Standing on the polished maple floor of the library, Amber Marsh stared at the portrait of Margaret Ashford and smiled maliciously.
"Good riddance, you old bat," Amber muttered.
The portrait was one of at least twenty scattered through the Town and Country mansion. A tribute by Margaret’s late husband.
"I hope the two of you are real happy," Amber said. "I know Nicky and I will be. Especially with all your money."
A twinge of jealousy nipped at Amber. How much had Nicky enjoyed this rich widow? She thought herself much prettier than the late Margaret Ashford. Still, there was something striking about the woman. Long, curled blonde hair, Amber’s was black. Deep blue eyes, Amber’s were brown. But of course, Amber was much younger, twenty-five years younger.
Margaret had been fifty-two when she’d died hitting her head on the diving board of her Olympic-sized pool one week ago. Well, she hadn’t actually hit her head diving. Nicky had done that. Amber smiled at the cleverness of her lover. Whack the old broad over the head, then rub blood on the edge of the diving board and drop her in the pool. A tragic accident. Had the police fooled, anyway.
Sap from one of the burning logs snapped. Amber jumped, then laughed nervously at herself. The night before Halloween. And all through the house not a creature was stirring. Especially not Margaret Ashford.
An antique grandfather’s clock in the corner struck eleven mournful notes. Amber continued staring at the portrait.
She gasped and backed away.
"No way. That didn’t just happen."
She swore the two-dimensional visage of Margaret Ashford had become three dimensional, and the eyes, which glanced askance had straightened, and stared directly at her.
She blinked and looked again. The portrait was only a portrait.
A hand alighted on her shoulder.
She screamed.
Nicky laughed. "Feeling a little jumpy?"
"Oh for God’s sake, Nicky. Don’t ever sneak up on me again."
"I didn’t. What are you staring at her for? Come on, let’s curl up by the fire."
Amber followed Nicky to the sofa. Only once did she glance over her shoulder at the portrait. She shuddered. The eyes were following her, she was sure of it.
*****
On the tenth stroke of midnight, Amber awoke. Nicky snored beside her, his head perched against the back of the sofa. Amber listened to the last two peals of the clock, then rose and padded to the kitchen to get a soda. She avoided looking at the portrait as she passed. Still, a shiver tap-danced on her spine. She could feel the eyes watching her, accusing her.
"Serves you right, chasing after a younger man like Nicky," she muttered as she crossed the foyer, her bare feet slapping on the imported limestone floor. She hugged herself, feeling cold, though she wore jeans and a heavy sweater. The wind howled outside. The swaying trees cast creepy shadows on the stained glass windows. She hurried through the foyer.
When she returned to the library, she paused at the door. Nicky was sitting up, staring at the fire.. She snuck up on him.
When she reached him, still undiscovered, she rubbed a finger lightly over his ear.
To her delight, he jumped and twisted around.
But then she grew confused as Nicky’s hard-edged face crumbled in fear. His eyes widened, his lips trembled.
"You. What are you doing here?" Nicky stood and backed away, toward the fireplace.
What Amber thought was, "What do you mean what am I doing here?"
But what issued from her mouth in a voice much too low and throaty to be hers was, "I’ve come back for you, Nicky, my love."
"No. You’re dead. You stay away from me." He stumbled on the hearth and threw his arms out for balance. His hand grabbed at the fire utensils. He found the poker and brandished it in front of Amber, then made his way toward the bookcase to her right.
"I’m warning you. Stay away."
"Nicky, what is wrong with you?" is what she wanted to say. But what she heard herself say was, "I’m here for you, my love?"
Amber started toward Nicky. She didn’t want to, but had no control over her own body. Nicky reached the corner and pivoted ninety degrees, keeping his back to the bookcases, the poker pointed at Amber.
In horror, she heard herself say, "I’ll give you everything, Nicky. You don’t need that little tramp. We’ll be happy together."
"No. You’re dead. This is a dream. Where’s Amber?"
Her brain screamed, "I’m right here, Nicky." But her mouth said, "She’s dead, Nicky. You killed her."
Nicky passed in front of a full-length mirror, set in an ornate carved walnut frame. Amber followed.
She glanced at the mirror and screamed, or at least she screamed in her mind. What she heard was cackling. In the mirror she saw a wan, older woman with wet, disheveled blonde hair wearing a flowing white gown. A woman taller than herself, with piercing blue eyes that glowed.
Nicky shrieked and raised the poker, then rushed at her.
She tried to throw up her arms to shield herself, but they would not budge from her side.
The last thing she heard as the poker descended toward her unprotected head was wicked laughter echoing through the room.
*****
When the police arrived, after being tipped off by an anonymous call which came from the Ashford residence, they found Nicky Carluto kneeling beside a dark-haired woman whose head was caved in. Blood formed a pool about the sobbing man. A poker lay beside the woman, the tip encrusted with hair and skin.
The man said over and over, "I killed you the first time, I killed you the first time."
If the police had looked up at the ceiling, they’d have seen a faint outline of a woman with a flowing gown and wavy hair hovering near the chandelier, a malicious smile stretching from one translucent ear to the other.
Copyright 1999, Brian Lawrence