Lockett's Window

I’m a detective trying to piece together a series of events all having to do with a strange window. You may call me Detective J. There’s been a belief that supernatural phenomenons have been happening to the people who came into contact with the window. Unfortunately, some records about the mysterious window have been either lost, discarded, not recorded, or burnt. My only lead is the residents at Locketts Hotel in Auburn, Alabama. I believe that the family, the Freemans, that own hotel isn’t normal.

Cindy Lockett, January 4, 1852:

As the ashes fell from the sky like snow, while the men with musket guns fired at both friend and foe, a little maid holding a long mirror along with her two siblings hid behind a small shed. The roars from the guns circulated throughout the entire plantation as farmers aimed at fellow farmers, as slaves fought with and against the farmers. They lost their minds to the madness of a single item. “ Where is it.” A man shouted a few yards away from the shed. “It’s my mirror,” another screams in agony. As the voices got closer and closer to the shed, the little maid held the large mirror tighter to her body.

Cindy Lockett glided her hands slowly along the edges of the ruggedly wooded frame of the mirror. She bit her lip to avoid the pain from the splinters that pricked her fingers. She didn’t want to scream. She didn’t want to drop it. And she didn’t want her two older brothers Samuel and Todd Lockett, to hold it either. This item weighed a ton —in her mind, but it was actually the same weight as a medium-size chair. On the sides and back of the mirror were carvings of black men and women, some wore masks, and others had their hands angled towards the sky as if looking at a higher power. To Cindy, the people on the back raised their hands toward god while the people on the sides had their hands angled, more so, towards her heart. 

“Their coming,” Samuel whispered.

“We can’t let them get the mirror,” Cindy replied 

“Are we not in this mess because of it?” Todd asks.

The shouts were getting louder. Samuel looks at Cindy and said, “Cindy, we have to go, give me the—”

“I can’t give you the mirror!”

“Why?”

“ You’ll turn into one them”

Samuel was angry at her comment. He stuck his hand out threateningly. “Cindy!”

“I can’t….” She tightens her grip. “All the men fighting with guns had looked at this mirror, and now they’re fighting anything with arms and legs.” 

“Cindy!” Samuel yelled to her not as a demand but as a warning. As a man with a musket gun aimed at Cindy. Before she could turn around, the first thing she heard was the sound of glass shattering from the mirror she held.

All Records of Cindy Lockett after she was shot and the mirror were never recorded. Also, all records regarding her siblings were burned. 

Daniel Fischer, November 16, 1905:

           It was seven o’clock in the morning when Daniel Fischer, in bed, opened his eyes and saw it. He checked into the Lockett Hotel last night. Before morning, his room was to his delight—a desk, some candles, a regular window with a nice view of the farm outside, and a soft bed. He wiped his eyes to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating, but it was still there. Standing beside his door was this small mirror or window with a wooden frame with people's cravings. Fischer tightened his robe and proceeded to get closer. As he faced the window, he saw the strangest thing. It didn’t lead to the hallway nor showed him the doors of the other rooms. Instead, he saw a man with dark skin about the same height and width, wearing the same robe and looking right at him. He saw a reflection of himself.

           Fischer proceeded to touch the mysterious window with his index finger. The glass turned into ripples. His reflection warped into a deformed look. Then, it latched onto his finger and slowly started to stretch up to his wrist. “Stop!” he yelled. And the glass retracted back to a regular window with a view of the doors in the hallway. He checked his hand and realized he was holding a letter. Fischer opened the door and rushed to the manager’s, Mr. Freeman, office.

           Mr. Freeman, at the time, wore a yellow tie and blue suit while he attended to the papers on his desk when Fischer barged in. He looked in disbelief as the young man had the audacity to roam the halls with barely any clothes except for his underwear and a robe.

“There’s something in my room,” Fischer gasped.

“What is it?”

“There’s a strange window in my room.”

“What kind of window?”

“That one…” Fischer pointed to the window hanging above Mr. Freeman. “It looks exactly like that one.”

“Did you touch the mirror?” Mr. Freeman said in a solemn tone. He looked over towards a torn black and white picture on his desk. It seemed to be a picture of two people standing in front of a shed. However, a good chunk of the corner was missing from the photo, which looked like a possible third person. “Did You” he demanded.

“Yes. It handed me this letter.”

Mr. Freeman, then, did something strange he looked Fischer in the eyes and said, “I’m sorry for your loss. What does the letter say?”

Fischer opened the letter and began to cry. 

           Daniel Fischer refused to disclose the contents of the letter. There was no record of any window fitting the item's description in question in Fischer’s room. The only thing he did say was that his older brother wrote the letter, which doesn’t make sense because his brother, fifteen years ago, died by gunshot near Auburn, Alabama. The killer was never found.  

Susan Kaley, December 13, 1918:

           Susan Kaley had walked to her bathroom to do her makeup when she noticed a small window hung above her toilet. She looked at it with awe. In the few days she’s been at the hotel, she never saw a window there before. It had these strange wooden carvings of people on the frame. She opened the window and on the other side were more people. As soon as she took her head out of the window, it closed by itself. She saw a reflection of a caucasian woman with long luscious blonde hair and blue eyes. It was an image of herself. Then, the image pointed directly at her and said, “Think about it.”

Kaley rushed to Mr. Freeman’s office to complain about a window that looks exactly like the one hung above him. Then, with a calm expression, he said, “Where is your weapon?”

“How did you know I owned a gun?” she said, surprised.

“Is it locked away?”

“Of course, but how—”

“You know, Ms. Kaley, a weapon like that can protect people and take people away. Most times, we don’t even need it.” Mr. Freeman glides his hands over the picture on his desk and rubbing the corner where the image is torn. “It can turn us into monsters,” he whispered.

“What?”

“ Just make sure it’s locked and put away.”

On that night, a man named Jeff Shapiro was spotted with Susan Kaley at the Loft bar. Witnesses said that he was overly flirtatious with her, and she warned. She left the bar, he followed and she warned him again until the hotel manager had to intervene. She ran to her hotel room. Witnesses said that a gunshot was fired from the window on the second floor; the shot came from her room. Shapiro was hit in the left shoulder. Officers arrested both Kaley and Shapiro. Kaley confessed to having the gun out at the time but never using it. She said, “I had it in my hand. I turned my head and saw myself looking through the wooden window and fired a shot outside. I was scared. I put my gun down and ran outside.” When the officers looked inside her room, they couldn’t find the gun anywhere.

My Report, January 18, 1920:

I’ve been researching the history of the Freemans over the last couple of years and found little information about them. So far the manager, Mr. John S. Freeman, has been in contact with people involved with gun violence. Some people he convinced to give up the usage of a firearm, and some he wasn’t able to convince. The ones that refused were the ones to commit crimes. His younger brother Robert T. Freeman works at the front desk. He refuses to answer any of my questions. When I asked Mr. John S. Freeman about the window in his office, he said, “It was a set. One was given to me and the other to my sister.” He smirked and said, “When she passed away, the other mirror disappeared.” The thing that doesn’t make sense is that there’s no record of the Freemans having a third sister. However, on the employee list, there’s a Susie C. Freeman. I asked residents of the hotel if they ever saw her, and they always said, “Who?” Finally, Mr. Freeman answered, “she’s here every day watching people from afar.”