Mind Over Matter
by Angeline Hawkes-Craig

Clarissa stared into the mirror at the reflections of the things behind her: chairs, rugs, tables, and the usual items one would put in a large, spacious hallway. The mirror seemed hauntingly beautiful and unusual. Clarissa sat down on the floor and studied the hall. The house had been built prior to the Civil War, and located deep in Georgia; it was a typical plantation home. Six years had been spent by an army of workers to restore the nearly dilapidated home. Miraculously it had survived the war, but it changed hands over and over again, until finally it was allowed to fall into disrepair. It was told around childhood campfires that the original family who lived in the house had encountered strange and unnatural events.

Clarissa exercised everything within her power to have the house restored to its exact original state, except for the cleverly hidden electric modern conveniences. The wiring and lights were so authentic looking that one could walk right out of one time period and into the other and the house would be nearly oblivious to change. This gave her a wonderful idea! She would host a costume ball with a Civil War theme. There would be full skirts, hoops and Confederate uniforms! A welcoming party for the rebirth of this grand house!

Clarissa stared into the oval mirror and stroked the gold rim around it. The mirror was the only original piece of furniture left in the house. It was obvious that the Union soldiers had attempted to pry the frame from the wall to no avail. The wall around the mirror had been rebuilt to cover the damage done by the soldiers several times. Clarissa finally had it done properly and now no damage could be detected. The mirror had been polished and refilled in places to return it to its former glory. Something about this beautiful mirror seemed to hold the house together. The mirror was the core of the house; the house’s soul.

Strolling down the hall and gazing into the rooms, Clarissa smiled at the curtains blowing on the breeze. Certain rooms were more enchanting than others, but they were all enticing. Clarissa stopped at the end of the hall and looked back down the long hallway leading to that luxurious mirror. That mirror stirred her spirit because it had been here for so long. It had reflected whatever had been placed before it, no matter what era. Clarissa sighed and descended the stairs to the front hall.

She had employed a whole company of maids to live on the premises and care for the house. She did whatever her heart demanded. Her inheritance was nearly endless, no dependents, no relatives; just her and her money. She was an idealist and hated to dwell on the unpleasant things of life, so she pushed those thoughts into the abyss of her mind.

She walked into the study. The invitations had been mailed, and she had to arrange the other preparations necessary to make the gala event unforgettable.

The day of the big event finally arrived. Everything was in perfect order. Clarissa stood in front of the hall mirror in her emerald green gown. The glow of the chandelier lit-up the mirror. She whisked around in a full circle, watching her skirt fly on the air. Everything was perfect. Clarissa stared at herself with a half-smile creeping silently across her face. She looked ravishing. Her poise and charm would carry off tonight as if she herself belonged to this home and had never known the modern age. She laughed.

"Better not be getting down on dat flo, the missus have my hide if youse git dat dress mussed up." A voice behind her reprimanded.

Clarissa spun around to see who was behind her. There was nobody. Just a breezy hall and the soft glow of lights in the shadowy hallway. Clarissa ran down the hall and stuck her head into each room. They were empty, silent and waiting for their guests. Clarissa stopped suddenly at the end of the hall and looked back at the mirror. She caught her hazy reflection and the figure of a plump, black woman going towards the stairs. Clarissa ran to the mirror. The mirror was suddenly vacant of all reflections except her own.

"Oh, no you don’t, Clarissa Eustace! Scarin’ yourself like this, just because of some spooky old hallway! That," Clarissa shook an elegant finger at the mirror, "Is simply an old mirror and there is no one up here but you." Even so, Clarissa stared, still shocked at the mirror. Talking out loud like this! What would the hired help think if they overheard? Clarissa laughed.

It is a curious thing, how people allow objects to dictate to their lives. The way a person can become utterly obsessed with something to such an extent that their reality becomes blurred. The mind is a powerful force with many unexplainable abilities.

Clarissa ran the brush through her auburn hair and twisted it up in a French Twist. The band was setting up and practice scales drifted aimlessly up through the floorboards. She cocked her ear and she could hear the petty bickering of maids, caterers, and decorators all finalizing their last touches. She smiled and flipped off the light. This was going to be a night to remember!

