a woman,” she observed. “Did we not expect a woman lives here?”
“Yes, but look closer,” I gestured a sweep of my hand. “See here, the stride approaching the house is casual, the footprints close together.” I motioned a sweep in the other direction. “The ones leaving are further apart, the stride much greater.”
“Aye , what feet made these whilst coming did so in a walk. Upon leaving, they did run.”
“Exactly.” I pulled my pant leg up and stepped into one of the footprints. “Ooh, that’s not good.”
Ursula observed, “It doth fit.”
“I see that. Whoever made these prints wore the same size shoe I wear.”
We continued up the steps to the door and rang the bell. When it seemed apparent no one was home, I slid my hand along the top of the door casing and retrieved a key. Ursula seemed a bit confounded over that. As I slipped the key into the lock, she cupped my hand and stopped me.
“ Sister, how knew it thee thy key wert there?”
I just looked at her and shook my head. “At this point, Urs, I’d rather not say.”
I turned the key and pushed. The door opened, allowing the mid-day sun to spill in from behind us, flooding an otherwise darkened room with light.
Just as we saw at Paige Turner’s and Amber Burns’ place, the window shades in April’s home were also pulled down tight to the sills. Even the kitchen, which I could see beyond a doorway off the living room, offered no outside light through its curtained windows and back door shades.
I stepped pas t the threshold and immediately felt the cold presence of evil abound. I turned to Ursula. She felt it, too, crossing her arms to her chest and locking them with a shudder. I raised my brow in silent query. She returned a nod and we continued.
“ Hey.” I stopped at a side table along the wall by the door. I lifted a letter from a stack of mail, the same letter I had seen in my dream the night before. Only this time I could read the return address in the corner.
“Look. Paige Turner sent this to April three days ago. It’s not been opened.”
Ursula asked, “Should we open it?”
I tore it open. “No, that would be wrong.”
I read the note inside . It contained only three words: It has begun .
I showed the note to Ursula. She read it and asked, “What doth thou make of it?”
“ Isn’t it obvious? She’s referring to the prophecy.” I tucked the note in the envelope and dropped it back on the table. “Too bad April didn’t read her mail yesterday.”
We continued down the hall, following the sound of running water all the way to the master bedroom. There, as in the rest of the house, the shades were down, verticals over the sliders drawn tight.
A yellow bulb burned dimly in a table lamp by the bed, another in a walk-in closet flickered cool white.
Ursula tapped my shoulder and directed my attention to the corner where a five-foot-tall fountain drizzled a lazy waterfall over stair-stepped slate tiles. I barely took notice, when she nudged my arm and made me look again. I smiled inquisitively.
“Is that water flowing uphill?”
She nodded.
“That’s curious, isn’t it?”
“`Tis indeed.”
“I can’t do that. Can you?”
“I have not tried.”
“Huh. Probably done with mirrors.”
We entered the master bathroom where clues to what happened there the night before remained unmistakably evident.
B lood and bathwater had dried to a brownish crust in a semi-circular pattern on the floor by the vanity. A towel, also blood stained, lay on the floor.
Shards of broken mirror like cracked ice glistened under compact fluorescents i n the sink, on the toilet lid and in scattered fantail fashion on the floor.
I pointed to the tiles leading out into the bedroom. “Look there. Wouldn’t you think anyone barefoot in here after that mirror broke would have cut her feet and left a trail of blood out the door?”
“Aye, i f one did leave through yon door.”
I cleared some of the glass away from the
“Yes, but look closer,” I gestured a sweep of my hand. “See here, the stride approaching the house is casual, the footprints close together.” I motioned a sweep in the other direction. “The ones leaving are further apart, the stride much greater.”
“Aye , what feet made these whilst coming did so in a walk. Upon leaving, they did run.”
“Exactly.” I pulled my pant leg up and stepped into one of the footprints. “Ooh, that’s not good.”
Ursula observed, “It doth fit.”
“I see that. Whoever made these prints wore the same size shoe I wear.”
We continued up the steps to the door and rang the bell. When it seemed apparent no one was home, I slid my hand along the top of the door casing and retrieved a key. Ursula seemed a bit confounded over that. As I slipped the key into the lock, she cupped my hand and stopped me.
“ Sister, how knew it thee thy key wert there?”
I just looked at her and shook my head. “At this point, Urs, I’d rather not say.”
I turned the key and pushed. The door opened, allowing the mid-day sun to spill in from behind us, flooding an otherwise darkened room with light.
Just as we saw at Paige Turner’s and Amber Burns’ place, the window shades in April’s home were also pulled down tight to the sills. Even the kitchen, which I could see beyond a doorway off the living room, offered no outside light through its curtained windows and back door shades.
I stepped pas t the threshold and immediately felt the cold presence of evil abound. I turned to Ursula. She felt it, too, crossing her arms to her chest and locking them with a shudder. I raised my brow in silent query. She returned a nod and we continued.
“ Hey.” I stopped at a side table along the wall by the door. I lifted a letter from a stack of mail, the same letter I had seen in my dream the night before. Only this time I could read the return address in the corner.
“Look. Paige Turner sent this to April three days ago. It’s not been opened.”
Ursula asked, “Should we open it?”
I tore it open. “No, that would be wrong.”
I read the note inside . It contained only three words: It has begun .
I showed the note to Ursula. She read it and asked, “What doth thou make of it?”
“ Isn’t it obvious? She’s referring to the prophecy.” I tucked the note in the envelope and dropped it back on the table. “Too bad April didn’t read her mail yesterday.”
We continued down the hall, following the sound of running water all the way to the master bedroom. There, as in the rest of the house, the shades were down, verticals over the sliders drawn tight.
A yellow bulb burned dimly in a table lamp by the bed, another in a walk-in closet flickered cool white.
Ursula tapped my shoulder and directed my attention to the corner where a five-foot-tall fountain drizzled a lazy waterfall over stair-stepped slate tiles. I barely took notice, when she nudged my arm and made me look again. I smiled inquisitively.
“Is that water flowing uphill?”
She nodded.
“That’s curious, isn’t it?”
“`Tis indeed.”
“I can’t do that. Can you?”
“I have not tried.”
“Huh. Probably done with mirrors.”
We entered the master bathroom where clues to what happened there the night before remained unmistakably evident.
B lood and bathwater had dried to a brownish crust in a semi-circular pattern on the floor by the vanity. A towel, also blood stained, lay on the floor.
Shards of broken mirror like cracked ice glistened under compact fluorescents i n the sink, on the toilet lid and in scattered fantail fashion on the floor.
I pointed to the tiles leading out into the bedroom. “Look there. Wouldn’t you think anyone barefoot in here after that mirror broke would have cut her feet and left a trail of blood out the door?”
“Aye, i f one did leave through yon door.”
I cleared some of the glass away from the
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