Window to Hell

Dreams stalked her every night and this night was no different. She awoke with a trembling start, sweating, and found herself hanging at the edge of her bed, pulling the bedcovers at her throat as far as they would possibly go. She couldn’t remember one night when she had slept peacefully. This had been going on for more than six months since moving to her new home. Home? It wouldn’t be fair to call that crumbling piece of architecture as HOME; more like a shack sort of thing. But she was a freelance writer and writers didn’t get paid like doctors.

Annie Wilton was a 23 year old writer, who specialized in poetry and romance writing. She was a romantic dreamer basically; with her green eyes always trying to dig deeper into some far off land not known to mortal humans. People, who knew her, thought that her right place would be in one of those massive, Victorian palaces, with young, eager and handsome lads courting her and wooing her. Annie, with her long brunette tresses, was really a Victorian dream come true. But fragile as she looked, she was a tigress from within, with her own ideas and views about everything.

This night though, she decided to get to the end of it. Her patience was running low and she did need some restful sleep! Thinking thus, she said a quick prayer and settled down again, hoping for some sleep. But her nerves wouldn’t have it. Her hair kept standing on end as she thought of that dream time and again. It was nearly dawn when she finally dozed off only to be woken up by a strong, relentless thudding at her door. She reluctantly pried her eyes open, pulled her robe closer to her, and shook off her hair and the heavy sleep from her eyes. Walking towards the door, she looked at the ancient wall clock and was surprised to find out that she had been asleep for less than 20 minutes. ‘4:20’, said the clock and Annie wondered who it might be at this ungodly hour. 

Quickly sidestepping all the mess on the floor, never mind the clutter of newspapers which formed half of the mess, she reached the door. The thudding had ceased by that time and she stood frozen in time, thinking whether she should open the door or just let it be. It was an ominous hour, anyway. Thinking the better of it, she grabbed the savior pepper spray from her jacket pocket, just in case. “I wouldn’t have to use it for God’s sake. It’s just in case”, she kept telling herself but her dreams had her stomach in knots already.

Just when she held out her hand to open the latch, she was shaken to the core by a spine-chilling scream that could’ve woken the dead.  Forgetting all thoughts of decency, she threw her robe to the floor in a fit of anxiety and ran to her upstairs bedroom in her white negligee. Thud-thud, thud-thud, her door kept thudding and screams kept pouring in through a window somewhere in the house. She didn’t know where the screams were coming from and she cared the least for it. All Annie knew was that she needed to get to her room, her safe haven.

Finally reaching her room, she threw open her door and rushed inside, and bolted the door tight. How she wished she was living with her parents back in their safe town. How she wished she had someone to take care of her right now! Tying her hair in a tight bun, she looked around the small, messy room, and was just about to return to sanity when another shout rang out, stopping her in her tracks.

And then she saw with her heart in her throat, the figure of a girl who looked to be around 20, sitting at the edge of the window, staring at her. It so happened then that Annie was mesmerized by what she was seeing rather than being afraid.  They maintained eye contact for what seemed to be an eternity but then the girl tilted back a little just to plummet down to the ground. And there was the scream again; the hair-raising scream, just something like a cat scraping her nails against a blackboard.

Confounded, Annie ran to the window hoping she would help the falling girl, not thinking of who the girl was and what she was doing in her house, let alone in her room. But she knew it was no use rushing there as the fall wouldn’t take long, but was so perilous that even a person wearing a tin jacket would succumb almost as soon as he touched the ground. The reason being the vast patch of twinkling, jagged rocks that seemed to grow out of nowhere.

Peeping down with no idea of what to do if she saw the body, Annie drew a sharp breath when she saw no one lying dead or injured. She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. She was expecting to see a half-dead or dead young girl, lying in a pool of blood, with her body twisted by the fall. Annie felt her feet give away and she fell in a heap on the floor. She didn’t quite know for how long she was unconscious, but when she came to, she found herself lying in bed, with a strong gust of wind blowing and heavy rain pelting her window. Had she dreamt everything? This was the dream she had every night, the only difference being the young girl this time around, had green eyes and dark brown hair. “She looked just like me... come to think of it, that was ME”, thinking thus, Annie knew she wouldn’t fall asleep anymore and stumbling towards the bathroom, she fell to the floor and retched…

The next day, Annie tried to shake herself out of her reverie by pouring mugs after mugs of strong coffee. She had no clue as to what to do and she didn’t quite dare to go out or even stay at home. The phone rang many times and every time she let it go. Annie was drained in the real sense of the term. She wished she could go visit her folks back home, but also knew it would be a rebellion gone bad. Why did I have to be so rebellious, she thought now.

