Or perhaps it was only the echo of her own voice she heard, because already she had no idea who she had been talking to, or why. Her memories were mice on the kitchen floor - running for cover and vanishing when the light turned on.
But there was no light. Not in her mind, and not here. And no one here to be talking to.
Or was there? There was something moving in front of her. Was someone there? It was too dark to see, but she couldn't risk taking her eyes off it. Behind her she heard the wind, and the roar of the ocean. She could dimly make out that she was in a stairway. Everything was cold damp brick, and the walls were curved so that the stairs ran in a gentle spiral - downwards to her left, and upwards two her right.
As her eyes became accustomed to the dark, the shadowy figure that stood before Sheila slowly came into focus. Sudden recognition! It was a mirror, she was looking at herself! She let out a gasp and let out a giggle, the sound of it seeming strange to her. She reached forward to feel it, and indeed, it was just a mirror hanging on the inside wall. It was still too dark to see much of herself. All Sheila could make out was lots of tightly curled hair, and a heavy dress that almost went to the floor. She was wearing boots. It all seemed unfamiliar.
She turned around, and behind her was a window. It was open, but had bars running across it. Outside was indeed the ocean. Waves were crashing violently against jutting rocks, and the wind blew the trees about. But there wasn't a cloud in the sky. She was seeing all this in amazingly bright starlight.
The building she was in was right on the shore. Of course! She was in a lighthouse. Sheila smiled at her deduction, and thrust her hands in her pockets proudly.
But there was no light. Sheila fingered what her hand had found in her pockets. A book of matches. Was she a lighthouse keeper? She turned back to the mirror and struck a match.
"I am not that young!" was her first reaction, which she and her reflection said aloud. The girl that stared back at her was barely out of puberty. She suddenly felt very small, although there was nothing here to gauge her actual size, and her body had certainly developed. She wore some kind of 19th century dress, but her hair and makeup seemed too modern for it, as did the matchbook, which had a color photo of a hotel on it. What time period was "Modern", exactly? She thought to herself.
Enough thinking! Sheila tossed the match on to the floor, and stomped it out. Despite what she looked like she was a wizard with machines! "Why I could light this thing even if I'd never even seen one before!" She said aloud. Well, for all practical purposes, she _hadn't_ ever seen one before.
Pausing once more to note some of the implications of her thoughts, she chose her plan of action.