Sylvie

by Stacy Galloway

  He paused and opened the door. Stairs led down into the gloomy dimly lit cellar. Tom flipped the light switch and gazed down. There was no movement. He hesitated and walked slowly down the stairs. The cellar was empty except for the shelves holding his tools. Around the corner was the washer and dryer. When they first bought the house they had talked about turning the cellar into a craft room, or possibly even finishing it out to make it into a den of some sort. As time passed, the idea dwindled away. They didn’t have much of a savings account and neither of them wanted to spend any more time than they had to down in the cellar.

  Tom walked past the water heater and the central air unit. He gazed at the iron door tucked into the corner. Back in the day, the little room would have been used as a coal room.

  Tom pulled the iron door open with a loud creak. A foul smell of something rotting filled the air. Maybe it was a dead mouse or something. Tom leaned in and sniffed. The smell was gone. He looked uneasily around the little room. Bricks lined the floor and the walls. The room was empty.

  Tom gratefully swung the door closed. As it banged shut he heard a shuffling sound. He leaned and listened. Nothing but silence. He opened the door. It creaked loudly. He looked in the little room again. Nothing. He shut the door. He took another look around the cellar and walked back up the stairs.

  Turning off the light and closing the door, he glanced around the kitchen. Empty. He pushed open the screen door to see if it would bang open. Creak/slam. The door closed firmly. He stood in the kitchen puzzled. Nothing was out of place in the house, but something felt wrong.

  On the porch, he briefly scanned over the tools he had gathered earlier. Hoe, pitchfork, rope, axe, and a larger shovel. He looked over at the toppled angel and decided he wouldn’t need any of those things. He should be able to pick the angel up or barring that, he could roll it. He walked towards the apple tree.

  The angel had toppled sideways, leaving a hole in the ground. Tom saw that whoever had mounted it had buried its base six inches into the ground. No wonder it had stood for so long. Earl Hartman had said he thought the angel had been there for at least 100 years. Since the Hartman’s had lived in the same house for generations, Tom thought it was probably true.

  He brushed the clumps of dirt off the base and rolled the angel out of the way. He bent down and peered into the hole. There was something there. Tom brushed more dirt out of the way revealing a dark cloth of some kind.

  Gingerly he reached in, grabbed it and pulled. It stuck fast into the ground. Tom picked up the shovel and dug out little patches of ground, widening the hole and revealing more of the mysterious cloth.

  Tom reached in, grabbed the cloth with both hands and yanked backwards as hard as he could. The cloth gave way. Tom felt and heard a dull thump as something fell into the hole.

  He set the cloth aside, knelt down and peered into the hole. His pulse quickened when he saw the wooden box. He reached in and pulled it out. Excitedly, he brushed the dirt off it. The small brown box was weathered but intact. He couldn’t wait to show Bridgette. She’d love it.

  Tom glanced at the house and briefly thought about waking her up. But he stopped the thought. Whenever she got a migraine the best thing for her was to take her medicine and sleep it off. Otherwise, the pain would linger for days. He would surprise her with the box later.

  He gazed in wonder and thought about buried treasure. He shook his head at the thought and smiled to himself. Everyone dreams about finding a buried treasure. He doubted the box was full of jewels. He couldn’t think of anything someone would take the time to bury- and then forget to dig up. He hoped it was something exciting. Something he could surprise Bridgette with. Something that she would see and smile her beautiful sweet smile. Tom lost himself in the happy moment. Finally, he lifted the lid.

  A yellowed piece of paper sat on top of small books. Tom gently picked it up. It was covered in faint writing. Tom was going to set it aside when the first two words caught his attention. ‘Dear Tom’.

  Tom set the box aside and stared closely at the letter. His heart hammered in his chest. Dear Tom? But it had to be a coincidence, a letter written to some other Tom 100 years ago.

  Tom read the faint words.

  Dear Tom,

  This is Bridgette. Please read this letter and please, please believe what it says. The same day that I laid down with a migraine, the same day you were going to dig up the angel, something bad happened.

