Page 8 of Secrets in Salem: Part One

Groaning, I roll my eyes and reach for my bag, tearing the board out of its depths. Board in hand, I march to my window and open it with my free hand. I look at the board one last time before launching it out of the window with as much force as I can muster, watching it sail across our overgrown yard until I lose sight of it.

With another harsh sigh, I drop the window, shutting and locking it securely. With a shake of my head at my own idiocy, I go about my nightly routine. I peel away my soaked clothing, dropping it in the laundry basket just inside my attached bathroom. Then I start the shower, waiting until the room begins to steam before getting in. The heat warms me instantly, that bone-deep chill seeping down the drain with the water, taking with it the events of the night. My skin grows pink, and my body slowly begins to relax under the spray.

I finish up relatively quickly, soaping my body and hair with hurried motions before rinsing and climbing out of the shower, a large black towel soon wrapped around my body and tucked under my arms. Snatching a smaller towel from the rack, I use it to dry my long tresses, walking over to the sink and mirror on the tips of my toes.

When I look up from rubbing the ends of my hair dry, I freeze.

Instead of the normal gray irises I’ve been looking at for twenty-five years, I’m now staring at a pair of eerie gray eyes that backward ombre to black. The whites of my eyes have vanished, taken over by blackness that reaches my eyelids.

Snapping my eyes closed, I run a shaky hand through my damp hair and take a deep breath.It’s just your mind playing tricks on you, Willow. You’re overtired. It’s all in your head,I tell myself over and over, praying my pulse slows down to a normal speed.

The image of those abnormal and creepy eyes flashes in my head repeatedly, making that pretty much impossible. My body cools significantly, the warmth from the shower fading away like it was never there. A chill sinks to my very bones, making me shiver, and I clench my teeth together to stop their infernal chattering.

With another deep breath, I brace myself for the worst and flick my eyes open. Air leaves my lungs in a harsh whoosh when my normal eyes stare back at me. I’ve never in my life been happier to stare at an ordinary pair of eyes. I turn my head from left to right, making sure they don’t change with different angles, and decide that I’ve just lost the last remaining shard of sanity I’d been clinging to. If seeing things isn’t a sign to get the hell to bed, then I don’t know what is.

With one last look, I lean close to the mirror, really checking over my reflection in case anything else decides to happen to my face while I’m delirious and apparently crazy. Nothing happens, my gray eyes looking back at me with no short amount of confusion.

A hefty sigh gushes from my mouth, my lungs expelling the breath until my chest strains. I drop my hands to the sink, hanging my head between my arms while I try to rationalize everything and get my heart beats back to their usual rhythm. A pang in my chest has my hand rising to rub against it, almost like I’m feeling some kind of phantom pain or something.

So, not only am I seeing things, but I’m also feeling weird pains in my chest too. Great. No use Googling that shit because I’ll no doubt be diagnosed as clinically dead in a matter of three clicks. I’ve learned the hard way not to use the internet when there’s a medical emergency.

I can only put this particular bout of psychosis down to the emotional rollercoaster ride I’ve endured tonight, flicking through too many emotions in too short a time. It’s like I’ve been surfing the channels of feels or something. Not to mention the disappointment still weighing heavily on me. I assume everything is just catching up to me. I'm overwhelmed and tired. That's all. After some much needed rest, I'll be right back to my usual moody, artistic self, I'm sure.

Deciding sleep is my priority, I leave the bathroom without glancing at the mirror again. I head to my dresser, plucking out the first sleep shirt my hand touches and throwing it over my body, the dark material reaching just beneath the cheeks of my ass. Dropping the towel from under the shirt, I open a different drawer and pull out a pair of underwear, shimmying it over my legs before climbing onto my bed and under the comforter. Before settling down for the night, I plait my damp hair, twisting the black strands in a fishtail braid and dropping it over my shoulder with a yawn.

Suddenly exhausted and satisfied that I’m onlycrazy, I drop to the bed, my arms falling heaving to my sides. My head sinks into the pillow, drawing out another exhausted sigh, and I pull the comforter around my shoulders in hopes it’ll rid my body of the chill that's crawled under my skin.

With one last shiver, I relax into my bed, asleep before I even know it.

