Across My Grave not at peace

A trip through dimensions that were unknown in the beginning!

Across My Grave

Chapter 1

Strange Occurrences

Stanley Allen Parker stood before the mirror, shaving, just as he had done for the last 30 years. Nothing new, just another day in the salt mine, he thought, absently, watching the steam rise from the faucet and cover the mirror. Using the heel of his right hand, he wiped fitfully to clear enough of the mirror to see his own reflection. "Not bad," he mumbled under his breath. He made another swipe with the razor, an old-style double-edge blade. He had never made the transition to the electric type. Janie, his wife of 15 years, was always trying to get him to buy one, but he didn't want anything that depended on electricity. He was funny that way.

He grimaced at the reflection in the mirror, "You old fart," A statement which was not quite true. After all, he was only 46 and still looked pretty good. He'd managed to stay in shape with a 3-day-a-week regimen at the local gym. He also ran 5 miles on weekends, "I'm doing pretty well." He said aloud.

"Honey, are you about done in there?" Janie shouted through the closed door. "Be done in a minute!" Stanley shouted back. He flexed his muscles and gazed at himself in the mirror. "Not bad! Not bad at all." He grabbed his briefs and slipped them over his feet, one at a time, pulling them up snugly. As he was reaching for his V-neck T-shirt, he felt a chill begin at the base of his spine. It seemed harmless at first, but it didn't go away.

Suddenly, all of his attention was captured by that chill. It wasn't like anything he had ever felt before. The chill gripped him like a vise. His fists were clenched as he wrapped both arms around him, like pythons. He shivered, inexorably, as it crawled up his spine, and with every vertebra, it increased in strength. As it reached the base of his brain, he was just able to force a scream from his lungs before he felt unconsciousness engulf him with a comforting darkness. As he was collapsing, a face appeared in the mirror, but it was not his face; it was the face of a haggard old woman. He crumbled like a rotting tree into a pile of cold, clammy flesh.

Janie sat at her vanity table brushing her long auburn hair. She had thought, more than once, about cutting it all off, but Stanley insisted on her keeping it long. It was just one of his wishes. She was very attuned to what Stan wanted. The love was so good, she didn't want anything to affect it. She pulled the broad bristle brush through her hair, and as she neared the end of the strand, she heard a strange groan, or was it a scream? She couldn't tell, "For all she knew, it could even be Stanley's attempt at a song verse." She mumbled. Then came the crash and thud; it sounded as if he had fallen. Janie jumped up so quickly that the stool, on which she had been seated, tumbled away. She ran around the foot of the bed, to the bathroom door, the brush still gripped tightly in her right hand. She turned the knob and tried to push the door open, but something was blocking it. "Stanley!" she shouted. "Open this damn door." I'm going to be late for work, and I don't have time for games." "Stanley? STANLEY?"

There was no answer from the other side of the door, and Janie was getting worried. Stanley didn't usually play games like this. It wasn't like him not to answer her. She pushed on the door again, and it moved slightly. She pushed harder, and it moved a little more. She could see Stanley's hand and part of his arm lying against the door. He must have passed out, she surmised.

Using her shoulder and all of her 115 pounds, she was able to move his unresponsive body far enough to slide through the door and into the bathroom. "Stanley, what's wrong with you?" The fear was audible in her voice. She knelt beside him, afraid to check for a pulse, but she knew she had to. Her hand was shaking so severely that she had to control it with the other hand. Still, she could not make the connection to his throat. She drew her hand back, paused, took a deep breath, and held it as she forced her hand to Stan's carotid artery. Thump, thump, thump, thump, a steady beat, and it didn't feel erratic, that is as far as she could tell. She shook his shoulder, and he groaned. She shook him harder, and his eyes fluttered, then opened slowly. "Where am I?" She looked at him, puzzled, "Stanley, you are in our bathroom. You collapsed on the floor. Are you hurt? "Stanley attempted to sit up and felt the chill descending on him again. His shivers were visible to Janie, and she could feel his body shaking violently. She jumped up and ran to the portable phone dialing 911 as she threw herself over the bed and headed back to the bathroom...