Page 33 of Silent Night

She sank into the worn upholstery of one of the break room chairs, feeling the fabric give way beneath her. Her eyelids felt heavy, and within moments, she found herself drifting off to sleep.

As she slumbered, her thoughts turned to her mother, the familiar warmth of home washing over her. But something was off—the once comforting image of her childhood house now loomed before her like an ominous specter. The windows glowed with an eerie light, casting skeletal shadows across the yard.

"Mom?" she called out, her voice echoing through the empty street. There was no response, only the whisper of wind rustling the leaves overhead.

She approached the front door, unease tugging at her heart. It creaked open, revealing a dark, unwelcoming interior. The once familiar rooms were now twisted and distorted, a labyrinth of memories contorted into a nightmarish landscape.

"Where are you, Mom?" she cried out, her voice trembling.

She navigated the maze-like house, her footsteps muffled by thick layers of dust that coated the floor. Each room she entered was more disorienting than the last, the walls seeming to close in around her with each passing moment.

"Please, Mom," she whispered, tears welling in her eyes. "I need you."

As she wandered deeper into the house, a growing sense of dread filled her, as if an unseen force lurked just beyond her vision. Shadows gnashed their teeth, and the air grew cold and heavy, pressing down on her chest like a vice.

Then, before she knew what was happening, the dream shifted again, and she found herself standing at the edge of the Great Salt Lake. The once pristine waters were now murky and foul-smelling, their surface marred by an oily sheen. The sky above was a sickly gray, heavy clouds roiling ominously in the distance.

"Mom?" she called out hesitantly, her voice swallowed by the vast expanse of water. "Are you here?"

Desperation fueled her as she waded into the lake, the brackish water clinging to her skin like a shroud. It was impossible to see more than a few inches beneath the surface, but she knew, somehow, that her mother was there.

"Please, Mom," she whispered, her voice breaking with emotion. "I can't do this without you."

"Sheila," came a faint, distant reply. The sound of her mother's voice brought tears to her eyes, and she pressed forward, ignoring the way the water grew colder with each step.

"Mom!" she cried out, hope surging through her veins. "Where are you?"

"Find me, Sheila," her mother urged, her voice growing stronger, yet tinged with sadness.

Sheila's heart raced as she plunged deeper into the water, trying desperately to follow the sound of her mother's voice. Yet, no matter how far she went, it seemed as though her mother was always just out of reach.

"Mom, I'm trying!" she shouted, frustration boiling over. "Just tell me where you are!"

"Forgive me, Sheila," her mother whispered, sorrow heavy in her tone. "I never wanted to leave you."

"Mom...please don't go." Sheila's voice was barely audible as her strength waned, the weight of her exhaustion bearing down on her.

"Find me," her mother urged, one last time.

Suddenly, Sheila's foot brushed against something cold and hard beneath the water. Hesitating for a moment, she reached down and grasped onto it, pulling with all her remaining strength. As the object broke the surface, her heart stopped.

There, floating in the water, was her mother's lifeless body. Her once vibrant eyes stared blankly at the sky above, and her skin was pale and cold to the touch.

She was encased in salt, preserved there after all those years.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

The cacophony of voices filled the bustling mall as shoppers scurried from store to store, their arms laden with bags and packages. Jenson sat on a bench near the central fountain, his leg bouncing anxiously as he studied the people walking by.

He was waiting for someone, barely able to contain his agitation. He could feel the tension knotting in his shoulders, the stress creeping up his spine. He needed some release, an escape from the stress of knowing the police might catch him at any moment.

Around him, the mall buzzed with frenetic energy. Families moved in packs, teenagers roamed in giggling clusters, and couples strolled hand in hand. The air was thick with the scent of warm pretzels, fruity perfume, and fresh leather from nearby shops.

Jenson's eyes darted from face to face. Come on, Heather, he thought. Where are you?

Suddenly, a small girl toddled into his line of sight. She couldn't have been more than four years old, her blonde curls bouncing as she moved. In her chubby hands, she clutched a well-loved stuffed rabbit, its once-pristine fur now matted and gray.

As the girl passed Jenson, she tripped over her own feet, sending the rabbit tumbling to the floor. It landed at Jenson's feet, its beady eyes staring up at him accusingly. His fingers itched with the urge to tear the toy apart, to see the stuffing spill out like entrails. But instead, he forced a smile and bent down to pick up the toy.

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