Shards of Glass

The Victorian house sat alone on the hillside, a vast being spread over ten acres, with as many trees as windows. In its glory days, one would say that this mansion ruled the hill, perched atop it as a queen on a throne. The color of the house was a deep purple, the kind that showed in the Milky Way just before the sun’s light vanished from the sky. The most majestic feature of the mansion was not the presence, nor the decorations, but the grounds that framed the massive creature.

    It was upon the drive that led to this majesty that Malia Corlim found herself one day in late autumn. Her family had saved the house from demolition, hoping to create a bed and breakfast out of the dust and decay.  Where the city saw liability, the Corlims saw promise and potential.

    The Corlim family consisted of three members: Malia, who was 12 years old, and her mother and father, Suzie and Bill. Malia took her straight-as-arrow brown hair from her mother, but was blessed with her father’s green eyes. Both of her parents were of medium height, her mother being slightly taller, and so Malia was tall as well. She had freckles on her face, though not enough to be teased.

    Malia was anxious to see the house they were to be living in for the next few years, perhaps even the rest of her childhood. Her mother drove up to the house and parked near the front. As Malia got out, she thought of how lucky she was. No house could live up to the beauty and pride of this seamless creature. 

    Autumn turned to early winter. After the Corlim family settled themselves in, the Tomult House Bed and Breakfast was opened for the first time. The house consisted of thirteen rooms, two of which belonged to the Corlim family. The other eleven were rented out for a price, along with scrumptious breakfast and excellent service. Suzie was the chef and hostess, Bill the manager, and Malia the maid. This last fact was not exactly true; Suzie helped Malia as much as the latter helped the former.

    The first few days saw little customers, but once word got out, Malia couldn’t clean fast enough. One room became vacant, and so she cleaned it, but then another popped up, and she cleaned that one, and then another, and then…

    After a few weeks, Malia began to notice an eerie presence; something she couldn’t quite translate into words, but that her mind was positive existed. She asked her mother whether she had noticed anything strange, but Suzie was too busy to notice the small details like Malia did.

    The first incident occurred when Malia went to clean out the attic. The family had to put some unpacked boxes there, just until things started to settle down. There were about a dozen boxes that needed to be stored, and Malia spent the better part of the day wrestling and shoving them into submission. She accomplished half the task before lunch, but when she trudged upstairs to wrestle the other half, she found a box half-open. There were a few items scattered around, but the most peculiar thing of all was an open Cracker Jack tin. There was nothing inside, but it was the only box that had been disturbed. Malia brushed it off as unexplainable, but the peculiarity stuck with her.

    The next peculiar thing Malia noticed was the amount of “CJ’s” inscribed and carved on the walls of the attic. After a particularly heavy box forced her to take a rest, she sat down and leaned her head back. The ceiling was covered with the letters! They overlapped and blended like watercolors running in the rain. Here was an inscription the size of both her hands together, yet next to it was the same pair so small, that a magnifying glass would be almost no help in deciphering. Why would someone write “CJ” over and over again?

    As the weeks passed, Malia began to notice more things out of place, or turned a different way, or in some way altered altogether. She had heard of ghosts, but being past the age of naivety, she dismissed it as being just too tired from her various chores.

    She continued to think that way until the fateful day when she lost her favorite snow globe. She had received it from her now-dead grandmother, and it was a scene of a Hawaiian beach. The globe had no real special meaning, but Malia cherished it for a different reason. Snow globes were supposed to be of snowy scenes, and when Malia saw the beaches of Hawaii in this particular globe, she laughed. How could such a thing exist? It never snowed in Hawaii, but the oxymoronic nature led her to take the globe home.

    After searching endlessly around the estate, Malia decided that it was not a regular being that had snatched her globe: it was something far more sinister, something sneaky and rotten and conniving. Something like . . . a poltergeist.

    Malia and this so-called poltergeist met for the first time in a bathroom that was connected to a bedroom suite. Malia was charged with preparing the room to be rented, through a deep cleaning and airing out. This room had not been occupied in decades, and the amount of dust layered on every surface attested to this fact. This was where Malia saw the Tomult House poltergeist, or at least the after-effects of his presence.

