The Shadow in the Dark (Part Twenty)

 

“It’s ever so gooey, but that’s hardly a bad thing on a birthday, is it, honey?”

 

Rosemary placed a large cake smothered in cream on the table and began to cut two enormous slices from it. Only half an hour ago she had assembled party streamers and hung the words ‘Happy Birthday Ashlee!’ across the living room, though in her haste she had managed to spell all the words wrong. I didn’t think it wise to correct her. The woman was clearly insane, and I was now locked inside her remote house deep in the rural countryside, just outside of Innsmouth.  

 

“I don’t know about you, honey, but I think a birthday without really sticky cake is like Tom without Jerry.”

 

I smiled nervously and fingered the fabric of the ridiculous party dress she had insisted I wear. I watched as she finished cutting the cake, served two thick slices, and placed the cake knife on the side of the table fairly close to where my plate was. It wouldn’t be particularly sharp, but it was better than nothing. My party dress was stiff, bell-shaped, with a starched petticoat that insisted on standing away from the body of the garment. The fabric was pastel powder blue and decorated with tiny, earnest details: embroidered flowers, and a ribbon sash tied into an aggressively neat bow at the front. On my feet I wore a pair of simple Mary Jane shoes with side straps over short frilly white socks neatly folded over. I felt completely ridiculous. My hair was gathered back with the obligatory neat white ribbon that Rosemary had insisted on tying into a floppy bow.

 

“Don’t you look like an angel?” she had said as she stood back to check me over. “Even my little Ada never looked this good in her party dress. You’re going to have the best birthday ever.”

 

Did she actually now think it WAS my birthday? This had started out as Ada’s birthday, and Ada not being here, and me wanting desperately to get out from the handcuffs. 

 

I felt very sorry for Ada if Rosemary’s daughter had been made to dress like this on her thirteenth birthday. Her teenage years must have been hell. No wonder she went to Miskatonic university first chance she got. My wrists still felt sore and bore the marks of the handcuffs that Sheriff Root had locked on me. I ran my fingers over the marks and wondered how long they might last. If they were still there tomorrow they would be evidence that I didn’t hallucinate today, and twenty four hours had gone past in the interim. I would have proof that the day wasn’t perpetually the 5^th of October.

 

“Oh, what am I like! I forgot the fizzy drinks,” said Rosemary as she slapped her forehead. “What a silly billy I am. Now, you just tuck into your first slice of birthday cake and I’ll sort out some Coca-Cola from the kitchen. Do you want a napkin?”

 

“Please,” I said. I tried not to glance at the cake knife. I hoped Rosemary would forget about it and I could take it while she was in the kitchen. 

 

“Coming right up,” she beamed. “Now how about you put some nice music on? What’s a birthday party without music, hmm? I still have some of Ada’s old pop records stacked next to our old record player in the corner there. It’s only a small selection, but I’m hoping you’ll like the same music Ada did.” And then she ruffled my hair again. “Oh, pretty as a picture. I just want to keep you here and never let you leave.” She gave me a kiss on the nose. “If we’re really lucky, it’ll take the garage a week or so to repair your car and we can have fun together in the meantime. Wouldn’t that be lovely?’

 

“Lovely,” I said, keeping a strained smile on my face.

 

“Cake,” she said, pointing to my plate. I nodded and picked up a spoon to work a piece of the gooey mess free. “Yum,” I said, eating some cake. 

 

“Be right back,” said Rosemary. “I want to hear some music playing when I get back!”

 

As soon as she was gone I move quickly to the front door and checked the handle. Yes, she had locked it. And it wasn’t a sliding bolt, either. it was a key lock. I stepped back and swiped the cake knife, checking it quickly for a point or edge. There was no point, and the edge was only good enough for cutting cake. I slid the cake knife so it was hidden under the rim of the plate. It wouldn’t be obvious anymore, and I could grab it if Rosemary suddenly grew dangerous. But if she went looking for it, it wouldn’t have obviously disappeared.

 

“Music!” cried Rosemary as she rattled around in her kitchen cabinets. I walked over to the old fashioned record player, feeling the starched petticoat skirt of my party dress rustle about my thighs. I squatted down and checked the records. There were perhaps twenty or so in all, some of which were obviously Rosemary’s as they were creased Easy Listening albums dating back to the 1970s. But then my heart seemed to skip a beat as I pulled out a modern looking pop album entitled ‘Lip Gloss Secrets’ by Ashlee Ellis. 

 

By Ashlee Ellis…

 

I felt like I’d just fallen down another rabbit hole as I held the record in my hands. 

 

What… the… fuck…

 

It was me on the cover, lying on an exotic bed spread, smiling up at the camera. Only it was me with professionally styled hair and LOTS of professional makeup. I wore a skimpy red silk dress with a lunging neckline, high heeled shoes, and there seemed to be a steel collar locked about my throat. I quickly turned the album sleeve round and saw more pictures of me from the same photo session on the back of the sleeve. Every single photo appeared to be me in extreme glamour mode. 

 

This was insane. I pulled out some more albums, also by me. There was one where I wore a glittering platinum sequin dress and I seemed to be dancing in some Greek ruins. It was entitled ‘Oops, Still Me,’ and a sticker on the cover stated  it included the hit single, ‘We’re All Dancing to a Different Tune’. My blood ran cold as I recognised the name of that song. Three months before my graduation at Mount Holyoke – the day that Felicity Emery came to stay with Michael. Elijah saying I could be a Britney Spears style pop singer.

 

No, no, no… this was madness. There was a third LP by me, only this one was very different – a change in direction. It was ‘Ashlee Ellis Sings Songs from Frozen’. 

