The Cracked Carafe by Giovanna Barham
The Cracked Carafe by Giovanna Barham
Rush hour was the bane of her existence, with everyone struggling to get home and the roads being unbearably cramped. The only positive was the town being so small that there weren’t many cars to begin with. Hyacinth had just left the museum and was desperately looking forward to the peacefulness of the long weekend ahead, where she could finally get around to doing chores and just relaxing with a nice cup of tea. Suddenly, a few loud honks erupted from behind, knocking her out of the reverie. She just needed to get home, then everything would be alright.
She passed familiar buildings, replete with washed-out paint and uneven stone paving, but at least there were fairy lights adorning the lampposts to celebrate the approaching holiday season. Having time to reflect upon the things she’d do over the weekend made her want to indulge herself in one of her favorite hobbies, which was collecting antiques. The local antique shop was still open for the next hour, so she knew she had time to stop by and browse for anything new.
Caitlin’s Curios was the biggest antique store in town, which if someone was going based upon the population, wasn’t much to get excited about, but it was everything Hyacinth needed. The inside of the store was never too hot or cold, just temperate enough, with the walls painted a mellow forest green commingled with a burnt orange feature wall. The floor and ceiling were a dark cherry wood and the ambient lighting had just the right amount of yellowing to cast a deeply cozy atmosphere. Buildings like the curio shop were one of the defining reasons as to why she left the city in the first place. Caitlin, the owner herself, improved the atmosphere even further, always looking to share stories of the items she collected over the decades. With her long, silvery hair and kindly weathered features, she always remarked that she was just as much an antique as anything else in the store. Secretly, Hyacinth always wished that her own dark brown strands would one day reach the same silvery tone.
She walked into the curio shop, smelling the familiar scent of pine and pumpkin, something she could never figure out the origin of. Caitlin was with another customer, but waved and smiled as soon as she noticed her walk in. Hyacinth turned left and walked down the particular aisle where all new arrivals were usually placed. There were numerous items she didn’t recognize, which was always exciting since she came into the shop at least once a week to browse. To her right sat a red Underwood portable typewriter, the model looked to be one from the 1930s, but was still in such good condition for its age. Next to the typewriter sat an oxidized statue, depicting a winged fairy with outstretched arms atop a mossy knoll. There were many other little trinkets sitting on the shelves.
Some items she picked up at the store just felt right in her hands, while others seemed too cold for her liking. She was never good at verbalizing these feelings, but they were as normal to her as the sun rising every day. It was just another trait she attributed to her eclectic pagan upbringing. Her parents had always reminded her to quiet herself and feel something out, regardless of if it was a person or an object. If it didn’t feel right, stay far from it.
As Hyacinth perused further along the aisle, a chill touched her skin. She rubbed her hands together, then grasped her upper arm, feeling the bumpy landscape of her gooseflesh. The chill dissipated just as quickly as it appeared, with no apparent source to blame as its cause, she chalked it up to a draft from somewhere. She pressed onward, searching the shelves high and low until she came upon an object that captivated her attention.
Toward the back of the aisle, there sat a silver-handled carafe with a crystal body, it had a French design and looked to be from the turn of the century, but the side of the crystal had been carefully repaired at some point in time with silver, leaving only a delineation throughout the side of the crystal. Hyacinth had seen other carafes during some of the historic house tours she had taken in the city, though never actually had the chance to purchase one of these phenomenal pieces herself. Excitement rose like electricity buzzing within and she immediately grabbed the carafe, already pondering where she would place it in her home. Caitlin had already finished with the other customers and was pricing some items on the counter near her. She looked up as Hyacinth approached the counter.
“Hi love! I figured you’d be in sometime this week,” Caitlin said, smiling warmly.
“You know me too well. I swear, this is really becoming an addiction,” Hyacinth laughed. “So, what’s the story on this beauty?” she placed the carafe on the counter.
Caitlin picked it up and rotated it slowly, scrutinizing each detail. “You found this in the new arrivals section?” she asked with a raised eyebrow.
“Yeah, it was a bit further in the back.”
Caitlin set the carafe down. Her face scrunched up and her eyebrows furrowed as she stared at it. “I don’t exactly know where this piece came from. Might be a first ever for not knowing at least something about it, but I guess I am getting older…”
Hyacinth was taken aback at first, but then reflected on how long Caitlin had been running the shop. She had owned the shop since her early thirties, and now was already well into her seventies. There was bound to be some item that she couldn’t quite pin down.
“With all the antiques you’ve seen over the years, I’m honestly shocked that this is a first. I’m sure this piece circulated a bit, so the history’s probably murky anyway,” Hyacinth said as she examined the carafe again, noticing details that she didn’t before. The rim had an intricate floral design, complete with detailed butterflies.
