Nell tucked the phone between her ear and shoulder, “No, you’re not interrupting anything, I’m just finishing the dishes. Wait, what…” she took two steps back even as she held her right hand out over the sink. “What is that?” she asked, dropping the phone to the floor.

Murry called to her, but Nell was focused on her hand. She watched as a drop of blood trickled over her knuckles and dripped onto the sink’s center divider. She took another step back before realizing Murry was trying to get her attention.

Nell picked the phone up off the floor. “Sorry about that.”

“What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

Nell lifted her eyes to the ceiling and gasped.

“Nell, are you okay? What’s happening?”

“There’s… Well, this… A… There was blood on my hand, but I didn’t cut myself and…”

“And what?” prodded Murry.

Nell watched the stain stretch across the ceiling above her. “It seems to be coming from the attic.”

“You have blood coming from your attic? Are you kidding me?”

Nell didn’t answer. Her eyes were fixed on the red stain.

“Nell? Nell, are you still there?” Murry was frantic and his raised voice drew her attention away from the blood.

“Yes, I’m here. I’m fine, just… just really grossed out and more than a little freaked out.”

 “I thought all that was upstairs was your bedroom.”

“Only half of the upstairs is finished; the other half is attic storage space.” She watched another drop of blood drip into the sink, tinting her dishwater. “I’ve only been there once,” offered Nell. “The previous tenant left a lot of junk and I was too tired to clean it out. Then, I guess I just forgot about it.”

“Wasn’t the previous tenant suspected of grave robbing and plundering that old church on Pecan Avenue?”

“Why? Why did you have to remind me of that? It’s creepy and evil and…” another drop of blood fell into the sink. Nell shuddered.

“Sorry. Whatever happened to him? He just disappeared, right?”

“Yep, and that’s not helping,” she said, looking over her shoulder, just in case.

“How do you even get in the attic?”

“The door’s behind the bookcase in the hall.”

“So, you really didn’t want to go back in there.”

“Um, nope. It’s dusty and creepy and, well…” Nell laughed.

“What’s so funny?”

“There’s a full-length mirror up there. I screamed and jumped at my reflection. It was kind of funny. It was followed by scratching and scurrying, though, and that’s when I ran out, closed the door behind myself and I haven’t been up there since. I guess one hungry rodent got another.” The thought made her stomach do a flip-flop. She looked up at the ceiling again. It was a lot of blood. The stain was over two feet wide already.

“Maybe. We should probably go up there and take a look, stem the bloodletting and clean it up. Otherwise you’ll be smelling it soon. Let me get dressed and I’ll be over.”

“Thank you. Will you help me pull out that mirror while we’re up there?”

“Sure. See you in a few.”

Nell tucked the phone in her back pocket and looked around anxiously. The least she could do was clear off the bookcase and push it out of the way before Murry arrived. She turned to the drawer behind her, pulled out the only flashlight she had, and headed for the stairs.

At the foot of the stairs something caught her eye. Nell turned to the wall. A series of geometric shapes, each with a small mirror in the center, were spaced regularly along the stairwell. Her reflection startled her. There was a drop of blood above her right eye. How had she not felt it land on her? She wiped at it with the cuff of her shirt before screaming and doubling over in agony. It was as if a knife had slashed across her eye. The pain was sharp, like fire searing through her flesh, but fleeting. After a moment, it was as if nothing had happened. No residual pain lingered. Nell shook her head. Her imagination was getting the best of her. It had felt so real though.

She hurried to her feet, smoothed her clothes back into place and started up the stairs. She tried to shake it off and laugh at herself, but she was unnerved and shaky. After a couple of steps, Nell glanced into the next mirror and froze. A thick, white scar cut down the middle of her right eyebrow and eyelid all the way to her cheek. Nell winced in surprise and horror, pushing the scar up into a tight round knot on her cheek, the period beneath an exclamation point. Her terror perfectly punctuated on her face.