I scrabbled around the collection and found a number of vinyl singles from the albums: ‘All Eyes on Me’, ‘Stronger Than I look’, ‘Touch Me Like That’, and, yes, fucking ‘Let it Go’ from Frozen – a song I never wanted to be reminded of ever again, and finally, of course, the single ‘We’re All Dancing to a Different Tune’ that Elijah had mockingly sung for me that day. 

I closed my eyes, took a deep breath and tried to make sense of all of this. These albums couldn’t exist. I studied each one again. They were all photos of me, or of someone who looked exactly like me. I pulled out the disc from the sleeve of ‘We’re All Dancing to a Different Tune’. The label details corresponded with the sleeve. Polymer records. Ashlee Ellis vocals. Writing credits… I trembled as I read Elijah Bannon’s name. Producer credit… Elijah, too. 

 

I can’t be singing on this. There is no way I could actually be singing on this. it was just a fake label stuck on a random record. It had to be. 

 

“Music!” called out Rosemary again. “Something you can dance to?”

 

I had to know. I rose from my knees, feeling the childish party dress rustle about my thighs again, and I lifted the lid of the record player. I put the record down onto the spindle and lifted the stylus.

 

There was some crackle from the run in groove and then I heard… my voice. it was my voice, singing ‘We’re All Dancing to a Different Tune’.

 

Everybody’s telling me what I should be

Act like this, fit in, follow their beat

But when the lights go down and I hear my heart

It’s playing something wild from the very start

 

They say slow down, don’t make a scene

But I don’t move unless I feel it in me

If I’m out of step, that’s fine with you

‘Cause I don’t wanna move like they all do

 

And, ohh baby…

 

We’re all dancing to a different tune!

Different steps, different point of view

If I’m spinning outta line tonight

It just feels good, yeah it feels all right

 

“Oh, my Ada loved this one,” said Rosemary from the kitchen. “She would play this over and over again, dancing around in her cotton socks, singing along. I remember it so well.”

 

It was me. It was unmistakably my voice. It was me singing. 

 

This was madness. I’m an FBI agent! I do not know a Doctor Thredson! I have never been to Briarcliff Asylum! And I have never made pop records! 

 

I don’t need permission to shine this way

I change my rhythm like night and day

You say I’m trouble, maybe it’s true

But I like the sound when I make my rules

 

No rewind, I’m already gone

When the beat hits hard, I’m moving on

You can stay still, I got nothing to prove

I’m already lost in the way I move

 

And, ohh baby…

 

We’re all dancing to a different tune!

Different steps, different point of view

If I’m spinning outta line tonight

It just feels good, yeah it feels all right

 

“Now this birthday party is swinging at last,” chuckled Rosemary as she emerged from the kitchen with a 2 litre bottle of Coca-Cola and a plastic tumbler for me. She set the tumbler down and filled it with fizzy coke. “Happy birthday, Ashlee.”

 

She watched me like a hawk as I sipped a little of the coke. I seemed to have very few options. I could sit this out and just hope she didn’t get aggressive, or I could try and escape,  but that would mean threatening her. Rosemary was much older me, but I had already felt how strong she was. I would have to use my Quantico training to incapacitate her, so that meant I would be initiating violence from the outset. Or… I could just ask her to unlock the door. That would be the real test to find out whether I was a prisoner here.

 

“Rosemary, I think I need a bit of fresh air. Do you mind if I step outside for a bit?’

 

“Oh, honey, it’s raining outside and you don’t have a coat.”

 

I tried to offer a goofy look. “What’s a bit of rain?”

 

“Not in your pretty party dress. And you’d get your shoes and socks all muddy. It’s really out of the question.”

 

I gazed out of the window and saw it was now raining. This house was many, many miles along a private track, well away from the main road. “Perhaps when the rain stops?” I suggested.

 

“Now why don’t we sit down and watch a film?” replied Rosemary, completely ignoring my question. “My Ada would always watch Frozen on her birthday, each and every year. And we’d both sing along to her favourite songs. Would you like that, Ashlee? You like Frozen, don’t you?” Her eyes seemed to narrow as she patted the sofa seat beside her. 

 

“Love it,” I said. I tried to remember if I had seen anything at all that might make for a better weapon than the blunt cake knife. The kitchen. The kitchen would have proper knives. “I’m just going to get a glass of water,” I said, moving towards the kitchen door. Rosemary was up and out of her seat in an instant, politely blocking my way. “But it’s your party. Sit yourself down and I’ll get you a nice plastic tumbler of water.”

 

“You don’t need to trouble yourself, Rosemary. It’s only a short step to the kitchen…” I felt her take hold of my wrist with a grip that was surprisingly strong. 

 

“Don’t be so skittish, honey.” She easily pushed me back down onto the sofa without seeming to be openly aggressive. “You might splash water on your lovely party dress. And anyway, there are all manner of sharp things in the kitchen. My Ada was always cutting herself by accident. Tch tch. Little girls need to be careful, don’t they?”

 

“It’s nice that you’re concerned about me,” I said. I smoothed the crisp rustling skirt across my lap as Rosemary loomed over me.

 

“It is, isn’t it,” she said. Her eyes flickered to the where the cake plate sat. “Have you moved the cake knife, Ashlee?” Her eyes narrowed again. "You're not supposed to do something like that. It's disrespectful."

 

I swallowed. “Oh, no, Rosemary. It must be there somewhere.”

 

Rosemary watched me carefully as she checked and found that it had somehow slid under the rim of the plate after all. She picked it up, cleaned cake cream off it with a napkin and placed it in an apron pocket. “No harm done,” she said, smiling at me again. “Best not to leave cake knives lying around, though. Even if they are blunt,” she added with a smile.