Gathering some strength finally, she set out of her house to a destination unknown, to find some inspiration from her surroundings. She needed money to sustain for another month, and she only had her writing skills to provide her with the moolah. And if she kept on at the same pace, she could see her dream to be an established writer going down the drain. So she walked and tried to sink in the surroundings which were picture perfect but at the same time lonesome.

At 7 that evening, Annie decided to return home, having been rejuvenated by her little excursion. She had a new skip in her step and felt a rush of adrenaline as she thought of setting up to write that night. She had new and beautiful ideas for many poetries and articles that she could write about the countryside of Abbey. Using her rusted key to open the antique lock, Annie sulked about her poor choice in houses. They had a perfectly pretty little apartment near the city but she had to come deeper into the countryside for God knows what! Creativity does this to people! It makes them lose their minds and chase after anything even remotely close to inspiration, she thought grumpily. The rush of adrenaline beginning to fade away, she struggled with the lock when finally she felt it give away and open with a sudden wheeze which made her jump. I need to get this entire house fixed soon, she thought to herself and got in.

Once inside the door, the sudden realization struck her that now she was on her own again. No more people who’d help her if something went wrong, no more places to hide where the dream wouldn’t seek her. With this realization came a dull, sick chill that struck her as something one would feel at a funeral. Something out of place and ominous... She trembled at the cold blast of air and felt her teeth chattering. Annie thought that when she made out her list of ‘things to necessarily do’, she would definitely put in ‘get some friends AND a life’ in the top five.

Feeling her way up the steps, Annie had a weird sense of not belonging and a pair of eyes poring into her back like scorching coal. She half ran and half stumbled the remaining way to her room where she decided to just lie down and pester over this annoying feeling of petulance. What could she possibly do? It wasn’t as if weird things were actually happening; she was just dreaming them. Then why did the dreams come freshly baked in a striking foil of reality? Why didn’t the dreams just feel surreal, like dreams are supposed to feel? Why did she have the same dream over and over again as if the girl needed to talk to someone; share her misery with another girl? Why did she see herself in the same terrifying situation yesterday? Did it mean anything? Was it a sign? She found herself moving towards the bathroom door and staring at her own reflection in the cracked mirror. Trancelike, she reached out and washed her face and when she pulled back up, she saw the most horrifying scene unfurling before her eyes. And she knew it wasn’t a dream… In the mirror before her, Annie saw the reflection of the young girl of her dreams, crying tears of blood. The girl would pull out masks from her face which revealed Annie’s face and her face alternatively. The mask was made out of twigs and dead leaves and wilting flowers. The faces would be contorted in pain and crying. The girl was repeating just one sentence, “They’ll get you too!”  And then to Annie’s horror, the girl’s movements became almost mechanical and so fast that they looked like fluttering butterfly wings throwing masks after masks of agony and secrets. And the scream again…which made Annie’s blood freeze in her veins. Finally alert now, she rushed outside and kneeled down in prayer…

For another half hour, Annie couldn’t help but feel scared and estranged. Then she thought she’d better gather her wits and set down to some serious work. She didn’t have much time before her creativity abandoned her and flew out the window. Thus she wrote, and she wrote vigilantly. But thoughts of that girl wouldn’t leave her and she started feeling drained yet again. What could dreams probably do to me, she thought, and this gave her some strength. But it wasn’t a dream, it was a real thing and Annie realized that. But still she sought some solace in the thought that whatever it was, it wasn’t harming her bodily.

She dozed off halfway through a story she had been writing to be woken up by the strong urge for a glass of water. Dazedly groping for the light switch, she made her way downstairs to the kitchen. Midway on the stairs, Annie felt the uncontrollable chill again. The desire to run back up the stairs to safety was niggling at her but still she couldn’t do that. It would mean giving up and Annie was no giver-upper.  “They’ll get you too!” screamed the ghostly figure waiting just at the base of the stairway, making Annie jump out of her skin. Annie’s head spun and just for a while, she felt like she was staring into the eyes of death.

The spirit, which Annie had now come to call ‘Tessa’ for apparently no reason, spun round and round on her heels. So dizzying was her pace that Annie just wanted to shriek out and rush outside. She felt tears running down her cheeks and warm liquid rush down her legs. Never had she wet herself even as a child and now this spirit had made her do the impossible. She was mortified and at the same time unable to shout out in fear. She stood still, unable to move and wanting so much to feel her feet for a change. Was she going crazy? Annie hoped not; she didn’t want to be the laughing stock for anyone back at her parents’ place. But how could she deal with something as bizarre as this alone? How could she deal with a GHOST she kept knocking into everywhere she went?

this time she ran; pulling herself together, she ran till her legs gave away. Opening the door to the world outside, which for once felt safe and sane, she scampered anywhere she felt the ghost wouldn’t follow her. Once outside, she found an open diner and thought of going in for a refreshing drink. Sitting at her booth, Annie decided to let rationality take lead. She couldn’t let herself go insane. She decided to give the spirit the chance to own up to its actions. Maybe it did need to say something; something that could help her in the future. Taking deep, painful breaths to steady herself, Annie gulped down her drink, paid the waitress and made her way hesitantly toward home.

