The Evil That Waited — Mona Farnsworth

There she was…

“It was a huge painting, a portrait of a woman standing full-length against a background of misty trees and shadowed garden. Her white dress cut low, and swirled in soft folds around her feet. Her arms held roses; two of them had fallen, making soft splashes of color half-buried in that whiteness. Her face was oval, her hair red-gold, and I knew without looking that her eyes were amber. For, when I wore white, my eyes were amber, and looking at this woman was like looking into a mirror at myself. I was a woman of a hundred years ago. My great-grandmother. As I turned, a chilling touch brushed by my cheek. An odor of mildew and old fabrics invaded the air. I ran down the stairs in terror, falling, falling…