When the butler showed the first guest in, she was ready. She knew what to say and what to do. The guest was dressed in a Confederate uniform. He smiled broadly, and tipped his hat to her.

"Good ev’nin, Mr. Addison." Clarissa played up her already distinct Georgian accent.

"And, a good ev’nin to you too, Miss Clarissa." Robert Addison bowed so low that Clarissa had to restrain her laughter. Rob was one of the rowdiest and fun-loving men in society, yet here he was behaving like a perfect gentleman. He was doing it for her. He was acting the part of the gallant soldier so she could play the part of Southern Belle. Clarissa smiled and whisked him off with a drink as she ran to greet the flood of guests now arriving. Soon, the ballroom was full of swishing gowns and cheery chatter. The music flowed from the band’s corner and created a picture perfect scene. Everything was as it should still be. Ladies mingled with brave men in uniform, laughing and drinking together against the background of a magnificent house. Clarissa tried to push the reality out of her mind and play like it really was a long ago era. Those real southern belles, the ones who had long since been buried low in the ground, they were all beautiful once and had chatted cheerfully with brave men in real uniforms who probably never saw them again until they met in death.

"Clari! For God’s sake, girl!" Geoffrey Delaney broke her daydream, "You certainly look ravishing!"

Clarissa stared at him blankly. "Oh, ev’nin, Geoff, you caught me lost in one of my daydreams."

"Well, with a hundred beautiful women around here, it’s easy for a man like me to get caught in a senseless stupor, but what is your excuse?" Geoff laughed loudly.

"It’s the liquor, Geoff." Clarissa tried to make a joke. "How’s life treatin’ you?"

"That doesn’t sound like something a belle would say tome, shouldn’t you say, "And how are things progressing, Mr. Delaney?" Geoff laughed, "I mean, that is why you invited all of us here tonight, isn’t it? So, you could play the southern belle and we could all play the brave soldier? Really, it is quite clever of you."

Clarissa sensed some sarcasm in his voice. You had to be careful how you read Geoff, sometimes he was serious when he seemed like he was joking. Other times he was joking when he seemed like he was serious. Drove her batty.

"Oh, really, Geoff! I just wanted everyone to have a fun time." Clarissa smiled.

"A fun time? Coming to the party or seeing the house you shot a wad on?"

"Well, the house did have a part in the motive behind the party. It is a part of our heritage." Clarissa waved her hand in a sluggish way.

"You mean that it is a part of YOUR heritage." Geoff corrected.

"What does that mean?" Clarissa asked puzzled.

"One. If it has your money in it, you set out to make sure we all are aware of our heritage so that we may partake in the showing off of whatever it is that is part of our heritage. Two. I am from Boston and feel quite out of place in this uniform." Geoff unbuttoned the brass button at his neck.

"How could you be from Boston? You’ve been here all your life." Clarissa reached up and buttoned his collar.

"No. I moved here when I was a kid. If you recall we met in the sixth grade." Geoff smiled.

"Well, I guess I’d forgotten. Hey, speaking of being a kid, do you remember the stories we used to concoct about this old place?"

"Like truth or dare?"

"No one ever would spend the night here. Although I’m sure there were some who did and we never knew about it!" Geoff said with a wink and a smile.

"I’ve been wanting to show you something. It’s upstairs." Clarissa pulled at his sleeve. She threw a quick glance over her shoulder to check the guests and ran up the winding stairs with Geoff in tow. Geoff pounded up after her in his clunky boots.

"What do you want me to see?" Geoff looked around the hall.

Clarissa led him to the mirror. "This."

"The mirror?" Geoff asked staring at the large oval mirror on the wall. "I don’t see anything special about it. Just a mirror."

"But, look at it, Geoff!" Clarissa touched the frame. "This mirror was here since the house was built. This mirror has reflected things we have never seen. This mirror is history."

"It’s real nice." Geoff tried to sound a little enthusiastic for Clarissa’s sake.

"You don’t like it?" Clarissa wailed.

"I like it. I just don’t see what the fuss is about. It’s just a mirror." Geoff shrugged.

