Train Ride

  “Got it,” Celia said.

  Amy went back into the kitchen and poured herself yet another cup of coffee. She wasn’t quite certain she was up for this. She had practically mainlined caffeine since she’d pulled herself together. She felt nervous and jittery, even though the caffeine wasn’t completely to blame. She couldn’t get her mind off the portrait. Or the closet. Or the wedding dresses.

  She was hoping that doing this portrait for her friend - who was willing to pay as it was a gift for her father - might be able to take her mind off all that if only for the duration of the painting.

  “Wow!” she heard Celia’s voice from the studio. “Who’s this?”

  With trepidation, Amy turned to see Celia standing before the easel. She didn’t have to see the easel to know what was on it.

  Amy slowly walked into the living room but kept her distance from the easel.

  Celia took a few steps back but kept her eyes on the portrait. “She’s beautiful. Who is she?” she asked again.

  Amy was at a loss. She didn’t want to lie to her friend but wasn’t sure how Celia would react when told the events Amy had undergone the night before.

  “Amy?” Celia said. Her friend had gone extra pale upon seeing the portrait and this alarmed Celia. “What’s wrong, Amy?”

  Amy looked from the portrait to the concern on Celia’s face. She began shaking her head. “I have to tell somebody.”

  ***

  They sat at Amy’s breakfast nook in the kitchen, neither of them having touched their coffee.

  But it was not from fear or horror that prompted Celia to lose interest in the beverage. There was a light of excitement in her eyes and on her face: a radiance that was equivalent to the look of dread upon Amy’s.

  “This is so exciting,” Celia said her eyes almost feverish.

  “Exciting isn’t the word I would use,” Amy said morosely.

  “But don’t you see?” Celia said. “You’re experiencing a paranormal event.”

  “Well, I would much rather someone else experience it, thank you very much.” She got up from the table to pour her cold coffee down the drain.

  “Oh, come on, Amy!” Celia said as she got up from the table to do the same with her coffee. “Someone from the other side may be trying to tell you something.”

  “Or drive me crazy,” Amy countered as she refilled her cup.

  “Show me the room, Amy,” Celia said with an exuberance which grated against Amy’s nerves.

  “No!” Amy said a little too sharply. “I’m sorry,” she said when she saw the crushed look on her friend’s face. She poured more coffee into Celia’s cup. “It’s just that I don’t have any desire to explore that space.”

  “Look,” Celia said, setting her coffee cup onto the counter and placing a hand on Amy’s arm. “I understand that it’s scary. The unknown usually is. But all my life, I’ve wanted to witness or experience something paranormal. And now I may have a chance to.”

  Amy closed her eyes and sighed deeply. It was hard to resist Celia when she had that pleading look on her face. “You won’t let this go until you’ve seen that room, will you?”

  “Probably not,” Celia said brightly. “So you may as well not fight it.”

  Reluctantly, Amy said, “Okay. Come on.”

  Celia did her best to contain her excitement though she didn’t do so well. She followed closely on Amy’s heels as they entered the walk-in closet.

  Amy stopped at the lighted make-up mirror and pointed straight ahead of her. “There’s the door,” she said without any enthusiasm.

  Celia glanced at the door, then quickly to her right. “Oooh, these must be the wedding dresses,” she cooed as she pushed them back along the rod to get a better look. “Beautiful,” she muttered.

  “Yeah. There are only two now.”

  “But there were three, right?”

  “Yeah. They were hanging on a portable clothes rack just inside the door.”

  Celia eyed the door. “And you said the door wasn’t there before?”

  “I said I don’t remember the door being there before,” Amy said as she turned to place her coffee cup onto the make-up counter. She pulled out a drawer, took out a Scrunchie to put up her hair. She heard Celia open the door behind her. “Something’s blocking it from the inside,” she said. She turned. “It won’t open -”

  Amy felt the world tilt just a little.

  Celia, smiling, her eyes bright with curiosity, stood before the wide-open door.

  Amy was incapable of thought or speech.

