RSS 2.0 FeedIssue Four-June/July 2009, Cover Stories, Hard Core Speculative Fiction
Mirror, Mirror on the Wall
Sometimes the answers are the first thing we see, whether we know it or not.
The mirror was mounted on the wall, its archaic frame slowly gathering dust. The room it reflected was empty, as it’d been for many years along with the rest of the house. But today that house had company…
Detective Bowden was at the threshold, reluctant to step inside. He lit up a cigarette and took a deep drag, sweeping his eyes around the gritty interior of that godforsaken building: at the cracked walls covered in mildew, the cobwebs that hoisted the remains of famished arachnids, at the termite-ridden floor, and at the shattered staircase that ran alongside the right wall.
“So this is the place the missing kids supposedly visited?” a voice of a female resonated from behind.
The detective cleared his throat. “According to Joshua,” he said. He then took another drag and added, “He mentioned the four of them were here prior to the disappearances, and....the murder.”
He threw the cigarette down, squished the butt with his sole, and turned around. “I want this place thoroughly searched.”
His partner nodded and beckoned several uniformed officers to follow her inside. “What about you?”
The detective shifted his gaze back to the house. “I'll take a look around,” he said and stepped in. There were rooms on either side of the main rotunda, but some insinuation urged him to go upstairs. He carefully ascended the decrepit steps—victims of moisture and termites. The banisters broke off, and now were just mere protruding posts. It was amazing how fast it took nature to demolish this deserted building since the last time he’d set foot here. That morbid day. All life ceased to exist in this place since that day, replaced by the stagnant death that left its touch on every object.
There were two doors on the second floor. The one to the right was boarded, but the other was slightly open. The detective slowly approached the open door and peeked inside.
It was an empty room with an oval mirror.
How peculiar, he thought. He felt a sudden need to glance in that mirror and stepped inside.
“Detective Bowden,” his partner called.
The detective stopped in his tracks as if waking from a dream. After looking about and making sure the room was indeed clear, he went back downstairs. He descended, lighted up another cigarette, and asked, “What is it, Laura?”
She extended her hand. “Look what we found.” There were several dozen tiny golden links in her palm, apparently a part of some exquisite piece of jewelry.
He frowned for a second and reached for the remains of the necklace. “Where did you find it?”
“Between the floor panels. What do you think? It belonged to one of the kids?”
“I doubt it,” he said, studying it closely. “It’s been weathered for a long period of time. It must’ve belonged to the previous owners of this house…” He paused. “The poor Stevenson family.”
Laura’s eyebrows rose in puzzlement. “What happened here?”
The detective sighed—it was hard to bring back that horrid memory. “Triple homicide. Henry Stevenson and his family were gunned down in cold blood… nearly a decade ago… back when I was a rookie. I still remember it vividly.”
She gasped. “Did they get the perps?”
He shook his head. “Unfortunately not. It was the most grotesque thing that ever occurred in this Podunk town. Ever since, this building had been abandoned.”
Laura began writing something in her notepad. “So visiting haunted houses late at night is those kids' idea of fun?”
“What are you trying to say, Josh?” the detective mumbled under his smoky breath.
“I think he's lying,” Laura said, fully aware the question was a rhetorical one. “He’s senile and Matthew Malone's death proves it.” She stopped scribbling, looked up. “How do we know he didn't murder the other teenagers?”
Detective Bowden didn’t reply, standing in deep contemplation. Four teens went missing and one was found after committing cold murder. Nineteen year old Joshua is discovered twenty miles away, in some city apartment, locked in the room with the man he murdered. There was no trace of the other kids, just Joshua’s alleged claims that they visited this house before the disappearances…
What occurred in this horrible place?
“What do you want me to do with the evidence?” Laura's voice awoke him once more.
“Bag it,” he said, putting out the cigarette on the door frame. “I'm going back to the city, back to the Malone residence. I believe there might be something there we missed the first time around.”
#
It was late in the afternoon when the detective pulled up by the victim's abode. He parked in the driveway, got out, pushed aside the police tape and went into the place where Joshua was found: deranged, covered in blood, incoherent.
At the very doorstep was a huge, crimson spot over the green carpet. Amidst it was a silhouette of a human body marked with masking tape. The line of blood stretched on the carpeting throughout the hallway and into the living area—the late Matthew Malone crawled to the doorstep in a vain attempt to escape as Joshua plunged the butcher knife in his back.
The room itself was completely ransacked. The table was broken in half, its glass surface shattered; the television was flat on its face, smashed to pieces; the chairs were turned upside down, some broken in half; and the couch was torn apart, covered in bloody hand prints. Magazines, DVD's, CD's, and other sundries were scattered along with the victim’s wardrobe. A picture of Matthew and some other fellow—who resembled him very closely, perhaps his brother—was on the floor, crossed with a red line. Thousands of tiny little shards sparkled in the blood-stained carpet as if Joshua deliberately grinded the glass. But the most bizarre thing, the enigma that perplexed the detective, was the blanket nailed to the wall behind the couch, covering a huge, broken mirror.
He hunkered down and began to carefully look around the pile. What am I missing? What, Josh? Then he saw something shiny amidst a stack of broken plates. How could I miss it the first time? It was a part of a necklace with a charm that had the initials “M.S.”