    There was a massive four-post bed in the suite, along with a matching vanity. The vanity had a low center with two columns of drawers on each side. To complement each side, there were two mirrors that could rotate to the user’s choice, and one stationary mirror in the middle that was larger.

    All around the mirror edges, written in dust, were those letters again! Malia wiped away each “CJ” with disgust, sure that some little boy had found a way into the house and was tampering with her private property.

    Cleaning had become a habit for her, something that she focused on but that let her creative mind wander. After changing the sheets and airing the linens, Malia came back to the vanity. Her mother had demanded that the insides of the vanity must be wiped out, in case the renter preferred to use it over a suitcase. As she finished the last drawer, she stood up stiffly. She caught her grimy reflection in the mirror and laughed. Laughter soon turned into a blood-curdling scream as she saw someone behind her. The face was young and masculine, with sandy blond hair and deep brown eyes. Here was the young scamp who was tampering with her property!

    “HEY!!” she called forcefully. “What are you –?” She spun around as fast as she could, but the boy was gone. Confusion replaced anger on the canvas of her face.

    She looked back at the mirror, doubting herself. But no – there he was again! This time she didn’t bother turning around: she caught his eye and held it like a fly in a web.

    The boy smiled at her and she saw that he was about her age. His smile – one so innocent and genuine, yet so companionable – melted her anger in the forge of friendship. A bond was formed, as strong as steel and tempered like glass.

    “I’m Malia,” she offered timidly. “Wha – who are you?”

    “You may call me Cracker Jack, for that is the one name I remember, and I have taken a liking to it.” He was very well spoken for someone her age, yet there was nothing egotistical about his manner.

    “Well, nice to meet you, Cracker Jack.” Malia held her hand out, but blushed as she realized her stupidity. She lowered her eyes in shame.

    “’Tis a pleasure to meet your acquaintance, Miss Malia,” Cracker Jack replied quite courteously. Her blush deepened at this gentlemanly statement.  Here is a noble and intelligent soul, she commented to herself. I will have to learn more about him, even if he only exists in this mirror.

    Malia and Cracker Jack came to know each other better over the next few weeks. CJ would meet Malia at any mirror, and talk to her about her life and the world she lived in. He had the ability to appear in any mirrored surface, but the vanity was his favorite. He could only materialize here, in mirrors: in other areas, he was merely an invisible presence. Many a time, Malia spent her afternoons listening to Cracker Jack talk, and the same could be said for Cracker Jack. He was very curious about her life, almost as much as she was of his.

    The spring and summer days went quickly and as soon as school started, the bed and breakfast business slowed down. Oh, there were customers to be sure, but only a few and far between. Cracker Jack was depressed to see Malia gone, and sometimes took out his loneliness on the guests. Property would go missing, or vases would turn up smashed, or any number of other crimes. Suzie was baffled by the incidents, but Malia knew the real culprit. She tried to mollify CJ, but things became heated between them.

    “What do you learn in school, Miss Malia?” Though Malia had reminded CJ many times that he could call her by her first name, he continued to greet her as a gentleman would. This was a point of curiosity for Malia. He seemed so composed when talking to her, but when she was at school, the real side emerged.

    “Not too much, just some things about the presidents, and the names of countries, and . . .” She continued to list off her studies as the expression on CJ’s face became more wistful. Malia finally could contain herself no longer, and ventured to ask a question that had stumped her every time she pondered it.

    “CJ, what era are you from, and what did you learn when you were in school?” She could not believe she had actually uttered those words, but CJ wore an understanding look.

    “Well, I remember that Cracker Jacks were quite the popular item in my time. I’ve seen about 75 years go by in this house, and for whatever reason, I am stuck here. I intend to continue my education, though, by observing those who pass through this house on their journeys through life. I truly miss the tangible world, but mostly I miss reading. There is so much to be learned from the insides of a book, yet I fear that wisdom is now being silenced: these voices go unheard more often than not.” CJ finished this last thought with a sigh, so full of a mix of emotions that Malia felt her heart throb. She, too, loved books, and had often felt the same exact way.

    Malia went to school the next day, and though she tried, she could not seem to think of anything but CJ. How would she feel, stuck in that house forever? Would it get boring? What would she do for fun? Hundreds of questions crossed her mind’s center stage, and all sent her electron-powered brain spinning. She pondered how someone would become stuck in such a realm, and how to escape. This led to that, and then Malia had an epiphany. What if she tried to cross something over? What about a book? CJ had said he yearned for a good read, and she had many works she felt were the cream of the crop, and . . .

