“MIRROR MIRROR: Halloween Party of the Century”
Following is a four-chapter sample of “Mirror Mirror.” Please enjoy!
1 – No Way
“…and besides my invitation to go straight to Hell, how did you get this number?” Sandy’s question seethed with boiling anger.
“Well, maybe you should try answering your cell and stop ignoring my texts,” spat Phillip, his voice seasoned with his own anger echoing over the desk phone speaker. Sandy said nothing, gripping the receiver with growing intensity and silently questioning why she insisted on keeping an old-school landline. The old phone did not indicate who was calling and had no way to block anyone. Since Phillip had managed to find the number, she would have to cancel the service immediately. Canceling him also crossed her mind, and not for the first time.
It was on. A badly deteriorated relationship, if you could even call it a relationship, was further in the dirt. To Sandy, the relationship, not being in the dirt, lasted for one-and-a-half short dates. She would not swear to those events as even being dates; more like a blatant deception followed by abduction on the second so-called date ending abruptly, just shy of sexual assault. Phillip McCorkle, or Phantastic Phil as his social media account profiled him, was a self-indulgent, self-absorbed, 29-year-old narcissist prick, according to Sandy’s description, and she would add aggressive and abusive to her description to ensure accurate clarification. Needless to say, Sandy was not a fan, and she did not want to be on the phone with him any longer than necessary.
“Look, Phillip!” she hissed, “I don’t ever want to hear from you…or see you within sight of me, around me, or near me…GOT IT? Leave me the fuck alone!”
He chuckled at her agitation, “So…I guess our date for the Halloween party this weekend is off then?”
She howled into the phone, “We NEVER had a date to ANY party EVER. What part of leaving me the fuck alone is confusing to you?”
“I hear ya, sweetie, but I know what you really mean. We have some unfinished business, as I recall. Look for me at the party; I’ll be in the sexy devil costume.”
Sandy Tillman did not say another word; her response was communicated clearly and with finality when she slammed the receiver back onto the phone’s base unit with as much venom as she could muster.
“Good form and nice follow-through, roomie!” said Melissa Merriweather, Sandy’s long-time friend and roommate.
“That tears it! I am NOT going to the party!” Sandy exclaimed. “There’s no way I ever want to see that slimy little prick again.”
“Okay, hold on there, cowgirl; two things,” Mel said softly to calm her friend down a notch or two. “So… you’ll let him win by not going to a party you’ve been counting on for months…and… you’ll let your best friend down by not going to the inaugural festivities in her brand-new estate. I might add that you’ve been anticipating the festivities with me for the last three months.”
Sandra Tillman, a thirty-two-year-old real estate agent, just glared at Mel, fighting to balance righteous anger with reasonableness – and losing.
“Mel, I can’t face that abusive prick,” she complained in defense and buried her face in her hands. “I just can’t!”
2 – Primed
Phantastic Phil laughed when Sandy hung up on him. Perfect, he thought to himself, she would be more fun if she were mad…more of a fighter. He had a lesson to teach and planned for this weekend’s party to be where he held class.
“So…did that end well or what?” asked Wil Jameson, sitting beside him at the bar of their favorite Pearl Street pub microbrewery. “I only heard your half of the conversation but must say it was masterful.”
“How do you think it went?” asked Phil, stuffing his phone into his back pocket. “I’d say she’s sufficiently jacked up to come at me.”
Wil laughed, “Right…come at you…or come on you?”
With a wicked grin, Phil winked and said, “Yeah, buddy…both!”
“Want another shot? On me,” offered Wil, signaling the microbrewery’s bartender for another round of tequila.
“Wil, you still planning on attending the party as the Grim Reaper?” asked Phil.
Wil grinned and said, “Absolutely! We will do a little harvesting this weekend, won’t we?”
“Harvesting?” asked Phil, confused, as he threw back his shot.
Wil, still grinning, held up his shot and said, “Harvesting some goodie-two-shoes purity,” and then threw back his fourth shot.
3 – Inheritance
Six months earlier, Melissa, or Mel as she preferred, inherited the old Hawthorne House estate that had been held on her mother’s side of the family for nearly a hundred years. When her grandfather, Marcus T. Hawthorne III, the most recent resident, passed almost three years ago, Mel discovered she inherited the old estate after settling the will. Her first thoughts were influenced negatively by the fact that the old estate house on the property had been unoccupied for several years and showed early signs of disrepair. She described the place to Sandy as a “dump” in desperate need of an accidental fire.
