The Crying Spirit: A Twilight Zone Story free porn video

A lonely man makes an incredible find in a small antique shop. How could he know that within the confines of the ancient cabinet was a portal into another time? Come with us as he enters... THE TWILIGHT ZONE. The Crying Spirit: A Twilight Zone Story By Anon Allsop "You're traveling through another dimension, a dimension not only of sight and sound but of mind; a journey into a wondrous land whose boundaries are that of the imagination. Next stop: THE TWILIGHT ZONE."--Rod Serling *** The richly colored wood seemed to draw me to it like a moth to a flame. God, it was beautiful! I slowly walked around the ancient wardrobe closet, fingering the ornate carved edging that seemed to just flow down the sides. With a trembling hand, I gently pulled open a side drawer. Its dovetailing was superb. Even down to the minutely carved drawer pull, I could tell that this was one of those finds that you don't come across too often. I examined the base of the tall closet, whose feet raised it several inches from the floor. I crouched down to look at its bottom; it was there, the final piece to my puzzle. I shined my little penlight at the engraving hidden on this work of art, "L.H. Sargent, May 24, 1775." The words fell from my lips in awe. "It has to be him!" Suddenly, a voice from behind startled me. "If you're wondering, the maker's name is Leonidas H. Sargent." I quickly looked up in the direction of the voice. "We're not sure what the 'H.' stands for." The little man smiled and leaned against the wall next to the wardrobe closet I had been examining. I rose to my feet slowly; the man continued: "Sure has a great patina, doesn't it?" His grin was wide and friendly. "It's beautiful..." I sighed, gently touching its door as a husband would his wife. "It's out of Pennsylvania, created for a Mr. Lincoln Chesterton, as a gift for his young wife Claire on their wedding day, by Leonidas H. Sargent. The date on the bottom says, 'May, 1775.'" I stood there, drinking in the deep brown color of the cabinet. "May 24th, 1775," I said in a voice barely above a whisper. "I just can't believe I've found an original Sargent... this is incredible!" The man gave me a serious look. "Do you know much about Leonidas H. Sargent?" I smiled at the proprietor. "My grandmother has one of his later works. This man, Leonidas H. Sargent, was still making furniture until 1810." "Do you know what the 'H.' stands for?" the man asked with just a hint of awe in his voice. I smiled, "The 'H.' is for 'Hampton': 'Leonidas Hampton Sargent.' He died in 1811; he was around 95 years old." The man gave me a serious look, and stepped closer, leaning in. With a gentle push, he swung a door aside. "See this here? It's the initials of someone carved in the woodwork... it's so finely detailed, it just gets lost in the art." "This cabinet..." I directed his gaze to the door with a nod of my head: "Sargent was commissioned by Francis Chesterton; it was for his daughter. Those are her initials." I pointed at the engraving centered between both doors with the tip of my penlight, "This is a 'C'; it stands for Claire. This 'M' is for Marie... and the last 'C' is for her newly married name, Chesterton." I realized then that in my zeal to provide information, I probably just pushed the cabinet out of my price range. I began to try to find fault with the craftsmanship... I found none. The older man stood there staring at the cabinet, "So, you looking to buy?" I made a quick mental calculation of what a Sargent was worth. I knew that if push came to shove it would sell in an open auction for around $25,000, and that was being conservative. I paused, trying to make him think I was making up my mind. I wanted to be fair to the man, but knew that my own bank account couldn't go past $18,000. I slowly walked around to the back of the freestanding wooden work of art. The proprietor must have sensed the hesitation that I was trying to convey: "I'll make it fair for you, if you're interested." "How much?" was all I said, desperately hoping that he would be within my price range. Now it was his turn to pause, I could see that he was making his own calculations. "Give me... oh, how about $22,500?" My heart sank. I slowly shook my head. "I can't come up with that much. Sorry." I frowned and started to turn away. "You look like a fine young man... How about $19,500?" He smiled, looking at me hopefully. "Sorry. I love it, but that's still too steep for me." I looked at the cabinet that was almost mine. "Thanks at least for letting me look at it." The man rubbed his hand across his chin; his stubble made a rasping sound. "Well... anyway, thanks for the information." I nodded and begun to walk out of the store. No sooner had I gone three steps, I heard his voice call out, "What can you afford? If you don't mind my asking?" I stopped and slowly drifted back toward him. "$18,000?" He looked inside the store, presumably at the cabinet. "Cash?" I said, a little louder. His heavy sigh was all I heard. "You realize that I'd be taking quite a loss on that thing." I stepped inside the store behind him, "To you, it's a thing... to me, it's a Sargent." He gave me a laugh and bent down behind his