Alexandra Sokoloff - The Harrowing

Everyone was still. The indicator slowly circled under Martin’s hands.

Robin watched, paralyzed, squeezing her hands together on her thighs, subliminally aware of Cain’s hands on her shoulders. She suddenly thought, with clarity for the first time, Lisa wasn’t moving it. It wasn’t ever any of us. Then, oh God…what is it?

The letters appeared inexorably under the cut circle of the pointer.

Robin could feel the others craning forward, waiting, mesmerized, as the pointer’s circles diminished to barely a hover. Then a sudden burst of letters.

Robin stared at the board in disbelief, the letters, the word echoing in her mind. No one was speaking the words aloud now; they were all just staring down in numb silence. She had just enough time to wonder, Show us what? How —

Martin commanded, “Show us.”

Cain spoke instantly: “No—”

The planchette scraped violently across the letters.

In the hearth, the fireplace logs cracked open, showering sparks upward. All five of them spun toward the fire, freaked.

Robin caught movement out of the corner of her eye and glanced up at the mirror above the fireplace.

In the dark glass she saw a pale shape rushing forward, as if coming from a long distance, a tunnel. There was no time to scream, no time to react. All she had was a glimpse and then—

The mirror shattered.

Lisa and Robin screamed. All five of them jumped back as ugly glass spears shot from the mantel, exploding outward, shining briefly in the air, and then crashing on the floor.

No one moved. All five stood frozen, stunned, suspended in shock.

Patrick gasped out weakly, “Motherfucking shit.”

Robin’s heart was pounding in her chest. She could hear Martin breathing shallowly beside her, blinking behind his glasses. The room was utterly silent, the shadows long on the wall. Glass shards like knives littered the carpet, glittering in the firelight.

Cain was the first to move. He forced himself forward to the fireplace, stepping carefully around the razor-sharp glass. He reached out (Robin almost called out “Don’t!“ but could not make herself speak) and put his hand flat against the pale circle of wall where the mirror had been.

“It’s hot,” he said. His voice was far away, as if he were in a trance. “Fire must have…heated the mirror and it broke.”

Lisa toned on him, nearly shrieking. “What planet are you on? It just happened to shatter ? At that precise moment? Gosh and gollee yes—happens every day.”

Martin spoke, his voice dry, also sounding very far away. Or is that me? Robin wondered. Am I the one who’s far away?

“Hysteria,” he said, almost to himself.

Lisa went wild. “Don’t you fucking tell me I’m hysterical!”

Martin pointed at the broken mirror, cold and surreally calm. “That. Hysteria. We made it happen. I was reading accounts of similar occurrences under conditions of extreme psychological stress….”

His voice was flat, monotonous. But Robin noted with distant but crystalline clarity that there was an undertone there: excitement.

Patrick laughed uneasily, big and hulking in the half-light. “We all were pretty jacked up.” Beside him, Lisa looked dazed, disconnected, shivering. Patrick reached out, kneaded the back of her neck with a big hand. Robin felt a stab of jealousy, then a fragment of a rational thought. He’s used to hysteria. Because of Waverly .

Shadows crawled up the walls around them.

Robin heard herself speaking from a long distance. “I saw something in the mirror. Just before…”

Everyone looked at her in the dark, silent room.

“A shape…it was so fast…like something coming this way.”

The others stood, looking at her almost thoughtfully. They did not speak, perhaps processing. She almost thought they hadn’t heard. The candles flickered, and the logs hissed as they rolled with flames. We’re in shock, aren’t we? Robin thought. That’s why everything feels so frozen and far away.

Cain finally spoke. “Probably just the mirror bending before it cracked.” He nodded to himself slightly—Robin was sure he wasn’t aware of doing it—convincing himself.

Patrick put an arm around Robin. His arm was heavy, and warm, and real. She leaned into him hungrily, feeling her whole body against his. To the side of her she saw Cain turn away from them, but the body warmth, the heat of Patrick’s blood, the sound of his heart beating, the life of him, that was all she could care about.

Martin was speaking, his voice sounding detached from his body. “What were we all thinking about just before it happened?”

The others looked at him. Robin felt Patrick shift and was childishly irritated at the intrusion. Whatever Martin was getting at, she wanted no part of it. She only wanted to crawl inside Patrick and curl up and never come out.

Martin looked around at all of them, insistent. “I think we should talk about it, while it’s still fresh in our minds.”

Robin felt Patrick turn completely from her. He towered over Martin, who seemed half his size. “Are you crazy? After the way it went off on you?”

Cain turned on Patrick, the anger leaping from one to the other, electrifying the room. “And who was that coming from?”

Patrick whirled on Cain. “Say what?”

Cain faced him, hands clenched at his sides. “Whose subconscious was it tapping? Sounded like right-wing frat-boy bullshit to me.”

Their shadows loomed on the wall as the two advanced on each other, voices rising.

“You calling me out, freak?”

“I’m calling what I see, asshole.”

Robin suddenly found herself back in her own body, as if jerking awake from a too-real dream. She stepped quickly between Patrick and Cain.

“ Stop it . It’s bad enough, isn’t it?”

Cain and Patrick faced off tensely, glaring at each other over Robin’s head. The air crackled between them.

But then Cain stepped back.

Robin breathed an inaudible sigh of relief, and felt a stab of disappointment that it had not been Patrick to step down.

“Let’s all just…leave it. Get some sleep,” Cain muttered, glancing away from Robin.

Nobody moved.

The wind gusted outside, pushing at the windows, like an animal wanting in.

Lisa’s voice was flat, dead certain. “No way am I going anywhere alone.”

And Robin knew it was not enough this time for the two of them to stay together for moral support. Two girls were no match for whatever she’d seen in the mirror.

The five of them looked around at one another in the firelight.

“We could stay down here.”

Everyone turned to Martin, startled. He glanced at Robin. “Bring some bedding down…” His eyes indicated the floor, where the glass shards still glittered like daggers.

There was wonder in Patrick’s face as he looked at the smaller boy. “You’re way into it, aren’t you? You’re just itching for something to happen.”

Martin stared back at Patrick. “Aren’t you?”

Robin tensed at the challenge. Patrick bristled. The two boys stared at each other, Patrick big and hulking, Martin small but grimly determined.

Cain shook his head, disgusted, and started for the doorway to the hall.

Patrick suddenly called out after him. “Good luck with those pipes, dude.”

Cain stopped in the arch of the door, turned slowly.

The five looked at one another again, not moving.

She was dreaming… of chaos and fire… blistering, unbearable light, filling her, scorching her.