Slowly, apprehensively, she traced the scar with her fingertip. It felt strangely familiar. She closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath. The blade that carved the scar flashed through her mind and glinted in the light that lingered in the far recesses of a memory not her own. Nell screamed. She was thrust hard into the wall behind her as a fiery agony burned through her left shoulder. For a moment, she thought she was going to lose consciousness. As she gasped for breath amid the confusion and pain, Nell realized she couldn’t move her left arm. She could feel blood seeping over her clothes, warm and sticky, but as she stared at her lifeless limb, willing it to move, she saw no sign of injury. Nell closed her eyes and tried to slow her breathing. After a couple of breaths, the pain was gone and, just as before, no discomfort lingered. Her arm felt perfectly fine.

What was going on? Was she losing her mind? Nell pulled the collar of her shirt down over her shoulder and found herself staring at a thick, pink scar. It’s not real, she told herself. None of this is real. Nell forced herself to her feet once more and clung tightly to the handrail. This was crazy. She knew she had an overactive imagination, but she was really outdoing herself this time.

Nell took a couple steps. A streak of brown caught her eye in the mirror near the top of the stairs. She turned and looked at her reflection. She blinked. The eyes that stared back at her were not her own. Her eyes were blue, but the ones reflected in the mirror were dark, deep pools filled with… She shuddered. A chill raced down her spine and goosebumps prickled up over her skin. Her straight blonde hair was gone, too, replaced with wild, dark brown curls.

Nell reached out toward the small mirror, wondering what kind of trick of the mind she was suffering from. She watched, mesmerized, as her own hand inched toward the mirror, reality and its unknown reflection working in tandem. It was her, but it wasn’t. It wasn’t possible. She pulled her trembling hand back and watched as it once again ran a finger along the scar over her eye. Who was in the mirror? She tugged at a ringlet of hair near her face, straightening it out before letting go and watching it curl back up with a bounce. A tear slipped down her pale, no longer sun-kissed cheek. What was going on?

Again, she reached toward the mirror and the tear-stained eyes of the stranger stared back at her, confused and frightened. When her finger touched the reflection, the glass shattered. A shard pierced her palm. She could see the point jutting through the top of her hand, but there was no blood. She could feel the burning, the agony, but there was no blood.  A rage filled her that was beyond anything she had ever known. It pushed the pain aside. Her heart raced. She ran to the bookcase and despite the long piece of glass poking through her hand, she threw the books from the shelves. When it was empty, Nell pulled the bookcase over and pushed it down the stairs.

The door to the attic was closed, but she could feel the cold on the other side. Where was the flashlight? She must have dropped it on the stairs. Nell pushed the door open and flipped on the light. The solitary bulb cast a dim light in the center of the cluttered, dusty room. The rage that had overwhelmed her subsided. What was she doing in the attic? Her plan had been to wait for Murry. She looked down at her hand and screamed. It didn’t hurt, but there was a shard of glass pushed through it.

Nell walked to the center of the room and stood beneath the bare lightbulb that dangled from an exposed beam. She drew her hand up close to her face. There was no blood. Not a drop. She sucked in a breath and pulled out the glass. Again, she screamed, but the pain was fleeting. Nell examined the scar. Like the others, it appeared as if it had been there for a long time. It too felt familiar.

What was going on? What was happening to her? As she looked around the room, her eyes fell on the old, upright mirror. It was pushed against the back wall and shrouded in black.

Nell moved toward the mirror slowly. Had it been covered? No, it hadn’t, she was certain, because it had been her reflection that had startled her before. Also, she thought it had been by the door. She looked over her shoulder and there was a void in the dust near the door. She shook her head; her mind was getting away from her. She inched closer to the mirror and the dim light cast shadows over the creases in the fabric. Nell reached out and felt the material; velvet, and there wasn’t a speck of dust on it. Again, she looked over her shoulder. She was still alone. Why hadn’t she waited for Murry? At least he could laugh at her and make this amusing. She considered running, but… she pulled the fabric off the mirror quickly and flung it to the floor. Metal buckles clattered as they hit the floorboards and Nell realized it wasn’t a large piece of material, it was a hooded cloak. The noise startled her and she stared at the strange garment. Where had it come from? None of this made any sense. She poked at it with her foot and saw it was lined with blood red satin.

A chill ran down her spine.