  Tom frowned and looked at the house. Bridgette? Is this some sort of joke?

  This is not a joke. This is deadly serious. That woman in the house RIGHT NOW is not me. When I woke up from my nap I was 100 years in the past and in another woman’s body. This woman is named SYLVIE STERLING and she is deadly dangerous. She did some sort of evil spell that forced us to change bodies. Tom, please take this seriously. SHE WILL KILL YOU IF SHE GETS A CHANCE!

  She has killed before. She enjoys it. She wrote about it in the red journal. But you don’t have time to read it right now. GET OUT OF THE HOUSE RIGHT NOW! Please, please do as I ask.

  The body I’m in- Sylvie’s body- is dying from consumption. That is why she switched bodies. She wanted to leave her dying body behind and start in a new one. She wanted to go into the future because she thinks she can gain more power.

  SYLVIE IS DEADLY DANGEROUS.

  Tom, you are in danger. LEAVE NOW! My single comfort has been knowing I might be able to warn you and keep you safe.

  My story is bookmarked in the brown journal. Sylvie’s story is in the red journal. The other book is an evil thing called Locum Tenens. I dug it up from where Sylvie buried it. She will want it so be careful with it.

  Tom, GO NOW! That woman in the house IS NOT ME. She is a DEMON and you are in GRAVE DANGER.

  Please be careful. And please stay safe.

  I love you my beautiful Tom,

  Bridgey ~Your bridge to forever~

  LEAVE NOW!!!!!!

  Tom sat back stunned. He looked at the house. He re-read the letter. It was Bridgette’s handwriting. ~Your bridge to forever~. The phrase rang through him. It was their little secret joke. He would tell her she was his ‘bridge to forever’ and she would smile- it worked even if she was in a bad mood.

  His mind went blank. He stared at the letter. Words jumped out at him.

  ‘SHE WILL KILL YOU IF SHE GETS A CHANCE!... The body I’m in- Sylvie’s body- is dying from consumption. That is why she switched bodies… She is a DEMON and you are in GRAVE DANGER.

  Please be careful. And please stay safe.

  I love you my beautiful Tom,

  Bridgey ~Your bridge to forever~

  LEAVE NOW!!!!!!

  Tom stared from the letter to the box. He gently slid the brown book aside revealing a blood red book. He moved the red book and saw the words ‘Locum Tenens’ carved into some sort of a box. His stomach turned and an uneasy feeling crept through him.

  He gazed up at the blank, black windows of the house. His uneasiness ratcheted up to an intense alarm. He felt like he was being tracked by a deadly predator. A primal fight or flight kicked in and Tom nearly jumped up and ran.

  His heart pounded and he broke out in a cold sweat. He read the letter again and his adrenaline surged. He gently folded the letter and put it in his shirt pocket. His hand automatically went to his back pocket and he felt the familiar lump of his wallet. He dug into his front pockets, but came up empty handed. His keys and phone were in the house.

  The last thing he wanted to do was go back into the house. He knew Bridgette was in there, but his gut instinct believed what she had written in the letter. Maybe later he would find out it was some sort of complicated joke, but for now he believed. Every nerve in his body screamed that it was the truth.

  He looked over at the Hartman’s briefly thinking he could go there. But then he remembered they were gone for a few days visiting their daughter. He and Bridgette had told them they would keep an eye on things while they were gone.

  He looked up and down
the small country road. It saw little traffic. Going east, it wound three miles through fields and lead to Kranburg. To the west it went through forests and more fields. Eventually, it ended up in Carbondale, but it was the long way around.

  Tom picked up the box and cautiously walked towards the house. He eyed the windows looking for any sign of movement. He quietly opened the screen door and slipped into the kitchen. The house was silent. He scanned the kitchen table looking for his keys and phone. They weren’t there. He looked at the countertop. They weren’t there either. He tried to remember where they were.

  What had he done with them when he came home the night before? It was late and Bridgette was asleep. He’d gone right into the bedroom and…

  Now he remembered. His keys and phone were in the bedroom. Bridgette’s were probably with her in the bedroom too. Tom set his hand on the table and accidentally touched a key on the laptop. The screensaver dissolved and a search page appeared.