She wondered if she could phone some of her friends’ back home and ask them to live with her for awhile. But as soon as she thought about it, she decided against it. She didn’t have enough friends’ first of all and however many she did have weren’t worth having around. For the first time in all of her 23 years, she pitied herself. Pitied herself for having a life fit for she didn’t know what; but not a normal 23 year old definitely. Sneering at her fate, she opened the door to her hell. 

The phone started ringing instantly as if it were on red alert to the sound of her footsteps. Startled, she rushed at it and picking it up said an incoherent ‘Hello’. Her spine could’ve been ripped out of her back at the sound of the voice on the other end, if it weren’t for her strong will.  “Annie, Annnniiiieeeee…!! Annie Annie Annie! They’ll get you too! BEWARE ANNIE!” said a shrieking voice which suddenly turned into a whisper saying, “Annie believe me, they did it to me, they could do it to you! I wasn’t one believe me, just like you aren’t one! But they’ll get you too!”

Annie was so dumbfounded that she could actually feel the bile rising up her throat. She wanted to throw up and yell at the top of her voice to leave her alone. Still she whispered into the phone, “Who on earth are you? Why are you doing this to me?  What do you want me to believe?” To this the voice replied, “Sarah! Sarah Sarah Sarah Plath! I’m not a witch…not a witch! They made me kill myself for they thought I was a witch!” Saying thus, the voice hung up. Annie felt weak suddenly and leaning at the wall thought the better of it. At least she had a clue as to what she needed to do now AND she had the right name of her spirit…

The next morning, Annie woke up and found herself in bed, which was weird as she didn’t remember herself getting into it. She felt mentally drained and as if she couldn’t take anything anymore. She just wanted to leave here and yet wanted to dig deeper into Sarah’s story. Why did she commit suicide? And why would THEY get her too? Shaking herself out of sleep, Annie made herself some coffee and got down to work. A nagging thought at the back of her mind led her into the downstairs storeroom. There she found a chest, laden with dust and rats and other insects scurrying around. She didn’t know she lived in a rat infested house and this gave her another reason to leave as soon as possible. Setting aside her coffee mug, Annie examined the chest and found out that the chest just had a latch which could be opened easily. Lifting up the cover, Annie was surprised to find papers upon papers of poetry and stories and personal accounts. Was Sarah a writer too?  Was that why she was deemed a witch? But who would be so ignorant as to deem a writer a witch? But looking at one note, she saw the date to be 3rd August 1878 and she knew anything conformist was decidedly possible.

Riffling through Sarah’s notes, she found out that her ghost was an extremely talented writer and poetess. The writing mostly was old English and Victorian, but it wasn’t difficult to understand or to read. Her beautiful handwriting curled in and out, giving the impression of tiny leaves and extravagant language revealing a passionate soul. Thinking that Sarah would’ve wanted Annie to explore the reasons for her dissatisfaction, she felt glad that she was trying to help Sarah rid herself of it. Maybe then Sarah would leave her alone.

Annie stumbled upon one particular note which revealed how agonized Sarah was. How she was growing weak day by day and had regular bouts of depression. ‘I feel weak like I’ve never felt before. Not physically, no, but emotionally. I want to grow out of my pain, but these people want me to go away. How could I just leave the place of my birth and go some place unfamiliar? I feel so depressed sometimes that I just want to die…” reading this brought tears to Annie’s eyes and she realized that she felt the same way presently and wondered if she’d end up the same way too. Get a grip girl, she chided herself and read further. ‘They think I’m strange because I’m not like them. Just because I explore and expose the societal limitations and failures, they think I’m a fool. They deem me a witch!  How foolish could humans be?!? How can I be a witch when all I do is write what I feel and know no black magic?” Annie now knew why Sarah had felt the need to alert her. Annie being a writer too, Sarah was afraid they’d lead her to a point when she’d kill herself. But how could she rely on a ghost?

Some more notes revealed that Sarah was shunned even in her closest circles; the people with whom she was brought up and considered her good friends. So many things in both of them matched that Annie felt a twinge of anxiety. People had started alienating her in parties, in school and even her parents wouldn’t have her around. Sarah’s only fault was that she had outgrown the limits prescribed by society and this compelled her to go insane and finally commit suicide.