counter. I followed him to where the wardrobe closet stood. "Well, whatever? we both know it's worth much more than that." He hung a "SOLD" sign from one door pull. "You can have it as soon as I have the money." "You'll have it within the hour," I said, shaking his hand vigorously. I stepped outside the door quickly; once out of his view, I ran down the street to one of the many bank branches that dotted our city. If I could guess, I would say that I was back inside the store well within an hour, money in hand. Then I spent another 20 minutes haggling with him, arranging for delivery to my flat. As I turned to leave, he caught me gently by the arm. "You know there's a story about that thing being haunted..." I smiled in reply. He continued, "Sometimes I hear what sounds like a child crying when I'm in here alone... the sound's coming from inside." I looked at my purchase, "I'll take my chances. I really don't put that much stock in ghost stories." As I again turned to leave he called out behind me, "Whatever you do, don't go inside the cabinet if you hear the crying spirit!" I paused, keeping my back to him, then slowly turned around smiling. "And why is that?" I asked, smiling. "I've been told that if you go inside... you won't be able to come back out!" He looked at me with concern. "So... then why did you sell it to me? Seems that if you were that concerned about my safety, you would have destroyed it at some point." I cringed at my own suggestion, knowing what its true worth really was. He shrugged, "A guy's got to make a living, doesn't he?" He looked again at the cabinet, "Just promise me that you won't go inside once the spirit cries..." I crossed my heart and laughed, "I promise." He studied my eyes for a moment and sadly shook his head. "I hope you're serious, the stories have been going around about this cabinet for years and years." He patted the side gently, "I don't think anyone's ever ventured inside once the child cries... don't you be the first!" I nodded and left his little shop. As soon as I stepped into the street I broke out in a long laugh. *** I sat down on the edge of my bed and admired my treasure; I couldn't believe that I had found a Sargent. That in itself was remarkable, but to find one in this condition was a miracle. I crossed the room and slowly pulled open a door, letting my fingers touch the wood as one would caress the finer features of a beautiful woman. "God, you're beautiful." I whispered. A smile slowly crossed my face as I began to hang my own clothes on the sturdy wooden rod inside. What's the use of owning a beautiful piece of furniture if you weren't going to use it... it would be like owning a '55 Thunderbird and never allowing it to leave your garage. Once I had finished, I slowly closed the door. I smiled to myself when I recalled the shopkeeper's warning about the "spirit within." I stood off to one side and admired the soft shine of the ancient wood, worn smooth with age. Its ornate engravings along the top edge and side caught the gleam of the light reflected against its surface. I practically backed from the room, still admiring my purchase. Once into the hall I turned and headed into the kitchen to make myself some supper. As I passed through the living room, I picked up a remote and pressed the button to turn on the television. I could hear the TV in the background as I prepared a sandwich for myself; the old programs softened the bitterness of my solitude. After a few minutes in the kitchen, I returned to the couch and began to eat. The old shows still played one after another, shows I remembered as a child. Sometime during the evening I must have fallen asleep, which caused me to drop the glass I had been holding. Luckily, it only bounced on the thick carpet. My reflexes woke me with a quick jerk; I sat up and looked around, yawning. I picked up the glass, and sat it and my plate on the table. Then I returned to my fat overstuffed chair. Stretching, I leaned back and put up the footrest. The old show droned on, lulling me back into a restful sleep. At some point around midnight, a crying child brought me into wakefulness again. Thinking the noise was from a program that I had been sleeping through, I reached for the remote and shut the TV off. Still, I could hear the child softly sobbing. I sat up at the edge of my chair and listened; the soft crying of the child seemed to be just outside my flat. I stood up and walked to the door and glanced through the eyehole. No one was in the hallway. "Must be one of the neighbors," I thought aloud. Although that was odd--I hadn't known of any young families living around me. But still, that wasn't too unusual; I really didn't go out of my way to meet people--I just kept to myself. I scratched my head, turned off the kitchen light and slowly headed back into the bathroom, shutting off other lights as I passed. I Pulled down a towel and tossed it onto the counter. That was when I realized that I could no longer hear the child cry. I smiled as I turned on the shower and let the water run. Another yawn seemed to creep up on me as I began to pull off my clothes and toss them into the hamper. Stepping under the warm jets, I washed my hair and rinsed out the suds. Another dollop