Cross Stitch: Part One (special preview)

Trauma can cause many changes to a person, and most of them can be explained by psychology, even healed with therapy. After my father passed away though, the change that occurred inside me was not one that could be explained. It wasn’t something anyone took seriously, so I learned to ignore it, and I locked it away.

I didn’t fully understand this until I met my husband. He was performing a study and needed people who had suffered some sort of trauma in their lives, whether it was an accident, injury, upheaval, just something that would have caused the individual a level of suffering. He believed that this agony could open a third eye for people and allow them to better connect with powers relating to the supernatural. I had nothing better to do, so I decided to see what this strange man was talking about.

I was reticent to admit at the time that I had been plagued by visions. I had been seeing strange things in the corner of my eye, choosing to pretend there was nothing there, when in reality, there was always something twitching at the periphery. 

My husband, who at the time was Dr. Ivan Young, was a man of science as well as a firm believer in the supernatural. He talked about demons, ghosts, past lives, even powers that humans could possess that allowed them to touch these creatures. He was handsome, charismatic, and excited to begin this study with the few people who showed up.

Through him, I realized that these things twitching at the corner of my eye wanted to be looked at. I could see those who existed on the other side of us, the things that had not yet fully moved on, or were trapped here between the veil and us.

“Some people can’t see through this veil, but you can,” Ivan whispered to me. “Your eyes have been opened, and you truly see the world. You see everything.”

I fell for him so easily that I often chastise myself today for being so easy to catch. We married, but even before then, Ivan had taught me to utilize my sight. I didn’t just see through the veil anymore, I could move through it if I focused hard enough. It was a skill Ivan and I continued to work and strengthen everyday. Or we did, until recently when we discovered I was pregnant. Ivan decided, for the safety of the baby, it would be best to rest, to study, and to let the veil remain closed for a while.

We had been working together for a while, combining our skills to help those who had been afflicted by the other side. We had been able to rescue the lives of some, or simply stop things before they could reach them. But for now, to make sure the baby would be safe, we had decided to stop taking such jobs.

That was, until one day, I received a letter from a young woman named Marni. She had come to inherit a rather large estate, one which she hadn’t been aware of before. The news of the house was a shock to her, but what she experienced within its walls was much worse. She sent pictures with her letter, as well as the ripped pages of an old diary.

“I had read about you some time ago,” she scribed in her letter. “I had never wanted to believe such things. In fact, I was taught, if anything, the only ‘souls’ that could haunt a person were the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit. But this house has something that is not from God trapped inside. I had hoped that this place could be used by the church in some way. It is far beyond my means, and would serve better as a home for the needy. But I would sooner burn it to hell than let anyone else inside. I’m afraid that by even opening the doors, I have unleashed something into the world.

“I have done my research on the place, and while the house has remained abandoned for some years, it has become a place for the local college students to gather. Apparently, some have even gone missing during nights here. It’s become a place where people are dared to enter for entertainment, but I doubt there is anything charming here. I do not believe that anything I have come across is the work of students either. I have witnessed such things for myself many times, and nothing about this speaks of childish antics.

“Something else I discovered in my research was that, the previous owner of the house, an Erique Atherton, back in his time, was known as something of a ladies man. While married, he carried on countless affairs, and it was said this used to cause bitter fights between him and his wife. I know what you’re thinking, and while I do not believe martial tiffs are the cause of the wicked in this house, I do think it is connected. Mr. Atherton’s wife, Ethelinda, was a well loved and highly sought seamstress. They said her dresses could assure marriage for any girl who wore them. But I found news articles detailing some of Ethelinda’s less than favorable reviews. At one point in the middle of her and Erique’s contention, she would forcibly push pins and scissors into the women she made dresses for. She was taken to court over the matter, but Erique’s influence got her off. There’s no reports on anything else, until Ethelinda reported Erique missing.