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Scene #4
She awoke suddenly, almost violently, throwing back the thin, white sheet and flinging her legs out from under the covers in one tightly controlled motion. She sat perched on the side of the bed, her slight form unmoving save for the uncontrollable tremors she couldn't contain. Her fingers dug into the edge of the mattress as she struggled to control her breathing. Her cotton nightgown clung to her skin, damp from the oppressive humidity of the summer night and her own unspoken fear. Against her chest lay the only piece of jewelry she had ever worn. Hanging from a delicate gold chain, the small, tear-shaped diamond pendant almost seemed to glow softly in the deep night. Her deep chocolate eyes stared unblinking into space, seeing nothing of the small room she had been residing in for the past three weeks.
When she had received the frantic call from her childhood friend, Cara Johnston, last month, she had been filled with anticipation despite the panic in Cara's voice.
"Rima, I need your help... I don't know who else I can call." Cara's voice sounded almost distorted indicating the depth of her distress.
"Cara, honey, calm down. What's happened? Are Jim and the kids okay?" Arima was instantly on alert. Cara never got overly upset. She was the calm one in their friendship, being Arima's rock when her life seemed to spiral into the absurd.
"What? Yes, yes, Jim and the kids are fine now. I sent them away after..." Cara became silent except for the slight sniffling and hiccupping of a woman desperately trying to control her emotions.
Arima impatiently pushed an errant strand of long curly black hair behind her ear. "Sent them away after what, Cara? What's going on?"
"A ghost, Rima. There's a ghost in my home, in my children's home, Rima!" The slightly hysterical tone was creeping back into Cara's voice.
"A ghost?" Arima repeated calmly. "Cara, why do you think you have a ghost in your house?"
"Well, I don't know. Growing up with a ghost magnet kind of qualifies me for recognizing these sort of things, don't you think?" Cara replied, waspishly. There was silence on the other end. "Oh God! I'm sorry, Rima! I didn't mean...I don't seem to know what I'm doing anymore." The quiet sobbing resumed.
Cara was one of the few people who knew about her special gift, or curse, depending on the circumstances. Cara spoke the truth; Arima did seem to be a ghost magnet. Ever since she could remember, apparitions appeared to her. There was never really an interaction with the ghosts. Arima was more of an observer; she could see the ghosts, but they never attempted to communicate with her. Cara always jokingly called her the ghost watcher as opposed to the ghost whisperer, a reference to a popular TV drama they both enjoyed.
"Cara, it's okay. I don't really know if I can help, but you know I would do anything for you. Maybe I'll finally learn how to whisper and not watch," she joked lightly. There was a small answering chuckle from the other end of the line. "Will you be okay for one more day? It won't take me long to pack and if I drive all night, I should be there by morning."
"Thank you, Rima!" Despite the tears still staining her words, a note of hope crept into her speech. "I really didn't want to bring you into it, but this ghost...it feels so wrong, Rima...so evil."
Evil. It's amazing how a few short weeks can define a word so completely.
As the events of the past few weeks flew through her mind, cold tendrils of mist began to twist rapturously across the floor, writhing around her feet, anchoring them to the hard wood.
"Aaariiimmmaaa!"
The wail pierced through the dark, chasing away the heat of the night and leaving in its wake a cold so deep it burned. The tendrils continued their malevolent journey across the room, wrapping around the small two-drawer bureau, heading for the full-length antique mirror situated directly across from where Arima still sat trapped on the twin bed.
"Aaariiimmmmaaa!"
The disembodied voice was an ominous presence in the room, seeming to incite the wisps of ghostly mist to extend its grip on Arima's form. It crawled up her legs and around her body, creeping slowly up her back. The black strands of her hair floated up, creating a macabre dance in the shadows. Arima's eyes flew open, the deep comforting brown now an opaque white making her pupils seemingly disappear. Her body began shaking uncontrollably, as the tendrils seemed to squeeze her tighter and tighter. On her chest the pendant began to sway slowly, its dim light now becoming a beacon piercing the darkness.
"Arima!"
This time the voice was different. It wasn't the ominous tone that had been haunting her for the past week and calling out for her in her nightmares. Cara's pleading cry broke through the tight hold the spirit had on her. Arima jerked her head up, fighting the phantom shadows. Her gaze flew to the mirror and what waited within. She screamed.
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