of conditioner, again I rinsed out my hair. I squeezed my body wash into a face cloth and quickly lathered up my body, then almost as quickly washed it off. I shut off the water, found my towel, and dried myself thoroughly. I glanced at my watch where it lay with my glasses on the counter. "1:39 in the morning... ugh." I yawned again and staggered into the bedroom, wearing only my towel. I paused at the doorway. One of the closet doors had swung open; I looked at it and carefully pushed it closed. It wasn't unusual for those old doors to do that. I just needed to adjust the level of the cabinet, later... when I was more awake. I hung the towel on the bedpost, threw myself prone, and landed on the top of the covers. I folded my hands behind my head and lay there completely naked, looking at the wide form of my new closet. The deep wood looked even darker, dwarfing the chair next to it. I smiled to myself, slowly drifting off to sleep, thinking of the cabinet. Around 2:00 am I sat upright on the bed; the crying child had brought me to alertness again. For a moment, I looked around the room. The child's nearness unnerved me. I stood up and grabbed my robe and stormed out into the hall. I stomped my way toward the outside door. Without even looking, I threw open the door and thrust out my head. The hall was completely empty. I walked a few feet down, nearer the elevators and listened again. The child's sobs were almost inaudible. Turning, I headed back the other way past my own door. Again, the sounds seemed more distant the further from my own door I moved. I scratched my head and walked back to my door. The sound was faint... but I could still hear the little child sobbing softly. I closed the door to my flat and leaned against it; the sound was unnerving. I sighed deeply and yawned, heading back toward my bedroom. The closer I got, the louder the sobbing seemed to get. Once inside the room I could hear it clearly... but it seemed slightly muffled and far away. The old merchant's story jumped into my mind; the way I felt my sudden fear made me laugh. I shook my head and sighed deeply, so deeply that it caused me to yawn. I paused at the doorway, then moved slowly across the room. At the other side, I placed my ear to the wall, plugging my other ear. I listened. The sobbing child sounded very near. On the opposite side of the room, I placed my ear to the wall again and listened. The child seemed closer, but still a bit faint. I stepped back and stood at the foot of my bed, looking toward the antique cabinet. I took a deep breath and blew it out slowly. I gingerly moved toward the wall next to the cabinet. I placed my ear against it and held my breath. I smiled, knowing that the old man's story was rattling my nerves. The sound was closer, but not really any clearer than it was at the other walls. I touched the wood surface of one door. My trembling fingers slid along a smooth flat surface; slowly I lowered my ear to the door. What I heard made me pull back quickly--the sound of the crying child was coming from within! I staggered away from the great cabinet and sat down hard on the bed, "No way! No freaking way." I choked out the words. As I sat there staring toward the face of the cabinet, a door slowly began to open. I swallowed hard and looked toward the soft glow coming from the bathroom night light. The door opened about an inch and stopped. I pulled my feet up onto the bed and backed to the other side, my breathing sounding like the great waves of the ocean in my ears. It seemed forever that I waited, afraid to run... afraid to stay. "Be a man, for crying out loud!" I whispered to myself. Mustering the courage I thought I would need, I stepped down on the floor and made my way back around to face my fear. I tentatively reached out and pulled at the door, slowly it swung open. The sound stopped. I pushed the door aside and opened the other, letting in the moonlight. Quickly pushing the clothes and their hangers to one side, I looked inside--nothing out of the ordinary. I laughed at my silliness and closed the doors, then climbed back into bed. I slowly began to relax. I must have fallen asleep quickly, but just as before, I was suddenly awakened by the crying of a child. I sat up and immediately looked back at the closet. The sound was definitely coming from inside. Fearfully, I rushed over and threw open the door. A soft mist from inside the closed rolled into the room. I looked down as it crossed my bare feet. I drew the robe I had put on tighter and stuck my head inside the closet. I pushed the clothes aside and reached toward the back... and found nothing. My hand kept going--the cabinet had no back to stop my progress. Was I dreaming and still sleeping on the bed behind me? I looked over my shoulder at the empty bed and swallowed hard. I found myself falling into its recesses; I landed completely inside. I stood up, rising behind the hangers. I stretched a hand out in the inky darkness, feeling nothing in any direction that I faced. The man's words leapt to the forefront of my thoughts. "Was it just an old fable?" I whispered to myself. When I turned towards the door, I could still see the bedroom on the other side of the clothing, but what was behind me