  The door stood wide open. Open upon a blackness that was empty but was not empty; a blackness whose silence screamed in Amy’s ears; punctuated her heartbeat with a staccato Morse code; a blackness that Amy felt reaching for her; a blackness she heard calling for her; a blackness she knew would be bottomless were she to give herself over to it.

  A black abyss: bottomless, endless, tireless.

  It wasn’t just the absence of light. It was the absence of life itself.

  Celia reached inside the door and flipped a switch several times. “Well, there’s a switch,” she said, “but no light.”

  Amy said nothing because her throat and mouth were dry.

  Celia looked at Amy. “It’s okay, Amy. All we need is a light. And I know you keep a flashlight in your nightstand table.”

  Amy blinked and looked at her friend as though she were speaking a foreign language.

  “Hey! Amy!” Celia snapped her fingers a few times. “It’s just a room, Amy.” Celia glanced through the doorway. “And from the looks of it, an empty room.” She looked back at her friend whose face was more pale than usual. “Hey, Amy,” she said more gently. “I don’t think there’s a boogeyman waiting in there. We’ll go in and have a quick look around. Maybe we’ll find something that will give us a clue about what’s going on. Ya know?”

  Amy forced herself to swallow. Looking wide-eyed at Celia she said, “All right,” barely above a whisper. She cleared her throat and said, “But if there’s anything weird in there we get the hell out. Agreed?”

  “Agreed,” Celia said.

  ***

  There was nothing weird in the storage area. Unless emptiness could be considered weird.

  The walls, the floor, the ceiling were all painted black. Fluorescent light fixtures hung from the ceiling though they were void of bulbs.

  “See?” Celia said. “Nothing here.”

  “But there was something here, Celia,” Amy said, her face contorted with worry. “I couldn’t open the door past a portable clothes rack yesterday.”

  Amy and Celia walked to the center of the room until Amy stopped. She stood still and silent.

  “Do you feel that?” she asked.

  Celia’s brow furrowed. “What?”

  Amy stood perfectly still. They weren’t strong. Strong enough to feel through the soles of her shoes, but not strong enough to shake her.

  Still, Amy was shaking.

  “Vibrations,” she said, barely above a whisper. “In the floor.”

  Celia stood perfectly still, focusing her attention upon her feet. After a few moments, she looked at Amy. “Sorry. Don’t feel anything.”

  Amy merely stood. She’d had some electrolysis thingy years ago when she’d sustained a back injury. Little electrical impulses had stimulated the muscles surrounding her spine, forcing them to relax in an effort to decrease the spasms that had plagued her.

  The vibrations felt similar to that: little electrical impulses that traveled up through her legs and then along her spine, sending goose bumps skittering along her skin.

  “Can we leave now?” Amy asked her voice small and shaky.

  Celia started to protest but she saw the look on Amy’s face. She couldn’t remember the last time her friend’s face had been so pale, or her eyes so clouded with fear.

  “Okay,” Celia said. “We’ll go now.”

  Amy breathed a sigh of relief. She turned, her flashlight illuminating the far wall. r />
  “Wait!” Celia cried out. “Shine the flashlight back over there.”

  In the backwash of the light, Amy saw her friend pointing to the far corner of the room. With trepidation, Amy slowly shone the light in the direction Celia was pointing.

  There. In the far corner. Something small. Something shiny.

  Before Amy had a chance to utter a word, Celia was across the room.

  “No, don’t!” Amy whispered hoarsely.

  But Celia had already picked up the object. She walked back to Amy, her eyes as sparkly as the object she was holding.

  “It’s a ring,” Celia said, barely above a whisper.

  Amy was as captivated by the ring as Celia was.

  A large square setting sat atop a silver band. Centered in the setting was an elongated diamond-shaped, sparkling, brilliant blue sapphire. Each of the four sides of the sapphire was surrounded by a single diamond.

  “It’s beautiful,” Celia breathed.

  “Yes, it is,” Amy agreed. “No, don’t!” she protested as Celia slipped the ring onto her finger.