Nell turned back toward the mirror. The air caught in her chest. It wasn’t a mirror; it was an old stained-glass window. The Witch of Galgreith was inscribed in a banner across the top and below it, in neat block letters, June 16, 1716. Nell blinked in confusion and disbelief. That was three-hundred years ago, to the day. She shook her head and stared at the image below the date. It wasn’t possible? The Witch of Galgreith looked like the reflection she had seen in the mirror on the stairs. How was that possible? She inched closer, straining to see in the dim light. Everything went blurry. She felt fuzzy and tingly. Nell blinked and tried to focus. Now, the Witch of Galgreith looked like her, the real and actual her, right down to the long shard of glass she was still holding in her hand, only…

Nell leaned in for a better look. Blood was dripping from the point of the shard, running down the stained-glass image of her, over the peeling wood frame and pooling on the floor. Nell felt queasy and confused. Her chest burned and she coughed. She coughed hard, gasping between coughs, like she was suffocating… like she was drowning. She began coughing up water. Fear overwhelmed her. Nell screamed. The stained-glass window shattered. Brightly colored shards of glass burst forth with a power that shook the entire house. Glass pierced the walls and anything and everything that had been in its path.

Nell fell to the floor.

The doorbell rang.

When there was no answer, Murry pushed the button again and followed it up with three quick raps on the door. Still, there was no answer.

He fished the keys from his pocket and opened the door. “Nell,” he called out. “Nell, it’s just me. Everything okay?”

In the distance, he could hear dripping water.

Murry bounded through the living room and stopped in the doorway of the kitchen. Blood dripped from the ceiling into the overflowing sink. Murry balked, startled, before turning and running toward the stairs. “Nell! Nell, are you alright?” he called out, as he made his way over the books and splintered bookcase that littered the stairs. Near the top, he caught the edge of a book and missed a step, crashing down hard on one knee. The pain was excruciating, but he hurried to his feet and tried to catch his breath.

At the top of the stairs, Murry eyed the broken mirror and called out for Nell again.

Still, there was no answer.

Panic washed over him as he hobbled along the hallway and stumbled into the attic. “Nell, you’re…” he trailed off, as a young woman in a black cloak turned around. Her dark curls were tucked under the cloak’s hood and the white of her complexion against the black velvet made her seem other-worldly, almost ghostly.

“Who…who… are you?” he stammered, surprised and still trying to catch his breath.

“Who are you?” asked the woman.

“I’m a friend of Nell’s, her boyfri…” his eyes caught sight of the stained-glass window behind her and he trailed off. Grasping for words and understanding, he pointed. “That… That looks like…”

The young woman smiled and waited patiently.

“I don’t understand. What does it mean by Witch of Galgreith? And where’s Nell?” he asked, moving closer to the stained-glass and trying to believe his eyes.

She offered a half shrug and a coy smile. “One man’s witch is another man’s discarded lover, but of course you don’t understand. You couldn’t possibly understand,” she said soothingly.

Her smile sent chills down his spine, but still he needed to be closer. He turned back to the stained-glass with its image of Nell, but now all he saw was his own reflection in an old, spotted mirror. “Wait, no! Where is she? Where’s Nell?” he demanded.

“Nell? I don’t know who you mean.”

“Who are you? Where is Nell?” demanded Murry.

“Who am I? Who am I?” she screamed. “Imagine… Imagine being discarded, discarded in favor of the governor’s daughter,” she laughed, but it was hollow and strange, like ice breaking apart, “a foolish, vain and malicious girl.”

“I don’t understand. I don’t know what you’re talking about. I just want Nell,” said Murry, as he took another step toward the mirror.

“Then, to be called a witch and tried for practicing the craft. To be drowned, so that your secrets would drown with you. Imagine waiting three-hundred years for another foolish and vain girl to come along?”

“What are you talking about?” asked Murry, now only inches from her and the mirror. He touched a finger to it. It really was only a mirror. Nell was gone. “Where is she? Where’s Nell?”

“I am Nell,” she said, drawing his attention back to her.

Murry turned in time to watch her tuck back a strand of blond hair. His mouth fell open, but he couldn’t form the words. He glanced at the mirror; it was stained-glass again. Now, the Witch of Galgreith was a brunette, with curls and…

Unconsciously, Murry took a step back. He looked from the stained-glass to the woman in the black cloak. “Nell, I don’t understand. What’s going on? Why are you…”

Nell raised her right hand, a glint of light reflected off the long shard of glass, Murry’s scream filled the dusty attic.