remained invisible when I turned to face it. As I faced the inky blackness I thought, "Should I go on... or should I get out?" My sense of adventure was calling loudly. I pushed the warning to the back of my mind and took a step into the unknown. I shuffled along, away from the doors as I investigated the black expanse before me. I found nothing but the solid flooring beneath my own feet. Behind me was my own room, before me was the black void with only the crying child to lead me on. I swallowed hard and took a tentative step toward the sobbing tot, completely ignoring the warnings of my screaming fears. I could not understand why I was compelled to move forward into the blackness, surely this dream that I must be having would play itself out with hopeful answers. The cry floated before me, just ahead... just ahead. I felt I had walked an eternity, until a soft faint glow slowly began to form in the distance. Forward I moved, the child's cry spurring me on. The tired sobs of the little one tugged at my heart... a warm glow emanating ahead, inviting me onward. I realized that I had approached a doorway; the glow was filtering in from the right hand side of a room. I stepped across the threshold. Pausing just inside, I took in the room I had entered. A small fire crackled its welcome. The popping wood scented the air with a slight hickory smell. I slowly leaned in and looked around the corner. Beyond the glow of the fire all was black. A great wood table was positioned to the right of me; a small candle in a silver holder sat on the table. I picked it up and slowly ran a thumb along its waxy surface; the sweet smell of the yellow wax clung to my nostrils. I gently placed the candle back on the beautiful surface of the sturdy table and continued my way around the room. I watched an ember pop from the fire and roll to the stone tiles, the glowing red upon its surface moving as if it were alive. I slipped quietly to the hearth and picked up a long, heavy iron tool and pushed the ember back into the fireplace. I sat the poker back against the wall where I found it. I looked up just above my head; I noticed some objects lying on top of the great wooden mantle. Slowly I reached up and fingered the edge of an antique iron, still resting on a trivet. Next to it was a tin cup, the remnants of liquid still drying in the bottom. I lowered my nose to its edge. The heavy scent of tea filled my senses. Toward the end of the mantle was a tiny little painting on a porcelain-like surface; the young woman in the portrait was smiling demurely. She was young, perhaps 15 or 16, and quite lovely. I sat it back where I had found it and moved on. There was a straight- back wooden chair resting on the floor at the end of the wall. Next to it was a pair of large leather boots, darkened from use. I peeked into a blackened room; nothing could be seen beyond the soft light of the fire behind me. I could hear something stir down a hall, just beyond the door I was standing before. In the depths of the faint glow, another door was visible at the end of a short hallway. Slowly I approached it and paused to listen. I could hear movement behind this door. With a trembling hand I slowly pushed the door open and looked in. No light passed through the shadow I cast. Again, the soft stirring sounded before me. I listened, breathing only broken by the gentle gasps of a child, still tormented but in the last moments of a long cry. I slowly crossed the room and looked behind me; only the glowing fire lit the door. I moved to what looked like a crib, peered over the edge at the slumbering child. A full bounty of sandy blonde hair was strewn wildly from the top of the child's head. The blanket lay tangled and disheveled beside the sleeping child. The child woke with a start and began to cry again, almost frightening me. I did the only thing I could think of. I quickly reached in and pulled the baby to my shoulder. The young one, dressed in the sleeping garb of the 1700's, laid his tiny head on my shoulder. I looked back into the living room; still no one moved. The young infant in my arms began to vigorously rub its face and nose against my robe. I wasn't sure what to do next. If someone should enter the room they might think I wanted to harm this little child. The child whimpered and I gently bounced him. I didn't have the foggiest idea why I would think of it as a him. "Shhh..." I whispered to the infant. I could just make out a rocker resting in the corner. I made my way to the rocker, carrying the baby in my arms. I took my seat and began to rock the child, softly humming in his ear. I rested my head against the high back on the rocker, the infant resting in the crook of my arm. Slowly we rocked together, moving gently, back and forth. I realized that to dream within a dream was strange, but I was fighting the need to sleep... I began to nod off. Only the slight creaking of the rocker could be heard above our steady breathing. *** Still dreaming, I could hear the little baby inhaling briskly through its tiny nostrils. My eyes felt heavy and desperately wanted to sleep, I allowed my eyes to open briefly and struggled to lift my head. My heavy head fall back against the rocker. It was sleep that I