  Tom glanced into the hallway. The bedroom door was slightly opened just as he had left it. He quickly typed ‘Sylvie Sterling 1912’ into the search box and hit enter.

  The top result was an archived article from the Kranburg Post dated June 23rd 1912. Tom clicked on it and scanned the front page article. It was a long story about the tragic death of new widowed Sylvie Sterling following so quickly after the axe murders of her husband and daughter. The article was rich in the grisly details and proclaimed the killer to be the very same man who killed eight people in Villisca, Iowa. Tom skipped to the bottom of the article where it was noted that Sylvie’s obituary was on page two. Tom clicked to the next page. He scanned the obituaries and his heart plummeted.

  ‘Mrs. Sylvie Bridgette Boswell-Sterling peacefully passed June 22nd 1912’

  He read the words again. And he knew the letter was true.

  There was a soft shuffle behind him. Tom jumped up and turned around. Bridgette was standing there. She had the axe raised above her head and evil radiated off her in corrupt waves. Tom slowly stepped backwards and bumped into the table. A slow leer spread across Bridgette’s face. Her eyes burned in hate. The familiar face Tom loved was twisted into a hard, mocking resemblance.

  Bridgette took a step forward and stopped. She shuddered and the axe dipped behind her head. She took a wobbly step forward. Her eyes rolled into the back of her head. She blinked and mumbled incoherently. She wobbled. Her eyes opened and Tom saw a flash of recognition.

  “Tom! Tom!” she whispered hoarsely

  Tom watched Bridgette’s face soften and subtly shift into familiarity. Her gentle eyes grew concerned.

  “Bridgey?” He said cautiously, “Is it really you? Bridgey?” He leaned closer, looking into her eyes.

  She wiggled as if bound by invisible ropes. She opened her hands and the axe dropped behind her. She jerked her arms apart and struggled to lower them.

  Tom reached out to her. To help her.

  Her body stiffened and her eyes widened at some unseen terror.

  “NO! NO! LET ME GO!” She shouted.

  Startled, Tom jerked back.

  Her face drained. Her body shuddered then became stiff and still.

  Her mouth opened slightly, “Tom! Tom!” She mumbled.

  Her wide eyes looked at him with love and longing.

  “I love you, Tom! I LOVE YOU!” She whispered hoarsely.

  Her eyes closed.

  Her head snapped down and her pure white eyes opened. She leered at Tom and reached down for the axe.

  Tom grabbed the box and ran.

  He ran behind the house and through the flower meadow. He ran through the forest towards Kranburg. He didn’t know where he was, but he ran in what he hoped was the right direction. If he had read Sylvie’s journal, perhaps he wouldn’t have taken the forest, but he hadn’t yet read Sylvie’s journal and felt safer there than on the road. As he ran he realized he didn’t know what she was capable of. Could she drive? Could she fly? Bridgette had said she was evil, she even called her a demon.

  Tom thought he’d known evil in his life. Like everyone else he’d read the news. He knew what vile acts humans could commit against each other. He even believed in God, angels and the devil. He was thirty-two years old and up until now he thought he knew evil. Now he realized, everything he thought was wrong. True evil had tried to kill him today. True evil had stared him in the face. Before now, he hadn’t known true evil. Now he did. Its name was Sylvie.

  He came out of the forest at the southern edge of Kranburg. He crossed the railroad tracks and walked the three blocks into downtown. Kevin lived in a small house near the library. As a freelance accountant, he worked from home. Tom prayed he was home today.

  Tom rushed up Kevin’s walk and pounded on his front door.

  Kevin opened it with a startled look that dissolved into a smile once he saw that it was Tom, “Man, why don’t you just beat it down?”

  His smile disappeared when Tom rushed in the house, slammed the door and locked it.

  “What’s going on?” Asked Kevin as he watched his friend run around the house checking the windows and locking the back door.

  Tom paced the living room still holding the wooden box.

