Mask of Silver, An Arkham Horror Novel by Rosemary Jones

Author:Rosemary Jones [Jones, Rosemary]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Fiction, Media Tie-In, Mystery & Detective, Historical, Fantasy, Dark Fantasy
ISBN: 9781839080166
Publisher: Aconyte Books
Published: 2021-01-05T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eleven

We were hot and tired, and just a little sticky with pickle juice, by the time that we got back to the Fitzmaurice house. Lines formed outside the bathrooms. The hot water had definitely cooled by the time I could fill a tub. Still, it felt lovely to wash my hair and pull on my silk pajamas. I dropped into bed convinced I would sleep forever.

Instead I dreamed of coffins, masks, and endless rooms filled with smoke. And I was alone, terribly alone. I knew in my dream if I could find Renee or Fred, it would be all right. But they were gone. Everyone was gone. Mirrors reflected flames behind me and muddled the way. I came to doors that were locked or doors that opened into infinite darkness. Nowhere could I see a clear path out of the smoke.

Smoke smothered my screams. Muffled, blinded, lost, I wandered the endless and hostile corridors of the Fitzmaurice house. No matter which way I turned, mirrors blocked my way and taunted me with the reflection of a door, a door that I could not reach but that promised freedom and clean air.

I choked on smoke and despair. I never knew such sorrow, more bitter than when Renee held my hand and told me that our mother died. I never knew such terror, not even as a child, when the influenza pinned me helpless to my bed with fever and I was convinced that I would never be well again.

In the depths of each mirror swam the shadow of a woman, a strange and amorphous creature of coiling smoke, and a hooded man standing further away. I could barely see him. He was more of an impression, but I would catch greater glimpses of her the closer that I went to the mirror. Her hair spilled down her back, writhing like snakes. She was constantly walking away from me. When I would turn and hurry in the opposite direction, trying to catch a glimpse of her amid the fumes, I would confront another mirror and a vision of her retreating back.

The man never moved. Instead he watched us engage in this lunatic race, looking for the right way out of the smoke and fire.

Weeping with fear and frustration, I banged my hands against the mirror, almost as if the woman was on the other side of a window and could hear me. The creature slowed and then turned, presenting to me a perfectly blank face, an oval of polished silver that reflected flickering flames and my own frightened face.

I woke gasping and almost screaming, convinced that I could smell a fire. But there was nothing but darkness, a warm smothering darkness. As I groped for the matches and the candle beside my bed, I heard small cries and startled exclamations coming from the hallway. Finally a lantern shone outside the door of my bedroom.

“Jeany? Jeany, are you awake?” Renee stood there with her bedside lamp casting wild shadows up and down the wall.

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