“Marlene Stevenson,” the detective whispered, clutching the chain. It was part of the same piece of jewelry that Laura had found earlier. How odd. Still, something wasn’t right.
He got up, his mind boiling at an unbridled rate, trying to make sense of the situation. But of course! He looked at the wall. The mirror! No, not this one, but the one in that empty house… Mayhap there was a clue there.
He set the necklace down and stormed out.
#
The sun nearly set, its last rays dragging the shadows of the buildings on the empty street as if an ominous army of demons headed towards their refuge: that deserted edifice.
The detective neared the porch, flicked away his cigarette, pulled out a flashlight, and crept in.
It was eerie and dark inside that vile place, especially at that late hour. He was never a spiritual man, but one thing was obvious: evil took its presence there. Yet he was a detective, thus he had to succumb to the mystery of the unknown. He turned on the light and climbed up the stairs, reaching the empty room.
There it is. It was an ancient oval mirror, its frame carved into multiple ridges and engraved with hieroglyphics. He guided the light around, looking for any marks.
Nothing out of the ordinary.
Then he flashed at its surface and froze.
There was something odd.
He stepped in closer and suddenly his image disappeared—the room only reflected everything else behind. His jaw dropped and perspiration formed on his brow, but he continued to gaze at the transformation. Something was different about the reflected image: the walls restored themselves, the railings on the stairs were intact, and there was furniture in the room. In the corner there was a bed, in which slept a little boy.
As he studied the unimaginable, two figures in black swiftly ascended the stairs and entered the opposite room. He quickly swiveled around and reached for his gun, yet there was nothing behind. Panting with relief, he eagerly turned back to the mirror, continuing to observe the paranormal event.
The little boy jumped up in bed as if he’d heard something. Three times a light flickered under the crack of the other room's door. The boy crawled under the bed and stared into the mirror, looking at the detective. The door swung open and a woman stumbled out, her nightgown covered in blood. One of the men was behind her with a drawn gun. He fired a shot and she fell down, continuing to crawl away. He stood over her and unloaded four more slugs in her back. The child saw everything through the reflection… The men entered the room. They approached the bed.
“No!” the detective cried out. But it was to no avail; he knew how it was supposed to go down, he was there the very next day.
The boy ran out of view. The men simultaneously opened fire in his direction. Blood splattered on their masks. They took them off and looked into the mirror, at the detective.
Those faces! It was Matthew Malone and the man in the picture—his brother.
The image disappeared and he saw himself once more. Sweat poured down his face as he ran out of the building, lost in confusion, rummaging through his pockets in an attempt to find a cigarette.
#
The interrogation room was a square cubicle with a table and two chairs. Detective Bowden tapped his fingers on the metal table, avidly looking ahead at the closed door. He was exhausted, running for the past twenty four hours on nothing but the buoyant combination of nicotine and caffeine.
The door opened and a large correctional officer stepped in, holding a frail, young prisoner who was cuffed and shackled, his face scratched up—visibly from self-induced injuries. The officer roughly pushed the prisoner down in the chair across the table. “Watch this one,” he warned and left the two of them.
“Hello, Joshua,” the detective began.
There was no reply; Josh simply looked down, a semi-catatonic expression on his face.
“I know why you did it Josh.”
Silence.
“I visited the house.”
Josh suddenly looked up at the detective, grinning. “You looked into it, didn't you?”
“Yes… and I saw the whole thing.”
Josh began laughing. “Now, you're not safe either!”
“Matthew's brother,” the detective continued, “we got him.”
“What?!” The youth’s eyes widened and he leaned over the table. “Tell me, tell me!”
“We got him as he left the morgue. I doubt if the courts will believe the paranormal, but I found enough substantial evidence to con—”
“You fool!” Joshua slid over the table in an attempt to grab the detective despite his chained limbs. “You have to kill him!”
Guards ran into the room and grabbed the young man on either side.
“For both our sakes!” Joshua shouted as he was being dragged. “I don't know how much longer I'll survive here! You have to kill him! You have to do what it tells you…”
“I'm sorry sir,” said the guard.
“I guess he’s senile after all,” the detective muttered, reaching for his last cigarette.
#
It was late at night as he stepped into his study. He took off his jacket, threw it on the couch, and sat down in his computer chair.
What a crazy day, he thought, clasping his weary face. He still couldn’t believe what he witnessed earlier. But something wasn’t right. His paranormal experience made him completely forget his main priority: whatever happened to the missing kids?
He rolled the chair towards his desk in haste and reached for the notepad. There was a pencil atop the notebook that fell on the ground. He leaned down to pick it up and froze. He thought he saw something out of his peripheral vision. He looked up and around.
Nothing, I really need some sleep. I’m tired, so tired…
He reached down, but once again hesitated.
No, you did see something.
There was a huge mirror on the opposite wall and he could've sworn that in the reflection, the pencil fell to the floor a fraction of a second later. His body shuddering from trepidation—but curiosity playing the greater part—the detective got up and slowly approached the mirror. He looked around it for a second and then he saw, saw the truth, and everything finally made sense—yet too late.
His reflection was gazing back at him.
Cold hands gripped his shoulders and an immeasurable force yanked him into nothingness. The detective disappeared.
The room was empty, as it’ll be for years to come. The mirror was mounted on the wall, its archaic frame slowly gathering dust…