"It’s not just a mirror." Clarissa leaned against the glass. "It reflects things that aren’t there."

"Now, what do you mean by that?" Geoff laughed.

"It reflects things that aren’t there. That don’t exist. Like tonight. I was looking at myself and suddenly, there was this black woman behind me scolding me about keeping my dress clean." Clarissa said matter of factly.

"So, the mirror lets you hear things too?" Geoff chuckled.

"Yes."

"And, I suppose this woman had a pancake syrup bottle and a kerchief on her head too? Come on, Clair, you’re letting this house get to you. This sounds ridiculous. Things like this don’t happen." Geoff shook his head.

"But, I heard her!"

"You heard her, great." Geoff said with a grin.

"You’re making fun of me!" Clarissa frowned.

"Clari, this is stupid. You have a whole room of people down there and

you’re up here filling my head with ghost stories." Geoff took her gently by the shoulders.

"It happened!"

"I tell you what! I am going to examine this mirror, right in front of your face, and I will prove to you that this is just an old mirror. A pretty one, but just a mirror." Geoff started checking the mirror.

"Geoff, the lights. Why are they flickering?" Clarissa stood in the shadows of the hall, looking towards the stairs.

"No wires. No magic devices on the mirror. It’s just your imagination." Geoff straightened up. "Hey, the lights are flickering." Geoff stared at the lights on the walls in their glass gloves.

"That’s what I said." Clarissa clutched his arm.

Geoff walked closer to the light and peered into the glass globe. He sighed in relief. With a laugh he came back to Clarissa.

"I know you want to relive the past and all, but really, Clari, real candles are a bit too realistic. Besides, don’t you think it’s a fire hazard?"

Clarissa ran over to the light. "Real candles? This house is electric. I might be idealistic, but I’m not stupid." Clarissa blew at the candle and it went out.

At that time a black woman in a white starched cap came out from one of the rooms. It was the woman in the mirror.

"Yous best git down stas, missy, yo pa will skin you alive ifin he catches you up here alone with yo man friend." The woman went off down the hall muttering to herself.

Geoff and Clarissa looked at each other.

"Let’s go downstairs. Maybe all of this is from the liquor and dark light." Geoff tried to make a joke. He took Clarissa’s hand and together they went downstairs.

Downstairs, black servants and maids carried trays of food between soldiers and ladies who were dancing and mingling. But, these were real soldiers, real candles, and real black slaves.

Clarissa scanned the crowd for a familiar face. Everyone, everything was changed, but seemed the same. It was true; one could step from one time to another and still be in the same atmosphere.

"Geoff, what do you think?"

"I don’t really know." Geoff frowned.

"What is going on?" Clarissa raised her voice.

Several heads with stern faces turned towards them. Stern faces that had experienced the strife, pain and trauma of war.

Geoff listened to the conversations around him as he brought a drink to Clarissa. There had to be something rational about everything. He retraced their steps mentally, but there simply were no explanations. Geoff handed Clarissa the drink.

"You’re sure this isn’t some sort of a sick joke?" Geoff asked.

Clarissa looked at Geoff astonished.

"How could I play a joke like this? It would be one hell of a joke to pull off! Hire actors, redecorate the joint in ten minutes, change the damn lights behind your back? You’re right. You caught me. I did it. It’s a joke." Clarissa took a big gulp of wine.

"None of it makes any sense, Clari."

They stood quietly listening to the loud conversations about a Union spy who been captured and had recently escaped. There was a rumor that he would show up disguised tonight, but they had a sketch of him, and were passing it around.

Clarissa struggled to claw her way through the crowd to see the sketch, but she kept getting pushed out of the way. Falling down, the hoops beneath her made it difficult to stand back up again. The shouts were all jumbled together, incomprehensible and inseparable.

Clarissa searched the crowd for Geoff, but could not find him. All of the men were running wildly around outside the house, digging into wagons for guns. Screams and wild gesturing were directed towards a clump of trees, which was being quickly surrounded. She fought her way through the screaming, fainting women – describing Geoff, going from one to the other. Faces began to grow angry and red, but she kept on asking, trying to find him.