  Celia held out her hand. “Shine the light on it,” she said.

  Reluctantly, Amy shone the light out in front of Celia. Celia extended her arm, turned her hand this way and that, the gems capturing the light, reflecting back small, brilliant sparkles.

  It made Amy queasy. It was a beautiful ring, no doubt about that. And it complimented her friend’s hand quite well.

  But there was something about the way the ring sparkled; almost blinding, it was. Each time one of those sparkles caught Amy’s eye, a feeling of portent welled up within her: an almost precognitive sense that something was wrong.

  This ring belongs to another woman. But who?

  Why wouldn’t the door open with her mother yesterday? But it opened wide today?

  Amy looked back over her shoulder. Yes, the door still stood open.

  But she had a feeling it wouldn’t be open much longer.

  ***

  Amy paced back and forth beside the breakfast nook. She had finally convinced Celia to take off the ring and place it onto a spinning lazy susan in the center of the table between the salt and pepper shakers.

  Celia couldn’t take her eyes off it.

  I don’t understand what you have against the ring,” Celia whined.

  “It’s not that I have anything against it,” Amy said. “It just makes me feel uncomfortable, that’s all.”

  “But, why?” Celia asked as she picked up the ring. As she was about to slip it onto her finger, Amy said, “Please, don’t.”

  Celia winced but put the ring back where she had gotten it from. “Why does the ring make you uncomfortable?”

  Amy stopped her pacing and looked at Celia. “Well, let’s see. We found the ring inside a room whose door wouldn’t open all the way yesterday. A door I wasn’t even aware existed until yesterday. And a room which was empty today. And, according to the measurements we just took, shouldn’t exist at all!”

  Amy resumed her nervous pacing.

  After finding the ring, they had measured Amy’s room on the inside, all the way from one side of the room to where the door to the storage room stood. Then they had measured Amy’s room from the outside.

  The measurements matched perfectly.

  That suggested the room did not even exist. There was no room for the room.

  Celia chuckled. “Apparently that room breaks a few laws of Quantum Physics.”

  Amy stopped pacing again and gave her friend a downcast look.

  “Okay. Okay. I’m sorry. I’ll admit there are some odd things going on. But I don’t think you have anything to be afraid of.”

  “Oh? A portrait I didn’t paint of a woman I don’t know wearing a wedding dress that was in that room and has now disappeared?”

  Celia opened her mouth, closed it. Opened. Closed. She finally said, “Okay, I’m at a loss to explain that, but I still don’t think you have anything to be afraid of.”

  “Easy for you to say,” Amy muttered.

  ***

  Swishhhhhhh. Swishhhhhh. Swishhhhhhh.

  Again, Amy awakened to the feeling that something had just stopped. The air was filled with the anticipation of something about to begin.

  Just like the night before.

  Except that Celia was here.

  Celia!

  Amy jumped up from her bed and ran down the hallway, turning on the light as she went.

  “Celia!” she called out.

  There was no answer.

  Amy switched on one of the lamps in the studio. Its bright light flooded the studio and provided enough light for Amy to make her way to one of the end tables beside the sofa.

  “Cel -” She stopped as she switched on the lamp on the table beside the sofa. The pillow was there. A blanket was tousled around on the sofa.

  But Celia wasn’t there.

  She had convinced Amy to allow her to stay the night. Amy could almost see Celia pleading her final argument to stay.

  She was wearing one of Amy’s old Scooby-Doo t-shirts.

  “Look,” Celia had said, “if something happens in here,” she opened her arms wide to indicate both the living room and studio areas, “I’ll know about it. Keep your cell phone on the table beside your bed. If I see or hear anything, I can call you and maybe we’ll both witness it.”

  Though Amy wasn’t too thrilled about witnessing anything paranormal, she had finally relented and agreed to allow Celia to stay and sleep on the sofa. Not because Celia had made such a compelling argument, but because Amy didn’t want to be alone.

  And now it looked like Amy was alone again.