needed. After almost fifteen minutes had passed I raised the little child to my shoulder and began to pat his small back. I was greeted by a small burp. I held him like that for another ten minutes. We both rested again. I could feel the child sliding in my sleepy grasp; his minuscule weight was becoming heavy in my arms. I lowered him to my lap and he quietly lay there while we both rested peacefully. After what seemed like a very long of time, I felt a soft tug at my chest.. . its constant rhythm was relaxing and yet troubling. My eyes fluttered open, I lifted my head and looked around the room. A glow was filtering through a window. I could hear the popping of an energized fireplace in the other room. I realized then that I was still cradling the infant in my arms. I looked down. A gasp escaped from my lips, as the little baby somehow was suckling upon a breast that I knew that I knew could not possibly be mine. I was so startled that I jumped to my feet, almost dropping the young child. I forced my index finger along side the infant's mouth, causing the suction to break. Quickly, and yet carefully, I placed the infant in the crib. I stepped back in shock and looked down. Blonde hair cascaded down over my shoulder, covering the generous portions of my new-found breasts. A watery white liquid seemed to be suspended in a droplet at the end of one nipple. I slowly flipped the hair over my shoulder and looked at what I was wearing. What met my eyes were the sleeping robes of a young woman who had lived around the late 1700's. But the strangeness didn't stop there. My hips flared out from under a very curvaceous torso. My young nipples, still engorged from recently nursing the baby, stood out from the white cloth that had become my nightdress. I placed a feminine hand against my stomach; the little bulge of a woman who had just birthed a baby met my exploring fingers. My hand moved downward. Gone was the equipment I had been so used to all my life. In its place, I felt the soft smoothness of a woman's sexual region. My hands trembled uncontrollably. I wiped perspiration from my face and new chest. I could feel my legs shaking as if I were about to collapse at any moment. In fear, I slowly backed from the room, breasts gently swaying with each minuscule movement. I fought to control my breathing, which was coming out from frightened lungs as if I had just run a marathon. My hand bumped a chair, causing it to grind against the floor like a moan from a movie monster. I stumbled across it and fell. Both chair and I went crashing to the floor. I quickly jumped to my feet at the sound that came from the room beside me. I scrambled to the opposite side of the great table, startled as a young male dashed through the doorway holding an enormous flintlock pistol, its huge hammer cocked back threateningly. Our eyes met and he began to back away; only the wall halted his movement. I saw the fear in his eyes; it was as though he saw a ghost. My trembling hands gripped the back of a chair tightly. "Claire? Have you come to haunt me?" His face turned ashen as he slowly lowered the pistol away from me. He began to shake, and the heavy weapon fell harmlessly from his grasp to the floor. "Lincoln?" I whispered--the name seemed to spring from my lips. I watched the young man, who seemed to be more frightened of me than I of him, as he struggled to maintain standing. I looked away from him and down to the floor. "How could I know his name?" I thought to myself, but I knew I was right, this was Lincoln. The young man quickly looked toward the bedroom where the young child was sleeping, "God no... Please, Claire, tell me you didn't come for little Jonah?" His frightened look darted between me and the room I had just left. I could think of nothing at the moment more than that this was Lincoln Chesterton cowering before me. Just my knowing this struck fear in my heart. I looked toward the darkened room where the child slept, "I heard him crying..." I replied softly. Lincoln slowly stood to his feet and stumbled a step or two toward the nursery. I could see tears forming in his eyes as he began to cry, leaning against the hand-hewn beams that framed the interior wall. I felt a knot build in my throat, but still couldn't understand why I was worried for this man. The tall youth slumped his shoulders, "I tried to care for him, Claire... but with you... gone?" His body seemed to be oddly racked with grief. "He's just been so... hungry. Honest, I tried... but he won't eat." I felt his pain; my eyes began to well with tears. "Please don't take him with you." He fell to his knees in prayer, crying. I fought against the urge to comfort him. "I only wanted to see why the child cried..." I crouched down in the front of the sobbing man. "That's what drew me here." I whispered to the sobbing man. He rolled forward on his knees and buried his face into his hands, his cries echoing in the expanse of the room. I felt a single tear roll down my own cheek; the reflection of the tear glistened in the soft light, as I looked down at the finger that had just wiped it away. Slowly he raised his head, tears still streaming down his cheeks. "I have missed you my young wife... why did God take you away?" I only