“Yeah, I guess you’re right, but I still feel bad not being able to at least give some tidbit about it,” she looked at the carafe again, pressing her lips together, ”I’ll tell you what, on account of this old brain of mine, just take it home.”
“Are you sure? It’s still one of your items and—”
Caitlin interrupted, “Hyacinth, you’re one of my favorite customers and it’s always a joy seeing you every week. Take this and put it somewhere nice, I know you’ll give it a good home, okay? It’s not like this is going to break my retirement,” she laughed and slid the carafe toward Hyacinth.
“Fine, I suppose if you really insist,” Hyacinth laughed, “as if you won’t see me next week, too. Have a great weekend, Caitlin. Thank you so much for this, really.”
Caitlin smiled and waved as Hyacinth walked out. She felt such a sense of giddiness push away every other emotion. Already, she knew where its new home would be, right on top of her mantelpiece. The strong wind and rain from earlier had calmed to barely a drizzle, but the after-rain scent perfumed every breath she took. Now her weekend could begin.
Hyacinth pulled into her driveway and set eyes upon her Tudor-styled home, barely able to keep her excitement under control. With carafe in hand, she opened the front door and inhaled the scent of vanilla and gingerbread, the dessert scents were her favorite to use. Before she even took her shoes off, she walked over to her mantel and placed the carafe directly in the center, where it would be flanked by two pieces of opalite shaped into crescent moons.
It immediately became another prized addition to her already-eclectic home. Her vision for the house had been executed almost perfectly, the atmosphere was light and airy due to the scheme she had chosen; yellow birch hardwood for the floors and white sand walls with feature walls painted in burgundy, olive green, and a pastel sunset. This design showcased the mish-mash of every antique she had collected, which included the cream-colored chaise and loveseat in her living room, a reprint of Böcklin’s Death Playing a Fiddle hanging in the foyer, and canopy bed made of carved mahogany, one of the best treasures she had obtained. She had always been into styles of the past and had resolved to have as many as she could in her home, no matter what they were. So now, her home had become something more akin to a museum than a home in the 21st-century.
Hyacinth sat her water bottle and phone on the kitchen counter, contemplating what she would be eating for dinner, when there was a loud crash from the living room. She quickly rushed in to see one of the crescent moons from the mantel on the floor, shattered into a dozen pieces. For a moment, she stared at the mess before kneeling beside it.
The moons had been with her for about four years, they were some of the first antiques she collected in her old apartment and had been with her through so much. She couldn’t help but notice the tickle of something wet on her chin, and she reached up to wipe it away. Tears were flowing in a neat, but steady stream. She stood up, wiped her face, and took a deep breath. The mantel wasn’t lopsided, but she knew that the bases of the moons hadn’t been the most stable, so she figured that the movement of her placing the carafe had offset it enough to where it fell.
After she swept up the shards and dumped them into the trash, she walked into the kitchen and leaned against the counter, embracing the silence, and still feeling the tightness of loss in her chest. She exhaled and walked off toward the bathroom, deciding it was time to run a nice bubble bath for herself. Once there, she grabbed a bottle of bergamot and sandalwood soap and poured it in, then lit the vanilla candle that sat on her bathtub tray. The tub filled slowly, releasing a balmy steam as it did, with the running water erasing the silence that had become overbearing. She slid out of her clothes like shedding an old skin, noticing the chill that enveloped her body and made the tiny hairs on her arms bristle. The warmth of the water was too tempting to not get into.
She noticed the last slivers of daylight shining through her window as she reclined in the bathtub. Feeling the need to relax a little more and get her mind off of the crescent moon, she squeezed water out of the washcloth and laid it over her face, closing her eyes and breathing in the warm steam. Her body felt light, almost as if it were floating, but her eyes were still closed and all she perceived was an endless darkness.
There was a sharp pain in her chest, she tried to remember when she last took a breath but couldn’t recall anything. Her fear was rising, she tried to move her limbs but all she felt was resistance, almost like wading through syrup. She opened her mouth in desperation, only to taste a cloyingly sweet substance against her tongue. The sharp pain continued in her chest, and she reached toward it, only to feel a large hand pushing against her. She struggled more than she ever had before, swatting against the hand and arm as best as she could, until everything felt as though it were fading from existence.
& & &
Hyacinth shot up from the bathtub, coughing harshly and trying to wipe the water from her eyes. She looked around at her familiar bathroom, nothing was amiss. The reality of fear set in as she realized she had fallen asleep in the bathtub, but her head had somehow sunken into the water. She had been suffocating in that dream.