Sandy redirected her thinking when Mel took her for a ride and drove by the dump in August. “I think it’s perfect…just perfect!” exclaimed Sandy, clapping enthusiastically.
“Perfect for what?” snarled Mel, “a freaking bulldozer?”
“No, silly, our Halloween party,” replied Sandy. “Look at this place. Is it haunted or what? Seriously, what could be a better spot for our party?”
Mel stopped her car outside the spike-adorned, iron fencing bordering the property and stared at the massive house, saying nothing. She slowly began to nod in agreement as she surveyed the overgrown landscape and said, “You know, you’re absolutely correct. What could be better than this? And yes, family rumors say that ‘being haunted’ is not completely out of the question. We can play that up big time and draw quite a crowd.”
Sandy said excitedly, “Of course, it’s haunted; look at it. Have you not explored this place yet? Let’s go in and check it out.”
Mel shook her head. “No, I’ve never been inside. It’s probably been years since anyone’s been in there.”
Mel pulled into the driveway and up to a massive and locked iron gate. She got out, fumbled with an old key to open the lock, and pushed half the gate open as it protested with a loud grinding squeal of rusted hinges. The gates were so large that she only needed to open one half to pull the car through. The driveway leading up to the house consisted of crushed gravel, an assortment of weeds, and rogue grasses that grew through the rocks in spots. Her tires crackled and crunched over the stones as she pulled up to the turnaround that encircled an old fountain. The ornate fountain had long since dried up and was filled with leaves and small branches shed by the trees around the front of the house.
“Haunted as hell…” muttered Sandy under her breath.
“Yeah,” agreed Mel, equally convinced as she exhaled in a whisper as a pall overshadowed their arrival.
They pulled around the fountain, parked by broad steps leading up to massive, imposing double doors, and exited the car. It was not cold outside—it never was in August—but both shivered involuntarily.
“Let’s go in and explore, maybe disrupt a ghost or two,” joked Sandy.
Mel started up the steps to the front doors and said, “Okay, let’s explore, but seriously, leave any ghosts out of it. The circumstances around my grandfather’s death are enough reason for us to leave well enough alone.”
Mel inserted an old skeleton key into a large keyhole on the faceplate of the left-hand door.
“Wait!” said Sandy, reaching up to grab the softball-sized lion’s head door knocker and lifting it with a squeaking groan before letting it drop under its weight. A thundering report echoed in their ears and throughout the house, causing Mel to whirl around and face Sandy.
“What are you doing?” scolded Mel. Try to be quiet, okay?”
“Why?” asked Sandy, “are you afraid of waking up the ghosts and goblins?”
“That’s not even funny,” replied Mel as she finished unlocking the door with a grinding, metallic snap when she cranked the key to the left. “There’s just too much mystery around this place, and I’m not sure about it…not saying I believe…or not…just…just be quiet, okay?”
Sandy could see Mel was spooked, decided to go along with her, and nodded in silent agreement…at least for now. Their attention was refocused when Mel pushed open the door. Groaning hinges did little to mask their arrival and negated their cautious entry into the foyer. The smell of all things old invaded their senses immediately, and a bright shaft of afternoon sunlight angled from behind them into the foyer, illuminating dust particles stirred by the outside breeze from the door opening for the first time in years.
The round marble-floored foyer led into a large living room shaped like a rotunda with a high domed ceiling from which a massive chandelier hung. They stood there in silent wonder and swept their eyes around the dimly lit room. Sunlight from the open front door provided the only illumination as the windows were covered entirely with thick ancient drapery that likely had been closed for as long as the doors.
“Is the power on?” asked Sandy.
Mel headed for the light switches by the front door, “Should be. I requested to turn everything back on after the will was finalized,” and flipped the first switch. Nothing happened. She flipped the second switch, and the chandelier came to life, filling the room with fresh light that played off every surface and cast numerous shadows. They saw other lamps standing tall next to couches and on tables beside furniture they had not noticed in the gloom upon their initial entry. Old tapestries hung between each of the narrow, high windows. Even with the additional light from above, there seemed to be darkness emanating from the combination of old wood paneling, thick drapes over the windows, and tapestries that hung heavily on the walls, absorbing the new light.
Sandy finally spoke, breaking the silence, “Can you imagine the party we could throw in this place?”