  But Celia had to be here somewhere.

  “Celia!” Amy called as she rushed into the kitchen and turned on a light.

  Celia wasn’t in the kitchen.

  Amy whirled around and ran the few steps up the hallway to the bathroom, knowing it was empty.

  She stopped one step shy of the bathroom door, her heart pounding, a cold sweat breaking out on her brow.

  She’d seen something in the studio. Something she didn’t want to acknowledge. Something she had to look at, but didn’t want to see.

  She stood in the hallway, taking deep breaths, steeling her nerves against the inevitable.

  She turned and slowly walked back down the hallway, her heart thudding in her ears, a lump growing in her throat.

  There. On the easel.

  Another painting.

  Celia was breathtaking in the wedding dress. The lace on the bodice and along the neckline was finely detailed: every stitch stood out. The background had darkened. A darker shade of peach, almost coral, but it was much more suitable for the pale wedding dress.

  And there was something else.

  The ring that Celia had found.

  But it was not on Celia’s hand.

  It was on the hand of the pale blond whose painting stood against the wall of the studio.

  Amy felt faint. How could any of this have happened?

  Though she was filled with dread, she ran down the hallway, crying and gasping. She ran into her bedroom, turning on lights along the way.

  She jerked open the sliding doors of the walk-in closet, turning on those lights as well.

  There was the door at the back of the staging area. It stood ajar.

  Amy walked slowly to the door, glancing to her right as she did so.

  There was only one wedding dress left. The one with the embroidered rosebuds.

  This knowledge chilled Amy to the marrow. She shuddered as goosebumps lined her flesh and skittered along her spine.

  Amy pushed on the door. But it wouldn’t open. As before, something from the inside blocked it.

  In the wash of the lights, Amy could see the portable metal clothing rack standing there slightly to the left inside the door.

  Quickly, she reached out and grabbed the door handle. She pulled the door shut and locked it.

  ***

  Amy wandered her apartment,
trying to figure out what to do next. She considered calling the police, what would she tell them? I think my friend is trapped in a painting? I have this room that appears not to exist and I think ghosts are living in there?

  Should she call her mother? But mother was a pragmatic. She didn’t believe in such nonsense.

  So Amy paced the apartment like a trapped cat.

  Celia’s cell phone still lay on the coffee table. Her car was still parked outside.

  And her painting had joined that of the blond woman behind the chair in the corner.

  Yet, each time she left the living room or studio area, there would be those paintings: Celia’s on the easel, the blond propped against the wall.

  The more Amy pondered the situation, the further away from answers she seemed to be.

  She did realize that the two paintings had occurred while she was asleep. They must have, because neither of them had been there before she had gone to sleep.

  Amy vowed to remain awake until she could figure out what was happening and what she needed to do about it.

  She made one pot of strong coffee after another. She watched television. She walked around outside.

  Drank more coffee. Checked the door at the back of the staging area. Sometimes it was ajar, even though Amy had closed and locked it. She would always close and lock it again.

  She talked to herself. She listened to music. She danced.

  She made it through the day. She made it through the long night. And most of the next day.

  But the human body cannot maintain this way.

  Amy slept.

  ***

  Swishhhhhhh. Swishhhhhh. Swishhhhhhh.

  ***

  Mom put her key in the slot and unlocked the door. She could not quell the growing sense of excitement she felt. She’d always loved finding treasures and sensed the extra storage room in Amy’s apartment might be chock full of undiscovered gems.

  “Good morning!” Mom called out as she entered the flat. She winced when there was no answer. Amelia knew she was coming over today to help her tackle the storage area. Today had been Amelia’s suggestion.

  Of course, Amelia was probably still in bed asleep.

  As she breezed through on her way to the hallway to Amy’s bedroom, Mom stopped.

  There, on Amy’s easel was the self-portrait Mom had been practically begging her for years to do.

  “Oh, how lovely,” Mom breathed as she approached the painting. She grasped it by the edges and picked it up for closer inspection.