Her hands were shaking, with tears blurring her vision. Nothing like that had ever happened before. She pulled the drain in the bathtub and rushed to put on her robe, all she wanted was to get the hell out of that bathroom. As she walked into the hallway, she noticed that same chill in the air from before and went to investigate the thermostat, which had been set to 58°F. She turned it higher to 68°F and wondered how it had dropped so low. The temperature outside was much cooler than inside by that time of the year, so there was no need for her to lower the thermostat.
Before she did anything else, she remembered that she still needed to cleanse the carafe using her sage stick. Every item that she brought into the house needed to have that done, it was something she still retained from her spiritual childhood and brought her comfort. She gathered all of her supplies and headed over to her fireplace, where the carafe sat upon the mantel, and began burning the sage. The earthy smell reached her nose and helped to slightly calm her down. Once she was satisfied with how everything felt, she extinguished the stick and cleaned up her ritual plate.
By the time everything was put away, she felt the lateness of the night settling in and decided it was time to go to bed. She walked to the comfort of her bedroom, the canopy bed was always inviting to her and made her feel protected, since she lived alone. In the softness of her bed, she breathed slowly and deliberately, feeling the duvet hold and embrace her, before passing into unconsciousness.
& & &
Tightening in her throat. Tightened again, more viciously than before. She flailed around helplessly, struggling to feel her assailant, but only feeling hands wrapped firmly around her neck and the individual fingers digging into her skin. She was rapidly losing strength, her limbs slowing and the grip around her neck became more of a squeezing pressure.
Then she awoke with a start. There was no assailant, no one in the moonlit room with her, but there was a feeling of hoarseness in her throat and a tender feeling around her neck. She felt her neck and winced, thinking that there was no way that could’ve been a nightmare, it felt much too real for that. Yet there was no one in her room, she was the sole living person in her home. She just couldn’t explain it.
She laid awake for what felt like several hours, until she saw the first rays of daylight shine into her room. With relief blooming in her chest, she exhaled and saw her breath. The room had turned icy overnight, she wondered what exactly was wrong with the thermostat and went to check on it. There was enough light flooding through the house for her to leave all the lights off, but as she gripped the doorknob, there was an uneasiness forming in the pit of her stomach. Hyacinth stepped into the hallway and felt her every movement being watched, as if by an unseen force. It was enough to make the hairs on her neck stand on end.
The house looked the same as it always had, but the feeling throughout was so thick it was nearly tangible. She didn’t know what to make of it, but she felt as though she were prey in her own home, but there was no one there. She walked over to the carafe and stared at it, still looking so elegant sitting atop the mantel, it was as if it demanded the attention of whomever was around it. With every ounce of care that she could muster, Hyacinth picked up the carafe and began examining it again. It was a phenomenal antique, but it was an object just the same, nothing looked out of the ordinary.
Hyacinth sighed aloud, “if only you could tell me what secrets you’re holding, or maybe, you’re responsible for everything that’s happened since last night. But what am I doing, I must be losing my mind if I’m talking to an inanimate object,” she gave a nervous chuckle, still rotating the carafe around.
She stared at it, then closed her eyes and silently asked for something to happen. Anything. Her eyes remained closed, until she felt a warmth emanating from the carafe onto her hands. Shocked, she opened her eyes and saw the faintest glow coming from within the crystal, it was a formless shape that seemed to become brighter and brighter, until the carafe was illuminated with an otherworldly glow.
To her horror, the carafe heated so quickly that it began burning her hands. She quickly put it back on the mantel and backed away from it, but the light steadily grew in its intensity. With panic rising in her throat and a feeling of dizziness setting in, Hyacinth ran back toward her bedroom and locked the door behind her. There was some sort of change happening to it, and she felt a strong urge to hide. She looked around her room, desperately searching for any place to hide in, when she thought about hiding under her bed.
Her body was shaking as she knelt down beside the bed and scooted her body underneath the massive frame. She could hear her heartbeats thrumming against her eardrums, with each beat shaking her entire body, but she tried to focus on listening for anything in the other room. There was a low droning sound that hadn’t been there before. Every fiber of her being panicked, and she was berating herself for not running out the front door when she had the chance.
She had been lying there for a couple of minutes when the droning sound abruptly stopped. Instinctively, she placed her hand over her mouth and began breathing slowly to quiet herself as much as possible. After another minute passed, she nearly convinced herself that she was imagining things and that she should go see what was happening, when a deep thumping sound vibrated the floor. Her muscles tensed and she pressed her hand even tighter to her mouth, with tears welling in her eyes.
The thumping drew closer, but now sounded more like the thud of someone wearing boots. Thud, thud, thud. It continued toward her bedroom door. Hyacinth’s tears had already spilled over and she desperately tried to blink them away, but in her slightly blurry vision, she could see the shadow of someone’s legs through the space at the bottom of her bedroom door. Time felt as though it had completely stopped, along with her breath and any ability to process her thoughts.