    Malia could not decide. She could not pick between one and the other, because both were so spectacular. She had to decide on a book to send through to CJ, and it came down to two in particular. Pendragon, or The Giver? Which would CJ be more partial to? True, he had yet to read either, but – here was an idea! Why not both? If one could be sent through, so could two, and if none, then she would just read them aloud.

    Resolved in her decision, Malia brought both books up to the suite one day after school, and the experimentation began.

    Malia tried everything, with Cracker Jack retreating to the edges of his existence sometimes in fear. Malia spoke magic words; she danced and shouted; she even tried to make up her own language of incantations. Nothing, absolutely nothing would work.

    Finally, Malia gave up. She had been so optimistic about the outcome, so joyous, so naïve! She snatched up The Giver and stared at it in defeat. Her anger traveled through her arm and ended in a pitcher’s throw. The book went sailing towards the mirror . . . and passed right through, hitting CJ in the chest. He caught it reflexively, but gasped in realization as he stared down at the cover.

    A book soon turned into food, and then a game, and then anything else that could possibly be exchanged. Life at the B&B was great for Malia, and her life was enriched by the tales of this strange apparition. Everything was going smoothly until Malia told CJ she had to go to camp for the summer. The Girl Scouts had a retreat not too far away, and she would only be gone for a month.

    Cracker Jack did not seem to take the news well. Malia could tell a storm was brewing, or rather a hurricane. She was torn between her feelings and those of her friend, until the day she asked CJ about how time existed in his world.

    She learned that time never stopped, nor began. That was the reason for his eternal youth. He had gone 75 years without aging a day, and this sparked something in Malia’s brain.

    That spark soon turned into the flame of an idea. What if Malia took some time off before going to camp, but not real time, just ‘ghost’ time? She could visit CJ on his side, and then come back when she wanted to, to go to the camp. He would be happy, and she would experience something new altogether.

    So the deal was made. She would spend a night in ‘Ghost Land,’ and then all would be decided from there.

    The night came to a close, and Malia bid good night to her mother and father. She began to put her pajamas on, and then thought better of it. No one would see her in ‘Ghost Land’ so why not just wear her clothes?

    The time had come. She was finally ready. CJ came to her excitedly, and whispered words of encouragement. She had always wondered how she would cross over from her world to his, but he claimed all you needed was a decently sized mirror and some faith, with a dash of courage for good measure. So, here was the big mirror, she had faith, and, (she hoped), some courage as well.

    Malia closed her eyes and walked out of this world into another one so different and strange in its entirety.

))=((

    Suzie Corlim woke up rather early the next morning, unsure of just why her internal clock had alerted her. She supposed that Malia had called her name, and after slipping out of bed, she crossed the room. Calling Malia’s name down the hall, Suzie felt apprehension build up. She was a firm believer in the ‘sixth sense’ and boy was it screaming to her now.

    After no answer from the end of the hallway, Suzie crept closer. It was early in the morning, but no earlier than Malia woke up for school, so she should be awake. As Suzie crossed the threshold and entered the bedroom, she gasped. A sickening feeling swept over her, threatening to engulf her very soul, potentially snuffing it out.

    Her favorite mirror, one she could see her full length in, was smashed into a million tiny little pieces, each smaller than the next. She had seen Malia wheel it into her room last night, but she had never expected her to break such a precious object! Right in the middle of the shards was the snow globe Suzie’s mother had bought for Malia during one trip to Hawaii. Malia loved the globe like it was her personal Earth, but it had been missing for some time now. Apparently Malia had found it, or in any case, it had turned up.

    Speaking of her daughter, Malia was nowhere to be seen. Her pajamas lay on the bed, still folded, and the bed itself lay unturned. The biggest peculiarity to Suzie was the fact that there was a tin that lay on the floor.

    Now what could her favorite snack be doing here? Granted, the tin was not filled with Cracker Jacks, but this should have been in the attic. Suzie picked up the container and set it on the dresser, unaware of the tiny screaming face housed in a sliver of glass.