adrenaline surged through her. Bridgette had an idea.

  Glimmers in the Darkness

  Bridgette sat on the edge of the bed. She carefully placed both feet on the ground. Her legs seemed steady and she cautiously stood up. The room wavered and grew still. Bridgette kneeled and looked under the bed. There was the box. She slid it out from under the bed and cautiously stood up. She sat on the bed and opened it.

  The smell of cedar filled the room. The box was strong, durable, and heavier than it looked. The wood used was at least an inch thick and the seams were almost invisible. Yet, none of this took away from the delicately carved flowers on the top. The box seemed empty except for the little pink cloth. Bridgette lifted it up to reveal the tiny dish set from her dream. The same dish set Molly had drawn in her picture.

  Bridgette picked up a teacup. It was covered in little purple violets and matched the other teacups and plates in the box. Bridgette put it back and covered the set up again.

  She picked up Sylvie’s repugnant journal and set it in the box. It fit easily with plenty of room left over. Bridgette eyed it warily and thought, “The box is perfect. Putting that nasty journal in there is an abomination.” Bridgette picked up Molly’s little brown journal. She placed it on top of Sylvie’s journal. There was still plenty of room left over in the box.

  Peace and relief settled over Bridgette. She set the journals on the table and closed the lid to the box. She would write Tom a letter and tell him he was in danger. Hopefully, he would read it in time to make it to safety. Bridgette harbored no doubt that Sylvie would try kill him either sooner or later. And then, after the letter, she would write her story down in Molly’s journal.

  Calmly pleased with her plan, Bridgette’s mind drifted as she imagined Tom digging up the angel. The pleasant thought dissolved and was replaced by an image of Sylvie digging in the cellar. Sylvie buried the book and Bridgette knew where it was.

  Bridgette carefully stood up and slid the box under the bed. She wobbled over to the doorway, stopped and held onto it. I can do this. I can do this. I can do this. It became her mantra. A chant in her mind.

  She let go of the doorway and hobbled towards the living room. Distant voices murmured in conversation. She carefully walked to the window and peeked out. Nettie, Floyd, Clarence and two other men were standing near the apple tree talking. The angel was laying on the ground in front of them.

  “It’s our angel!” Thought Bridgette. Hope surged and gave her a boost of strength.

  She tottered out of the living room and stopped at the cellar door. Her legs wobbled and her vision blurred. She held the door handle and waited for it to pass. A few seconds later, she opened the door. Rickety stairs led down to the gloom.

  Vertigo washed over her and she held on to the doorway. She looked again at the rickety stairs, pushed away her doubt and slowly lowered herself to the floor. She set her feet on the second step, placed her hands on the floor and slid her bottom onto the first step. Then she moved her feet to the next step and repeated the process. She slid- bumped her way down the stairs and was soon in the cellar. She pushed herself off the stairs and shakily stood up.

  This cellar was nothing like her cellar. Her cellar had a concrete floor and lights. This one had a dirt floor and meek grey light filtering through the small windows. Shelves of preserves lined one wall. In her cellar these same shelves held Tom’s tools.

  Bridgette looked around anxiously. Shadows were tucked in every corner. It was moist and damp and smelled like she was underground. Memories of old nightmares pushed their way to the surface. Bridgette shoved them away, braced herself and walked as quickly as she dared to the small iron door in the corner.

  Bridgette knew of this room as their little storage room. She squinted through the gloom at the little door and breathed a sigh of relief that there was no padlock on it. She turned the handle and the little door creaked open. A rush of cold, rotten air pushed past her. Bridgette gagged and choked back a threatening cough. She cautiously entered the room.

  It was pitch black. She fought down her panic and turned towards the far wall. Spots danced in front of her eyes and it was easy to imagine there were shapes moving and shifting in the darkness in front of her. Bridgette closed her eyes. She thought of Tom and warning him about Sylvie. I can do this. Bridgette opened her eyes and walked to the far wall. Once there, she held onto it and walked back and forth feeling for loose dirt under her feet.

  Finally, towards the furthest corner, Bridgette felt the hard packed dirt shift and settle into soft ground. She stopped, knelt, and dug with her hands. The air grew colder and heavier. A soft shuffling sound came from somewhere in the room. Bridgette stopped digging and looked around. Nothing moved. She felt like she was being watched. No, she knew she was being watched.

  Bridgette frantically scooped and scraped and then she heard a voice. She stopped and listened. Something shuffled. There was a quiet murmur of voices and then silence. Something was in the room with her. There’s nothing there, there’s nothing there. She repeated her new mantra and scooped at the dirt, breathing in raspy wheezes. The hole got deeper and there was still nothing but dirt. Doubt began to nag at her. Maybe she was digging in the wrong place.