She knew she had locked her bedroom door, but with the little click of it being unlocked, all coherent thought left her body. She remained frozen in place as the door slowly swung open. A pair of black leather boots walked into her room, slowly and deliberately, walking around her room. Her hand pressed even harder into her mouth, but she was afraid to shut her eyes in fear that whoever it was would discover her hiding place. The person continued to wander around, thud, thud, until they slowly made their way toward the door and left the room.
Hyacinth was still frozen, deathly afraid to move even an inch, so as not to alert the individual. She heard the steps throughout the house for a few more minutes, but soon they faded to nothingness and there were no more sounds at all. Regardless of the silence, she continued to bide her time until she was absolutely certain that they had left and that she was safe to come out.
Hearing no other disturbances, she slowly crawled out of her hiding space, being careful to not make any extra noises. She softly stepped into the hallway, checking all around her for anything strange, but there was nothing there. With growing confusion, Hyacinth walked toward her front door to check if it was ever opened, but she sees that it is still locked and chained, just as she left it when she came home from work. It appears that no one was ever present in the living room, the carafe still sat upon the mantel undisturbed, no longer with the intense glow that it had before.
She stood there, shaking, and staring at the carafe, trying to wrap her mind around what had just happened. There was no explanation, no reason for any of it. She convinced herself that she must have been losing her mind, or at the very least, possibly passed out again underneath the bed. It was the only thing she could think of that made sense, but as she rounded the corner to return to her bedroom and gather herself together, she saw it, standing at the end of the hallway.
A dark, uniformed figure wearing leather boots. Hyacinth stared at what should have been its face, but there was only a negative space, as if it were a black hole staring back at her. She could feel the menacing aura surrounding it, and she knew that somehow, it was glaring at her. The figure took a step forward, tightening its right hand as it did so. Hyacinth walked backward, keeping her eyes on the creature, but stumbling into her end table as she did so.
For a moment, Hyacinth looked down at what she had crashed into, but returned her attention to the figure as it was striding across through the hall and across the living room toward her. She could only let out a small, nearly inaudible gasp as the creature held each side of her face with its gloved hands and forced her to stare into the endless darkness. It held her face tightly, but she couldn’t even move her arms, let alone any part of her body. It forced her face closer to the void. She tried to look away, but something beckoned her from beyond.
As she stared, she saw the same glow that was in the carafe, but it glowed so bright that it stung her eyes. She couldn’t close her eyes, tears fell and streamed down her face. Her eyes were so dry, but she could only stare at the expansion of light. It grew until there was no more darkness, but then it began to show her things. Horrible things. She saw everything through snapshots and fleeting moments; a happy family in black and white, they walked through a park together, laughing and smiling and having a picnic. The images shifted and she saw a family photo, dated 1938.
Suddenly, she sees a radio, but can also hear a faint broadcast through the intermittent static.
& & &
“Today…October…new rules imposed…”
& & &
More images flash, faster than before. The family is forced from their home and lose many of their possessions, but they manage to keep very few, including the carafe that now sits on her mantelpiece. A succession of images show that the father is missing, and the mother and child are alone, but they have the look and quality of grainy film reel, so it isn’t completely clear as to what happens next.
Hyacinth thinks that the carafe and other belongings are stolen from the mother and child, but she doesn’t know what happens to them, only that a figure wearing all black now has possession of these things. She is shown more, but too quickly to fully discern what happens, there is a darkened room with odd symbols, then a sudden glow and a barrage of screams. The visions stop and the glow fades, returning her to the chilling darkness of the void.
She stared at the creature in front of her, now hearing its ragged breath and feeling its grip tighten around her face. It smells like sulfur. She wants to cry, to yell out and call someone, anyone to save her, but it feels useless to do so. There’s a voice in her mind, telling her everything will be alright, she just has to let go.
The next week and half bring a light dusting of snow and freezing temperatures to the small town, which reminds Caitlin to bring her warmest coat as she goes into town for errands today. She walks pass the television to grab her keys and leave but is stopped by the words she hears spoken.
& & &
“A tragedy has struck our Silvervale community. Early yesterday morning, a 28-year-old woman was discovered to have suddenly passed in her home. Coroners state that Hyacinth Downing, a local curator of Huntley Memorial Museum, passed due to a brain aneurysm sometime last week. Her body was discovered when she was reported as missing by her supervisor, as she had not been seen in more than a week. Details surrounding time of death and exact circumstances are still being investigated. Up next will be a look at the schedule for the upcoming Winter Festival, stay tuned.”
* * * * THE END * * * *
Copyright Giovanna Barham 2024