blinked back, trying to understand what he was talking about. He hesitantly touched my hand. Then slowly increased the pressure, touching me about the arms and hand. "Why are you doing that, Lincoln?" My mind raced with what he had just said. "Wife?" I thought and shuddered. "How is that possible?" "This is the first time I have seen a spirit from beyond the grave, it is odd how you have taken an earthly form and shed your heavenly body." I frowned and gave him a strange stare. "Have you been returned to me? Will you stay?" His questioning eyes wet with tears. "Are you saying that... I'm... I mean, Claire's dead?" I asked at his innocent belief. "I only wanted to check on why he cried... honest!" I looked at the nursery door again, then back to the one that gave me ingress to this strange dreamworld of mine. I had not noticed it before, but the doorway through which I had entered into this dream was an exact replica of the cabinet I had purchased. Only this one was much newer and one could still see the beautiful patterns in the wood grain. His voice brought me back to our conversation. "Did not the angels tell you? You have laid in the meadow for nigh on two days!" His hand slowly reached for my face. I leaned away from him. "You must be a spirit, for I placed you into your earthly bed myself." Again he reached out, I closed my eyes and knelt there trembling. Slowly, his hands danced along my cheek as if he were touching a hot stove. "Even in death, your beauty makes my heart soar." His sky blue eyes seemed to be searching into my very soul for answers. I cleared my throat and pulled my face away from his gentle touch, but still he held his hands out as if halted by a force unseen. "I'm not dead, Lincoln. I'm not sure what's going on here... but I'm very far from being dead." My mind was racing at the thought of what was happening in this dream. I tried to pull further away, but his touch stopped me. "Were it only true..." He and I both stood up in unison. "I would gladly trade my life for yours... Jonah needs you so." "Lincoln... I'm not dead... but, I'm not Claire, either." He frowned and held my cheek in his hand. "I... I don't know what's going on here... I just followed the cries of the baby." I sighed and looked toward the little child's room, then back toward the cabinet that I entered through. Fear began to invade my mind. I gently pushed Lincoln's hands aside and stepped toward the cabinet. Lincoln continued to plead, "Beautiful Claire, please stay with us... I prayed to God that he would spare your life as you lay dying. Jonah needs his mother... I need my wife." His eyes were filling with tears as he took a step to follow me. This entire dream was feeling too real for me. Lincoln placed his hand tenderly on my shoulder. "Stay Claire, my love... please?" My mind grew more fearful with each passing moment. The warning of the old man began ringing in my ears; I covered the ground between the cabinet and myself quickly. I threw open the doors so fiercely that it made the whole cabinet rock. Lincoln placed one hand on my upper arm, "Don't go Claire... WE need you." My hand shot into the closet, past the few items that hung there, only to come into contact with the back panel. The horror that was happening washed through my mind and across my face. The breath felt as if it were crushed from my lungs, I spun and leaned against the cabinet, one swinging door striking me in my back. "What is it Claire?" The fear in Lincoln's eyes was showing. I felt as if my whole world was being drained from my life. I could feel my heart racing as it beat wildly in my rounded bosom. I threw myself against the back of the cabinet, both hands slamming it with all the fury I could muster... I had to get through it... I had to go home! My hands began to bleed from the pounding. Lincoln pulled me in and cradled my body as it racked with sobs. "Please Claire... what is it? Are the angels coming for you?" I felt my knees give in fear, my eyes wild in fright. I began to slip to the floor. As Lincoln pulled me to my feet, I could hear the little baby whimper behind me. I looked into the eyes of Lincoln, his concern for me written across his face. I let my eyes peer into the darkness, toward the room where Jonah began to cry. My face felt warm, my throat gripped tightly in my own grief. Lincoln held my face, looking into my eyes questionably. I could feel a tear make its way to my chin. he slowly wiped it away with his thumb. "Please..." His voice choked with emotion. I again looked at the door to Jonah's bedroom, then back to the cabinet. I felt Lincoln's grip slowly relax. I gently pushed him away and ran my hand inside the cabinet, the hard interlocking wood gliding under my touch. I pushed lightly against its surface; still, it refused to give. My knees buckled and I fell to the floor, crying uncontrollably. I could feel him move to my side and gently stroke my back and long blonde hair, trying to console me. I sat on my feet, knees bent under me and leaned into the base of the cabinet. My tears fell against the wooden grain. I could feel the anger building within me: anger at the old man who sold me the cabinet; anger at myself, for being so stupid and going through the door despite