***

I wake up with a headache from hell, a scratchy throat, and dry eyes that the sun beaming through the window isn’t doing anything to help. I feel like I haven't slept a wink, still tired from the night before. My body aches, my joints feel stiff, and I could really do with more shut eye.

Alas, the alarm clock on my bedside table is a total asshole, blaring at me that it's time to wake up. The flashing light shows it's only eight in the morning. I'm internally chastising myself for agreeing to help my best friend, Adam, do research for the documentary he's making about Salem. No being alive should ever have to get up this early, no matter the reason. Waking up early is for psychopaths, but I guess I’m jumping on that shitty bandwagon this morning. Shoot me now.

Groaning melodramatically, I heave myself upright, feeling as though I've gone ten rounds with Mike Tyson. Why am I aching so much? Was I tossing and turning all night or something? Even that shouldn't have my entire body sore from the tips of my toes to the top of my head. Even myhairhurts. How? I dunno, but there it is. This is going to be a long ass day.

I drag myself off the bed, heading to the bathroom to relieve my bladder and wash my face. As soon as I'm done, I find myself rummaging through my closet, finding a pair of black skinny jeans with tears in the knees, a low cut black shirt, and an oversized cardigan. In black, of course. Taking out my black nose ring before removing the black ring looped around the middle of my lower lip, I replace them both with matching silver ones.

Dressing quickly and sliding my feet into ballet flats, I throw on three necklaces that jingle as I snap them around my neck and slap my watch onto my wrist. My feet carry me to the bathroom next, but I’m a little apprehensive about looking in the mirror in case my sudden bout of crazy has extended its stay to this morning. When only my plain ol’ face looks back at me, I sigh before quickly applying mascara and eyeliner, swiping my lips with chapstick before deciding it'll do. At least I don’t look as crazy on the outside. Silver linings.

Ready for the day, I snatch my laptop off my dresser then empty my bag onto my bed before shoving my laptop inside with a notebook and pen. Picking certain things from the bed, I only add the few things I always carry on me: wallet, chapstick, body mist, a book, a funky pencil with a Sebastian the crab eraser. You know, the important things.

Shaking my head at myself, I turn to leave my room, only to come to a screeching halt. My mouth falls open, eyes widen, and my bag almost drops to the ground since my attention is very much on something else.

Attached to my door, pinned by a small dagger with a hilt covered in intricate patterns and swirls, is an envelope addressed to me. The writing is beautiful, all pretty lines and smooth curves, despite the envelope looking to have seen better days. Who the hell would pin a letter to someone's door with a knife? Better yet, who the hell pinned a letter tomydoor? Is this some stupid joke my mom is trying to play? If so, it's terrible. I should probably talk to her about her prank level. Can someone retire from crappy joke making?

Slowly, I take a wary step toward the door, my eyebrows drawn down in confusion. I reach for the letter, tearing it away from the old blade. Seriously, that thing looks ancient. Dropping the letter onto one of the shelves of my bookcase next to my door, I tilt my head and reach for the dagger, yanking it from the door and leaving splintered wood in its place.

Inspecting the knife, I watch as the light bounces off the glossy metal with every twist. The blade looks freshly polished and sharpened, though the handle has is a little worn down. It's rusty and scratched, worn down and pretty ancient looking, though the beauty of the patterns that are carved all around it is visible enough to garner my attention. Where did this thing even come from? It looks like something that should be stored in a museum, classed as a relic or something. It should definitely not be embedded in my bedroom fucking door.

"Honey, are you awake?" Mom calls from down the hall, loud enough that I damn near headbutt my door when I startle.

I almost drop the dagger, my hands fumbling with it like some poor man’s juggler. Slapping a hand over my chest, the onenotholding onto the knife because that is a disaster I don’t need to deal with right now, I move away from the door. I stuff the dagger haphazardly into my bag and snatch the letter off the shelf before swinging the door open.

As I step out of my room, a sudden breeze flows from my window. My whole body freezes, my eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Sure enough, when my gaze finds the window, I find it open a fraction, the curtains billowing slightly with the breeze. That was shut before. Right? I mean, I know I closed and locked it before going to bed, so… why is it open right now?

“Willow?” Mom calls again, snapping me out of my paranoia.

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