“She really looks strange, doesn’t she?”

The lady in red spoke to me in hushed tones. I think she forgets that everyone is within inches of one another and can hear every word.

Even over the rest of the conversation happening, all eyes went to the lady in red. I forget her name. Rebecca? Rachel? Rhonda? It’s an r name.

It wasn’t necessarily that the mime was actually speaking that threw me off as much as it was the lady in red. While the rest of the group watched the mime share the latest gossip he heard about on the morning train, she just watched me.

And I watched her.

Her eyes were entrapping. She was speaking but suddenly I could not hear her. Some moments were silent. Some moments, certain words came through.

“She-“ “why-“ “cup-“ “spilled-“ “bastard-“

I suddenly felt the weight of their stares. Not the lady in red, but the rest of them. Unease crawling up my spine.

Looking into the eyes of the mime. The floral dress lady scowling. The lady with red hair.. laughing? The lady with albino white hair crying. And why on earth was the other woman in a pant suit? Besides the point. All eyes were on me and I couldn’t figure out why.

Not only that, I couldn’t even figure out how I got there. Why can’t I remember their names? Why don’t I know them but why do I also know them better than I know myself?

Lost in a fit of confusion, I get up to leave. I can no longer handle this and I feel like I’m in the wrong place. But I find my chair is rooted to the ground. I struggle with the chair. Shaking the wooden death trap as I try to maneuver myself backwards. With no such luck, I also begin to cry.

My tears seem to have stirred something in them. “Oh now you’ve done it.” Says the lady in red. I turn to look at her as she’s suddenly shifted and is now inches from my face. I cry harder.

They all stand. Pushing back on their chairs with ease while I’m still rooted in place. I try to stand myself. To run. To hide. To escape and find my rear is also attached.

“What do you want?” I say, quietly and full of fear. I close my eyes to wish away the tears. To wish away the nightmare I’ve caught myself in. And when I open. All I see is her. The lady in red. The table is gone. The dishware is gone. Everyone is gone. Except her. Kneeling before me. Inches from my face. Smiling.

“‘And that’s when I wake up.’ What could this mean?”

The sherrif before me is still writing out my report. He definitely thinks I’m as crazy as my grandmother was. When I found her journal under her mattress when we were cleaning out her home, I nearly threw it in a box. The memory too hard to deal with. I didn’t want to know what her final thoughts were.

Granny was sick, or so my mother says. And everyone else for that matter. “Sickness of the brain” they say. But her last conversation with me made me believe differently. I truly think she believed someone was after her. Something was happening to her.

I needed to know.

It took time to realize that but I needed to know what her deepest thoughts looked like. So when I went back to her home the next day, thankful the movers hadn’t taken everything to storage yet, I grabbed the journal and ran.

When I finished reading the journal, I realized not only was there only one entry. But there was also a hidden compartment in the journal. With photos hidden inside. Photos of granny. But not taken from perspectives of a friend or family member. But perspectives like outside her window. Outside her car. There was just a few.

In one photo though, I saw it. A reflection in her bedroom window. Red.

“Listen Sarah, I don’t know what exactly you want to be done here. I’m sorry to be so blunt but your grandmother has passed. It’s horrible to know she may have had a stalker. But what can we do now? This photo shows nothing of the person in the photo.”

“Okay but the dreams she was having. And the red! Right there!” I nearly shout with frustration as I show him again the photo.

“Sarah.. you just lost your grandmother. Please just go home. Mourn. Your mother needs your support in this. I’ll look into it, I promise. But until then, please just take some time.”

I snatch the journal and stand. I’ve been telling people for months now that something is wrong. No one believes me. Just like no one believed her.

I walk out of the police station and back to my car. Determined to do something. What? I’m not sure. But something.

I unlock my car and look up quickly as I see a flash in my peripheral line of sight.

Red.