‘They tried to pelt me with stones today; tried to kill me. They call me Sarah the Witch now. Children I played with call me the witch too. How much can someone oppress another person? I don’t even know if God is siding with them or with me. All I want to do now is die; but not by their hands. I wish I could die; if I’m badgered anymore, honest to God I’d just give up. There’s nothing else I could do…” read another note, and there were no notes after that. Annie spent the rest of the day reading and re-reading Sarah’s notes and poetry. She felt a sense of well-being just being in the storeroom, surrounded by her things and she felt Sarah watching her. She knew it wasn’t the end of their encounters and she was still scared of her. But right now, Annie knew that Sarah wouldn’t harm her. Annie was in the room where Sarah had all her precious belongings; Sarah would never do something that would blot the sanctity of the room.

Annie bolted out of the room just as evening fell, for she was suddenly afraid of the dark. She bundled up all of Sarah’s notes and left the storeroom feeling like an impostor and in an exceptionally dissonant mood. She knew she was crazy to even have read the notes and she knew she was going insane in the real sense of the term. Annie felt an uncanny resemblance to Sarah and though she was scared, she knew she was walking on the same path that Sarah had taken. She was going insane…

Later that night, when Annie fell into a fitful sleep, she dreamt of Sarah. Sarah running towards home in her long, beautiful Victorian gown, people chasing after her with jagged stones in their hands, Sarah getting hurt and bleeding… Annie saw Sarah opening the door and stumbling towards her room and finally while lamenting herself, climb the windowsill and plummet down to her death. This was Sarah’s way of telling Annie the rest of her story and this had such an effect on Annie that the next day when she awoke, she was a changed person. She felt queer and out of place. She saw everything but registered nothing. Annie thought about her parents’, her friends’ and work and felt disappointed. It was as if Sarah had taken over her. People didn’t call her a witch but they did pick at her because of her profession. They did call her strange because she exposed them in her writings. They did go against her in everything she ever did or said. And not just people, even her folks and friends. Annie felt lost and knew a nervous breakdown was inevitable.

She went out, and looked suspiciously at everything and everyone. She thought people were looking at her, taking in everything about her; her very essence. And she knew they hated her. Hated her for being different; for having different views about everything and wanting things differently. People called her a witch too, in their minds. “Oh look, there goes another witch now! Lord knows when Abbey would be rid of witches??” she could hear them saying. WITCH! WITCH! WITCH! Children called out to her from bustling courtyards and overflowing foyers. Parties went on but she wasn’t invited. She was deemed rebellious; not like the other shy, fragile girls from the society. In her mind’s eye, she was pelted at with stones and rocks that were jagged like the ones in her backyard… and she wondered if these same people planted them there… planted them so that when Sarah plummeted down, she died instantly; planted them so that when I do the same, I’d meet with the same plight. 

Annie had never felt so feeble before. But she could relate to Sarah, and Annie knew she was helping herself not to return to sanity but to leave it and move towards some bad, unfamiliar place. For some days after that, Annie suffered from high fever and no one came to know. She had completely isolated herself and was turning self-destructive. She didn’t eat, didn’t go out, and also failed to keep herself clean. But she never forgot to write. She wrote fervently. Sarah visited often and Annie was still so scared of her. Sarah always scared her; and Annie would be left trembling and in a mess. Annie wrote about everything; how she came here, why and what made her so vulnerable to situations. She wrote about Sarah and the ways she had broken her and made her feel troubled.

A few days later, Annie was woken up in the middle of the night by a persistent beckoning. It started with a whisper and went on till the voice became stronger and stronger. Waking up, Annie realised that someone was at the door and was calling out to her. Frightened now that THEY had finally come to get her, she groped for the nightstand and flicked on the light. Her anxiety got the better of her when the people at her door started banging at it and calling out loudly. “Annie open up! We know you’re in there! Open up!” hearing this, she lost her mind and finally left her bed to climb the windowsill. She sat there awhile, contemplating, while the voices below grew and the banging turned into a thunderous storm. Closing her eyes and thinking of nothing in particular, Annie plunged down to a tormenting death.

Unfortunately that wasn’t the end of it. Annie lay on the cold ground, whimpering in pain, and felt Sarah’s presence next to her. “You foolish girl! You let them get to you too eh? I knew I was a fool to kill myself because of certain deceitful people, but you killed yourself because of you! When I scared you, all I was trying to do was alert you. And you call yourself perceptive?  I wanted you to go away from this place, as I knew you’d never make any decent acquaintances here. I wanted you to have a better life as I saw myself in you. I could’ve lived on because of you. But you took my psychosis and thought that was how you were too! I was ill you stupid girl! You made yourself ill! You gave up a perfectly normal life. Couldn’t you have at least seen who it was that was banging at your door?  …it was your parents…who had come just to check on you. They were worried about you!”

Annie had never thought death would be so somber. It encompassed her in a deep sleep, like the lethal tentacles of an octopus…