Chapter Twelve

After the family talk, Ophelia went back to her room and sat there for a long time thinking about how much she would miss her father, and Will too if he was going to tag along. She knew the travelling would do wonders for Will’s mental health, if her father agreed to take him along, but she also felt a crippling sense of worry.

What if they mistakenly forgot one of the rules? What if they mistakenly break one of the rules? It would automatically mean goodbye Dad and goodbye Will… then what? Sam would probably break under the emotional trauma and they both would be condemned to staying with aunt Florence forever! –Not that they weren’t already.

Even at nineteen, Ophelia felt she wasn’t completely capable of being the one to hold the responsibility. For years, her mother had been the one holding up the fabrics of their family. When she passed away, Grace bravely took up the mantel, not once complaining. Without Grace, the responsibility had fallen on Ophelia’s shoulders and now she was struggling, and trying not to sink under the weight of all their secrets and enforced responsibilities.

Ophelia draped a blue silk cloth over Grace’s painting, not feeling up to finishing it, and not wanting anyone to gaze at her unfinished artwork.

It was only midafternoon and wanting to do something productive with her time, she decided to clean out the old music room next door. Their father was a pro with the piano so she wanted to clean and redecorate the room, so he could have a pleasant surprise when he returns.

The old music room was large. Larger than Ophelia had thought and she realized quite dejectedly that the cleaning would take a day or two. She could wait for the maid that came once in two weeks to clean the house, but it defeated the purpose of her intentions since their father would be back from his trip by then. Plus, she had nothing else to do.

Going back to her room and changing into shorts and an old band tshirt, she returned to the music room, this time taking notice of all the details in the room.

One side of the wall, a large mirror covering the whole area hid behind a screen, it displayed the reflection of the rest of the room when Ophelia lifted the screen and she vaguely remembered her mother in her ballet shoes and getup, dancing and twirling gracefully as their father played the old piano. The hardwood floor harbored particles of dust that had settled overtime, and the bleak marble wallpaper that had been there since she could remember was already peeling at the edges. The grand piano, violin set, vintage drums and harp were all covered with a white cloth, which had layers of dust.

Ophelia yanked down the thick black drapes that prevented the sunlight from filtering in through the large windows. A magnificent view of the garden greeted her and memories of running around the once perfect garden together with Grace, and giggling wildly flashed through her eyes.

She did a double take, tears coming to her eyes. Somehow, she had completely forgotten about that particular memory, but seeing the view made everything rush back to her. How warm the sun felt on her skin that day, how wonderful the garden looked and smelled, how energetically Grace ran through, beckoning Ophelia to follow her, how their grandmother smiled and stood at the very spot she was standing now, watching them with that mixture of worry and care she always had etched into her graceful features.

Ophelia didn’t realize she was crying until she heard the hollow sobs that rang through the room, recognizing her strangled and pained voice. She badly missed the women in her family, and equally wished they were there, standing next to her to comfort her.

It felt like hours later when Ophelia finally stopped crying and distracted herself with cleaning. She entirely immersed herself into the physical labor. She missed lunch, and when the sun sank, giving way for the moon, Sam called her down for dinner, but she told him to keep a plate for her, and kept working.

Finally becoming weary and exhausted, Ophelia laid flat on the now clean hardwood floor, admiring her work. The only thing left was to redecorate the wallpaper and clean out the chandelier, then buy brighter curtains so the sun wouldn’t be banned from the room anymore.

Her eyelids drooped, fatigue taking over, and slowly, Ophelia drifted off to sleep.

-

The first thing that pulled her out of the oblivion of slumber was the chill that settled on her bones, instantly making her shiver.

The sound of the piano playing caught her attention next and Ophelia shot up, wide awake. She blinked a few times to clear away her blurry vision, stifling a yawn in the process. Mozart’s Don Giovanni kept playing.

The room was enveloped in darkness, but she couldn’t remember turning off the lights. Unsettled by the eerie music, Ophelia got to her feet and rushed to turn on the lights.

With horror, she realized the gigantic mirror was left bare. Her face turned white when she looked at the reflection of the piano behind her, letting out a blood curdling scream.

The man playing the piano paused, and glanced up at Ophelia with a grotesque grin. His slender fingers kept moving across the keys effortlessly, and the sound of the piano amplified.

Ophelia froze in her spot.

She was dreaming wasn’t she? It had to be a dream.

“Rule number nine; cover all the mirrors in the house when not in use. Rule number ten; don’t look at mirrors between the hours of midnight and sunrise… Isn’t that what Susan taught you?” the man drawled out, his voice flat and dead.

Ophelia whipped around, a sense of dread instantly weighing her down. She wanted to run, but fear crippled her in place as the empty piano stared back at her.

“You can only see me in the mirror.” The man laughed, approaching the end of Mozart’s eerie piece.

Ophelia lurched for the screen that covered the mirror, dragging it down as Don Giovanni finally came to an end, silencing the tune of the piano along with the man’s haunting laughter.

The door to the music room banged open, and Sam barged in, seizing up his sister’s wild eyes.

“Are you okay? I heard you scream.” He asked worriedly, crossing over to her in large strides.

Ophelia flinched back, seeing the man’s features in Sam’s face. In a moment of confusion, she staggered back, her eyes still widened with fear, unable to recognize her brother.

“Lia, what happened?” Sam demanded, coming closer.

Recognition flashed through Ophelia’s face and she engulfed her brother in a hug, relief flooding every part of her body. Her limbs were still shaking and she gratefully held on to her brother, who was holding her up.

“Lia, tell me what happened.” Sam repeated.

“We –we need to get out of this room. We need to…” she mumbled urgently, pushing Sam towards the doorway and searching the room for the ghostly figure of the man.

“Lia, look at me. You’re having a panic attack. Breathe…” Sam commanded, keeping an iron grip on her shoulders and caressing her head like she does to him whenever he was alarmed.

Ophelia’s breathing finally slowed, and she stared into her brother’s eyes.

“Now, tell me what happened…” he insisted.

“Grandfather… I broke the rules and I saw grandfather…”