yourselves.”
I walked across the room to her. “Aunt Iris, I have a home in Baltimore, and I’ll be going away to college in August. I’m not going to push you out of your home.”
“You think I’m crazy,” she said.
When I didn’t respond, she whirled around to face me directly. The anger in her eyes made me take a step back.
“You want to send me away.”
“That’s not why I’m here,” I replied. “I came for a visit.”
She turned back to my reflection in the mirror. “I don’t likewhat I see.” The way she peered into the glass made the mirror seem as deep as Oyster Creek. “I don’t like it at all.” Her fingers curled around a hairbrush with a silver handle. She lifted it slowly, her eyes locking on mine in the mirror. Inch by inch, she pulled back her arm, as if fearing too quick a movement would give her away. The ornate back of the brush glimmered in the lamplight. She slammed it against the glass. The mirror shattered, fragments of our reflections dropping onto her bureau.
For a moment Aunt Iris seemed as stunned as I by what she had done. I grabbed the brush from her, then scooped up the matching hand mirror and retreated from her room. Knowing she still had lamps and other potential weapons, I pulled the door closed behind me, pausing for a moment in the hall, listening for activity inside her room. Hearing none, I continued on to mine. I debated whether to shove a piece of furniture against my door. I assumed I could outrun her, but if I fell asleep and she came in . . .
I could no longer deny it: If the right object were in her hand, Aunt Iris was capable of killing someone. It frightened me because I didn’t know what she saw, what she
thought
she saw when she looked at me, or the mirror, or the grandfather clock. I could only guess at what would set her off.
I considered calling the sheriff, but I knew that neither he nor anyone else had the power to whisk her away to apsychiatric hospital, not if she wasn’t willing to go. She’d have to do something clearly life-threatening, and even then, they’d probably just stick her in the hospital for a day or two and medicate her. Afterward, I’d be bringing her back here—spitting mad.
Mom would know how to handle this kind of thing, and she would be back in ten days. I just needed to hang on till then.
I didn’t bother to barricade the attic—there wasn’t much chance of me falling back asleep. Outside, the sky was growing lighter. At twenty minutes after five I crept to Iris’s room and quietly opened the door. She was sleeping soundly.
I returned to my own room and dozed for the next two hours, then was awakened suddenly by the loud creak of my door.
“Just me,” Aunt Iris called cheerfully.
I sat up quickly, hitting my head on the ceiling.
“The sun is up. It’s a lovely day.”
“Great,” I muttered, swinging my feet down to the floor, resting my arms on my knees, more tired now than when I had gone to bed. I watched her carry the broken mirror past my corner of the attic room, placing it with the cemetery of smashed television sets.
This had happened before; it would happen again.
twelve
ALWAYS CHRISTMAS WAS a world apart from Aunt Iris’s house, and as soon as I entered the shop, I felt better. Marcy and I got along well, maybe because I liked to work hard. About three o’clock that afternoon, when the temperature and humidity had soared high enough to keep vacationers inside whatever air-cooled place they’d found, the sleigh bells on the door stopped jingling. Marcy perched on a stool behind a counter, paging through wholesale catalogs, circling items. I picked up a spray bottle and attacked smudgy surfaces.
“Audrey mentioned meeting you two nights ago,” Marcy said. “I’d be willing to bet you had an interesting conversation.”
I glanced across the room at her and detected a smile. “Yes. When Uncle Will invited me, he didn’t tell me I’d be living in a house of evil.”
She laughed.
I walked across the room to her. “Aunt Iris, I have a home in Baltimore, and I’ll be going away to college in August. I’m not going to push you out of your home.”
“You think I’m crazy,” she said.
When I didn’t respond, she whirled around to face me directly. The anger in her eyes made me take a step back.
“You want to send me away.”
“That’s not why I’m here,” I replied. “I came for a visit.”
She turned back to my reflection in the mirror. “I don’t likewhat I see.” The way she peered into the glass made the mirror seem as deep as Oyster Creek. “I don’t like it at all.” Her fingers curled around a hairbrush with a silver handle. She lifted it slowly, her eyes locking on mine in the mirror. Inch by inch, she pulled back her arm, as if fearing too quick a movement would give her away. The ornate back of the brush glimmered in the lamplight. She slammed it against the glass. The mirror shattered, fragments of our reflections dropping onto her bureau.
For a moment Aunt Iris seemed as stunned as I by what she had done. I grabbed the brush from her, then scooped up the matching hand mirror and retreated from her room. Knowing she still had lamps and other potential weapons, I pulled the door closed behind me, pausing for a moment in the hall, listening for activity inside her room. Hearing none, I continued on to mine. I debated whether to shove a piece of furniture against my door. I assumed I could outrun her, but if I fell asleep and she came in . . .
I could no longer deny it: If the right object were in her hand, Aunt Iris was capable of killing someone. It frightened me because I didn’t know what she saw, what she
thought
she saw when she looked at me, or the mirror, or the grandfather clock. I could only guess at what would set her off.
I considered calling the sheriff, but I knew that neither he nor anyone else had the power to whisk her away to apsychiatric hospital, not if she wasn’t willing to go. She’d have to do something clearly life-threatening, and even then, they’d probably just stick her in the hospital for a day or two and medicate her. Afterward, I’d be bringing her back here—spitting mad.
Mom would know how to handle this kind of thing, and she would be back in ten days. I just needed to hang on till then.
I didn’t bother to barricade the attic—there wasn’t much chance of me falling back asleep. Outside, the sky was growing lighter. At twenty minutes after five I crept to Iris’s room and quietly opened the door. She was sleeping soundly.
I returned to my own room and dozed for the next two hours, then was awakened suddenly by the loud creak of my door.
“Just me,” Aunt Iris called cheerfully.
I sat up quickly, hitting my head on the ceiling.
“The sun is up. It’s a lovely day.”
“Great,” I muttered, swinging my feet down to the floor, resting my arms on my knees, more tired now than when I had gone to bed. I watched her carry the broken mirror past my corner of the attic room, placing it with the cemetery of smashed television sets.
This had happened before; it would happen again.
twelve
ALWAYS CHRISTMAS WAS a world apart from Aunt Iris’s house, and as soon as I entered the shop, I felt better. Marcy and I got along well, maybe because I liked to work hard. About three o’clock that afternoon, when the temperature and humidity had soared high enough to keep vacationers inside whatever air-cooled place they’d found, the sleigh bells on the door stopped jingling. Marcy perched on a stool behind a counter, paging through wholesale catalogs, circling items. I picked up a spray bottle and attacked smudgy surfaces.
“Audrey mentioned meeting you two nights ago,” Marcy said. “I’d be willing to bet you had an interesting conversation.”
I glanced across the room at her and detected a smile. “Yes. When Uncle Will invited me, he didn’t tell me I’d be living in a house of evil.”
She laughed.
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