Last Updated: 3/10/2021
Read Time: 10 minutes
Status: Completed
Augusta has returned to the cottage, but it would appear something has returned along with her…
Part 1
Augusta stood naked in front of the mirror.
The shower had felt good on her strained muscles, relaxing and soothing them. Gently, she’d run the washcloth over her body, wincing each time it passed over a bruise or abrasion. Dirt, clay, and twigs were dislodged from her hair. Twice she rubbed shampoo into her mass of long curls, scrubbing until the water ran clear and her scalp felt clean. The cascade of heated water had brought warmth back to her skin, dissipating the goosebumps along her body and the chattering of her teeth. It also served to free her mind, washing the worst of her fear down the drain with the dirty water, and making the events of the night before seem more dream-like than real.
The past was repeating itself, this she could not deny. Not once, in the last twenty years, since she’d left this cottage to live with her father at the age of twelve, had she walked in her sleep. The first night of her return and it started again.
Last night’s episode had begun the same it always had: with a dream.
In her dream, she was looking for something in the woods, buried deep in the earth. On hands and knees, she tore frantically at the soil, dirt packing painfully beneath her fingernails. Though it hurt, she couldn’t stop herself. Tears ran down her cheeks as she thrust her fingers into the deepening hole over and over. Abruptly, the dream melted into reality and there she was, on her hands and knees, digging at the ground, feeling desperate to find what was hidden there, with no recollection of how she’d gotten there or why. Her fingers throbbed with pain. Snatching them from the ground she was shocked to find the nails torn and broken. Blood seeped from her wounds dripping into the hole at her feet.
A deep, unsettling fear gripped her. She crouched beneath the trees, the scent of the damp earth in her nostrils, fighting an almost overwhelming urge to run. Where could she run to? Which way was home? Sweat coated her body, pasting her nightgown to her skin. The deep darkness of the woods robbed her of most of her sight, making it impossible to see more than a few shadowy feet in front of her. Alarmed, she leaped to her feet, twisting this way and that in search of anything familiar to help her find her way back home.
In the distance, a faint light shone in the night. Like a moth to a flame, Augusta raced toward it. Unfamiliar sounds crept into her ears as she ran. Things moved in the dark, shuffling through the tall grass and leaves. Things she could neither see nor identify. The indiscernible creatures fueled her fear and sent her scampering through the trees as fast as she could without running face-first into a tree. On she went, heart hammering in her chest, hoping she was headed in the right direction.
Rocks poked through the soft soles of her slippers as she bolted through the woods. Branches tore at her face and clothes as she sped by, as if attempting to stop her flight. Augusta ran on.
Twice she tripped over an unseen root or dip in the ground that sent her sprawling. Scrambling to her feet she pressed on, fighting against the panic growing inside her.
To her joy, the beacon had been a light from her house guiding her back. With tears on her cheeks and a stitch in her side, she collapsed through the front door and hit the floor with a painful thump. Using her foot, she shoved it closed again. She’d lain there on the hard wood floor, breathing hard enough to make her throat raw, until exhaustion pulled her back into a black, dreamless sleep.
How long she’d slept, she didn’t know. Sunlight streamed through the panes of glass to warm her prone body and coax her awake. With stiff, protesting muscles, she struggled into a sitting position and surveyed her condition. Dirt covered her nightie, slippers, and the floor around her. It mingled with spots of blood on her nightgown where the branches had torn and scratched the skin beneath. Her fingers were filthy and bruised, the nails caked with soil and dried blood.
Staggering to her feet, she made her way to the bathroom, intent on taking a shower to soothe her aching muscles. She’d purposefully avoided looking at herself in the mirrors while she prepped for her shower, not ready to see the whole picture just yet. It was possible she felt worse than she looked and, after the hot water worked its magic, she’d be no worse for wear.
Now, shower done, she was happy to put off looking at her reflection a while longer. Instead, she allowed the steam to hold her image captive for a few minutes more.
With gentle strokes of the towel, she dried herself off, grimacing at the abrasions marring her tender flesh. The memory of the night before sent a shiver along her spine. A fresh crop of goosebumps covered her skin and crawled across her scalp. Huddled in the warmth of the towel, her eyes squeezed tightly shut, she waited for the chill to pass. It seemed only seconds that she stood there, teeth chattering, waiting for the warmth to return. When it did return and she opened her eyes, she found time had passed by her, unseen. What had seemed a few seconds, had in fact been closer to an hour.