being warned; anger at the man trying to comfort me; and anger at the little one in the next room for drawing me into this trap. I pushed his hand away and quickly stood up. I began to furiously pound against the back of the cabinet, my bloody fists leaving marks with each blow. Lincoln tried to rein me in but I twisted myself from his grasp. With a mad dash, I raced across the room and threw open the door. I hurled myself down the little wooden steps and down the path, racing in fear past the daffodils and hyacinths and through the small wooden gate. Lincoln was quickly on my heels. His efforts to catch me only spurred me to run faster. I ran across the little dirt road with young spring grass centered inside the dirty brown ruts. Chickens scurried from my path, afraid of the madman... madwoman who ran through them. I could hear Lincoln calling for me to stop, but still I ran on. Up a slight rise, into a great bank of spring wild flowers I dashed, until I could run no more. At the summit I fell to my knees crying as I had never done before. My tears fell onto the brightly colored flowers between my hands. I felt my whole life was spiraling hopelessly out of control. I threw myself onto the grass and flowers and wept. Only when I heard footsteps coming up behind me did I stop and raise my head. Lincoln sat in the flowers next to me and stroked my back with concern. "Don't you wish to stay with those who love you, Claire?" His voice shook with emotion as he caught his breath. I slowly rose to my knees, he pulled me in and hugged me tightly. He kissed my face and neck. I could feel his love slowly enfolding me. I gave him a gentle push and stood up. A soft breeze made my hair float about my head. Lincoln pushed my hair to the side and raised my hand to his lips in a tender kiss. I gently pulled my hand away and began to walk. The robe I was wearing shined, brilliantly lit in the morning sunlight. I slowly approached a tree near the top of this small rise. Lincoln's eyes were filling with sadness and tears. "Please... Claire... please..." My mind was torn between where I was and where I had come from... How could this have happened? I picked a single flower from the grass and made my way up the hill. Lincoln came no further; he seemed to have resigned his fate to my decision, whatever that might be. I looked back at him and leaned against the tree, the foliage gently swaying in the light breeze. Sun was dappling the ground between the shadows of the leaves. I looked high into the canopy of the tree. A single leaf, dried from the last fall, floated down and spiraled harmlessly to the ground. I followed its path with my eyes until it came to rest. I drew my breath in a slow gasp. The leaf had come to rest on a newly dug grave. There, at the head, was a wooden panel, with an epitaph deeply carved into its surface: "Beloved Claire, until we are together again"; below that was: "Born: July 1, 1760 - Died: April 22, 1776." My hand trembled as I looked upon the grave of Claire... the girl that Lincoln believed me to be. I staggered one step then sat down quickly on a nearby log to keep from falling. Almost before my eyes the wooden grave marker began to shimmer and sway as if it were a mirage on a hot summer day. I tried to stand but my legs were weak with fear. Slowly the shimmering image of the marker began to fade. It became transparent; soon there was nothing left of it. I blinked tears away from my eyes and looked around quickly. Gone was the marker--and the grave. In their place was a lush bed of beautiful flowers that cascaded down the hillside towards the little house in the meadow. I sat up straighter and pushed a strand of golden hair behind my ear. A slight shuffle made me turn. "I thought I'd find you here." The tall young man sat on the log next to me. "Been up here thinking again?" I placed my hand on the log; it came into contact with a book lying next to me. I looked down and brought the book into my lap. "Oh, I see... you've been up here reading," and he smiled and patted my knee, I turned the book over in my hands slowly--it was a Bible. I brushed another blonde lock behind my ear and stared intently into his handsome face. His smile caused me to smile in turn. "I just came up here to let you know that Jonah is awake... I think he's hungry." I nodded and smiled; I could feel the pressure in my breasts. "Come back down to the house with me..." Lincoln stood and offered his hand. I tentatively grasped it in my own; he helped me to my feet. As we slowly walked down the hill, he slipped his arm around my slender waist. I knew that this may be just a dream? I knew that I may wake up in a world long from here... but something strange happened when I entered that cabinet. I'm not sure if I will ever be allowed to return home... but for now, this would be home to me. With Lincoln... and Jacob. I closed my eyes in the warm sun, drinking in the heavenly scent of the spring flowers around me... and thanked God for the crying spirit He sent to my room. *** On the side of the hill he made his choice, forever to be included among the residents of this sleepy little community: a tiny hamlet located on the outskirts of... THE TWILIGHT ZONE. The End [email protected]