"Geoff!" Clarissa finally burst out screaming.

The women began pointing and shouting in Clarissa’s direction. Outside, Clarissa heard gunshots and loud cries from the soldiers. Sparks were flying in the dark night. Two women pushed in on her, brandishing meat knives, cleavers, and other kitchen implements. Two women in an apparent frenzy were trying to rip down the buck head from the wall to get at his antlers. They were coming for her!

Clarissa was wild-eyed. She began to run. Half way up the stairs, she found the cast away sketch, snatched it up, and kept running. She ran down the hall, stopping at mirror. There was nowhere left to run.

"Geoff!" She screamed, beating on the mirror. She could hear the shouts of the men outside.

"We got’im ! Bastard’s a dead man now!" A gun fired. "Damn Yankee! We got’im!"

Clarissa collapsed in a heap, clutching at the mirror in one last attempt to escape. She covered her face and head as the women surrounded her.

She lay weeping, head shielded, huddled in a heap at the base of the mirror. She heard footsteps and turned her ratted mass of hair and her grime streaked face towards the sound. It was quiet now. Where were the women?

"Clarissa!" Robert Addison screamed and rushed to her. "What has happened to you?" He lifted her off of the floor.

Clarissa rattled off everything, and how they had to help Geoff who was still trapped on the other side of the mirror. Robert stood in disbelief.

"Have you been drinking?"

"You don’t believe me!" Clarissa wiped the tears from her face with the back of her hand.

"I think it’s a part of your typical dramas." Robert surveyed her appearance in disgust. "You must have heard the ghost story about this old house."

"No. No. I haven’t. I mean just the ones we made up as kids."

Robert led her downstairs to a closed room, where the local historical society had asked to store a crate of old relics and photos.

"These photos are the root of your tale. Obviously, you have been spending some time with them." Rob laughed.

Clarissa thumbed through a pile; there was a crowd of people surrounding the spy. Black and white, hazy, from a different time. There he was as a boy, as a soldier, and as a mutilated corpse.

Rob wasn’t looking at the photos. He was looking out the window as he spoke. "It’s really quite a blown up tale, you know. A man from Boston reared here since a boy. Some say he was in love with the daughter of the owner of this house. Turned out to be a no good Yankee spy. During some big party, the men shot and hung him." Rob turned around. "Those are supposed to be the only photos of the whole debacle anywhere. Seems the men then went on a rampage and destroyed the spy’s home and everything else that was his." Rob brushed back her matted hair. "You must have hit your head after having too much to drink. It’ll wear off."

"What was the daughter’s name?" Clarissa whispered.

"Oh, it was the same as yours. That’s weird, huh, seeing how you ended up buying this place and all." Rob thought for a moment.

"You think all of this is funny, don’t you? A man has been killed!" Clarissa was crying.

"Come on. This man you’re talking about, has been dead for over a hundred years! You never knew him, never saw him, never met him! There was never a sketch. The daughter of the house’s owner disappeared that night never to be found. The man was strung up and killed. End of story. It’s all legend. Half of it is probably not even true. People just don’t vanish and no body was ever found."

"Well, then explain my hair, my dress!" Clarissa pounded on the table. A crowd was forming outside of the room. "Explain the pictures!"

"Just pictures. I’m sure that…" Rob began.

Clarissa bent down and ripped something from the hem of her dress. She thrust it out in front of her with one of the photos in the other hand.

"Explain this!"

In her left hand, was a dirty, yellow, as if with age, brittle piece of paper. Robert took it from her. He reached out and took the tattered photograph from her right hand and put them down side by side on the table.

On the crumpled, torn page was a sketch of the same man that lay dead in the photograph beside it.

The sketch was of Geoffrey Delaney.

©2002 Angeline Hawkes-Craig

Angeline Hawkes-Craig says: "I reside in Texas with my husband Rob and my two children. I am a member of The Writer's League of Texas. I am seeking a publisher for my historical/fantasy novel, The Swan Road, and currently working on the sequel."

http://home.earthlink.net/~robertccraig/AngieHomePage/