Snap. Crack
Something falls off the shelf
Intrigued, I go to see
The new fresh hell
.
It’s the small, antique book
The one from the basement
I never brought it upstairs
But here it lies on the cement
.
It’s held open to page one hundred
By a broken shard of glass
The glass from the oval mirror
And in it I see an eye pass
.
I’d know that eye anywhere
I’m haunted by it to this day
It’s the old lady back to
Terrify me in a new way
.
She looks down the script
And the line below blazes into a fire
Slowly I bend down to read,
“You cannot escape forces that conspire”
.
Even more startling
Is the photo on the very same page
A happy couple with three small children;
The girl with a music box by her rib cage
.
The photo disappears in smoke
And the eye in the glass is gone
I’m left with a burning book and an image
Of people who never left, who live on
.
"Where did this book come from?"
I ask as it smolders on the floor
Before I can ponder an explanation
There's a knock from Sheila at the door.
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©ElizabellaJones