  He stopped and said, “Something’s happened to Bridgette. I have to save her. I-,” he set the box down and ran his hands through his hair. He rubbed his mouth. His eyes jerked around the room.

  Kevin looked concerned, “What happened to Bridgette? Is she ok? What are you talking about?”

  “Man I…” Tom tried to make sense of his thoughts, “She- she’s not Bridgette, ok? She’s evil. She’s… Bridgette’s not here! I’ve got to find her! I’ve got to help her before… before it’s too late.” Tom finished in a whisper.

  Tears ran down his face as he sat heavily on the couch and rubbed his eyes.

  Something poked his arm. Tom saw a bottle of Jack- open and ready for him.

  He took a long swig. The whiskey burned as it went down. Soon a warmth spread over him and he relaxed a little.

  Kevin pulled up a chair. He looked curiously at the box, but didn’t ask. He watched Tom and finally said, “Tell me what happened.”

  And Tom did. He started with waking up in the morning and ended it with pounding on Kevin’s door.

  Kevin’s dark eyes watched him intently. He didn’t interrupt or ask for clarification.

  Tom took another swig. The warmth moved through him and he felt his thoughts loosen. He needed Kevin’s help. Between the two of them they should be able to figure something out.

  Both men were silent.

  Kevin cleared his throat and said, “So you think Bridgette is 100 years in the past and some other woman is in Bridgette’s body.” This was a statement not a question.

  Tom nodded, “I saw her. That was not Bridgette. I mean, it looked like her, but it wasn’t really her. And I’ve got to figure out a way to find Bridgette.”

  “A hundred years in the past,” Kevin repeated.

  Tom looked at him sharply, “I’ll do whatever it takes. I just don’t know how to make that happen. The note said the books will explain things.”

  Kevin nodded towards the box, “Do you mind if I take a look?”

  “Are you going to help me or not?” Asked Tom sharply.

  Kevin nervously pushed his glasses, “Man, don’t take it wrong, I’m not questioning you. I believe you. I think we should start with the box to look for the answers and go from there.”

  Tom relaxed, “Thanks, I didn’t mean to be a prick. I just want to save Bridgette.”

  Kevin said, “And I’ll try to help you find a way to do that.”

  Kevin leaned to open the box. A muffled ding, ding, ding, ding sound came from somewhere else in the house.

  “Dammit,” Kevin stood and started out of the room, “I forgot I was on a conference call. Let me log out of work, I’ll be right back.”

  Tom thought of his own job as Kevin walked out of the room. He glanced at his watch. He was supposed to work from eight tonight
until six in the morning guarding a construction site.

  Before his day went to hell, his plan was to catch some sleep around two in the afternoon and head out for work at seven. It wasn’t even noon, yet. But this day felt like it had lasted a week. He reached for his phone and remembered he didn’t have it with him.

  Kevin came back into the room.

  “Do you mind if I use your phone?”

  Kevin tossed him his cell phone.

  Work was one of the numbers Tom had memorized. He called and begged off for three days claiming the flu.

  He tossed the phone back to Kevin and said, “Let’s do this.”

  Kevin nodded and opened the box.

  The Magic Words

  “You said Bridgette left a letter in here?” Asked Kevin looking into the box.

  “Yeah, I got it here,” Said Tom. He took the letter out of his pocket, gently unfolded it and handed it to Kevin.

  Kevin quickly read the letter. He glanced at Tom, arched one eyebrow and re-read it. He solemnly gave it back to Tom. Tom folded it and tucked it into his pocket.

  Kevin reached into the box, gently lifted out the brown journal and held it out to Tom. Tom cradled it in his hand. Then, he picked up the red journal and handed it to Tom. Tom set it on the table. Next, Kevin reached in with both hands and lifted out something that looked like a box. He stared at it in awe and gently laid it on the table.

  Tom turned his head to read the writing burned onto the lid. ‘Locum Tenens, ye to he and he to ye.’

  Kevin stroked the letters. He picked up the box and inspected the sides. He gently flipped it over and set it on the table again. There was more writing, it said ‘Mutatis Mutandis, he to ye and ye to he.’