  And then her fingertip brushed across a different texture. Bridgette grabbed the object with both hands and pulled. It loosened. She wiggled it back and forth and it pulled free. She was holding a small bundle and inside of it she could feel the shape of a book. She smiled into the darkness.

  The shuffling got louder. A deep, soft chuckle filled the room and faded away. Bridgette’s heart pounded painfully. She needed to get out of there. She shoved dirt back into the hole and her fingers brushed against lace. Bridgette stopped. Her fingers lightly traced the lace and found it attached to fabric. She pulled the item out of the hole. She couldn’t see it, but it felt like a doll. Bridgette crawled towards the door and held the doll out into the light. It was Miss Lovely.

  Bridgette tenderly wiped the dirt off Miss Lovely’s face. Her finger traced a hole and Bridgette brought the doll closer. Miss Lovely’s one eye opened and closed. The other was a black hole.

  A perpetual eye to watch over all. One of the arcane ingredients from Locum Tenens. And Sylvie, instead of making due with an eye shaped stone, had taken Molly’s most loved possession and desecrated it for her own selfish twisted desire.

  Images flashed through Bridgette’s mind. Billy Jenkins reaching to Sylvie for help. Innocent Martin Johnson hanged for the murder of his beloved. A happily drunk miner unknowingly tricked and then hacked by a demonic Sylvie. Lester Brimell betrayed during his hour of greatest hope. Tortured, bloody animals left in Sylvie’s wake. And finally, the slashed and bloody faces of Richard and Molly. Sylvie’s own family. Murdered.

  Anger boiled from deep inside her. Bridgette turned into the darkness and plunged her hand back into the hole. She dug around, grasping for Miss Lovely’s eye. She felt the bony finger of the hand of glory. It twisted and grasped her hand. She flinched and jerked her hand, shaking it off like a grotesque spider. The hand tumbled to the ground. Bridgette plunged her hand back into the hole. She felt the rounded sides of a bowl and pushed it aside. There. She felt a smooth marble. She grabbed it and peered at it before she realized she couldn’t see it in the dark. It had to be the eye.

  She gathered Miss Lovely, her eye, and the wrapped book and set them by the door. She went back over to the hole. The hand clawed its way onto her foot. She shook it off and kicked it into the hole. She dropped onto her knees and scraped the dirt back in.

  Then she heard the shuffling sound followed by a low chuckle. The iron door creaked
and began to close. Bridgette’s fear crumbled away in a wave of anger. Every fear, every frustration, every ounce of fury at what Sylvie had done to her boiled up and reached a tipping point. She jumped up and screamed, “LEAVE ME ALONE! GO AWAY! I AM NOT AFRAID OF YOU AND I WILL NOT LEAVE UNTIL I’M THROUGH! GO! GO AWAY TO WHATEVER HELL YOU CRAWLED OUT OF!!!!”

  The room was silent. Bridgette felt drained, but triumphant. She might be stuck here and she might die here, but she was not going to give up. She dropped to her knees and again started scooping the dirt back into the hole.

  Soon, there was no more loose dirt. She stood up and stepped on the small depression. It wasn’t perfect, but it would have to do. She picked up Miss Lovely, her eye, and the bundle and left the little room. She slammed the door behind her just because it felt good to do so.

  Bridgette wasn’t sure of her balance on the stairs so she stooped over and climbed up on her hands and knees. When she got to the top, she shoved the bundle, doll and eye across the floor. She pulled herself into a kneeling position and cautiously stood up. There was a wave of dizziness but it went away. She picked up her items and shuffled to the living room.

  Through the curtains, she saw Nettie in an animated conversation with Clarence. Floyd and the other men were gone. Bridgette smiled at the angel standing near the apple tree. Then she looked at the items in her hand and realized her mistake.

  She felt limp and empty. She turned and went into Molly’s room. She carefully placed the items under the bed with the box. When she bent over she noticed how filthy her feet were. She held her nightgown out and saw that it too was covered in dirt. Bridgette sighed and sat on the bed. Weariness washed over her. Her remaining strength was slipping away. She imagined Nettie’s worried face if she saw her in this condition. Bridgette forced herself to stand up. She swayed from the dizziness and slowly walked into Sylvie’s room. The bedroom was as gloomy as the cellar. Bridgette watched her Sylvie reflection in the mirror as she walked towards the wardrobe. She stuck out her tongue at herself which turned the reflection sinister. Finally, she couldn’t stand it anymore and looked away.