“For sure,” agreed Mel, “party of the century.”
They decided to explore the house further. Mel quickly decided to take the second floor, and Sandy would continue with the ground floor. Both wanted to explore, but they shared apprehension about splitting up. Sandy voiced her concerns with a critical question: “You said something about your grandfather dying in a library but shared no details. What’s the story?”
Mel hesitated momentarily before answering, “I’ve only heard family stories; they were not what I would call filled with definitive facts.”
“Are those facts behind the so-called haunting?” asked Sandy.
Mel shook her head and said, “Not so much about being haunted as much as about unexplained and mysterious circumstances. Either way, dead is dead. Personally, the haunting talk is simply a product of how this place looks and not knowing what happened. His death aside…I mean, really…what ghost in their right mind would not want to live here for eternity? I’m just choosing to be vigilant, maybe even respectful of any ghosts here, and not stirring up trouble with whoever or whatever runs the joint.”
Sandy nodded thoughtfully and asked, “What mysterious circumstances? Do you know what they are?”
“This is only what I’ve heard, so keep an open mind,” Mel said and dove into the story.
“My grandfather was an eccentric old man, a collector of oddities, antiques, heirlooms, rare books, etc. He kept to himself mostly. Somewhat of a recluse, but no one knew why he chose that lifestyle.”
She sat in one of the wing-backed chairs and continued, “Somewhere on this level, there is a library where his body was found. They did not find him in the main library, but in a small room you can only get to from inside the library’s main room.”
“Okay, I follow. What else?” asked Sandy, seated across from Mel and perched attentively on the edge of her chair.
Mel hesitated again and shook her head slowly, “That’s where things get a little strange.”
“Define strange,” prompted Sandy eagerly.
“Well, he was found stone dead in a chair in the middle of that small room. There was only a single mark on his body, a perfectly round hole in his chest. There was no other damage to anything else in the room; the only other thing was a large oval mirror like you would find in a dressing area in a bedroom. It was an antique, bevel-edged mirror about five feet high in a maple frame set in a matching stand.”
Sandy remained silent and patiently listened as Mel continued, “Some family members had a theory that the mirror was involved somehow, but there was never any evidence to support that line of thinking. It was just a mirror. No magic. No voodoo. Nothing. Nothing ever came of that beyond adding more mystery to the circumstances of his death. The autopsy showed evidence of death stemming from a round hole in his chest but did not explain what may have caused it or where it came from.”
“Can I check it out?” asked Sandy.
“Oh yeah,” answered Mel quickly, “that’s exactly why I’m headed to the second floor. I’d just as soon never go into that library. Feel me?”
“You seem pretty spooked by this mysterious library,” observed Sandy.
“Let’s just say I don’t want to tempt fate, or spirits, boogeymen, or anything else that might go bump in the night,” Mel explained, holding her hands up in mock surrender.
Sandy slowly stood. “Wow, now you have me a little bit spooked. Thanks for that,” she added sarcastically.
They split up, and Mel disappeared up the stairs to explore the second floor. Sandy went deeper into the main room and down a short hallway. She toggled a light switch to illuminate a big kitchen with an adjacent serving area. Off the far end of the kitchen, another room was a formal dining room with a massive walnut table and a dozen ornately carved, high-back matching walnut chairs. Sandy envisioned heated serving trays lining the table for the party, with the adjacent smaller serving area set up as a bar. She was further convinced this place would be perfect for the party.
She turned off the lights and went back into the main living area and down another hallway off the opposite side of the room. The hallway was longer and provided access to two other rooms; one was a small sitting room that would have made a perfect office. Near the end of the hall, another door on the right opened into what she assumed had to be the library. She opened the door and reached inside to feel for the light switch. Flipping it up, she confirmed that the room was the library.
The room measured forty feet or so square, and all four walls were lined floor-to-ceiling with shelves loaded with books of all varieties: some leatherbound, others hardbacked, and every one of them looking as old as the room smelled. She stood in the doorway and surveyed the room. Rolling ladders on tracks near the ceiling provided access to the upper shelves on each wall. Near the middle of the room was a large mahogany desk with ornate scrollwork around the desktop and on the massive legs. The desk held a brass table lamp with a green glass globe and a matching green blotter pad. Behind the desk sat an enormous leather chair. She also noted a lingering scent of pipe tobacco, which reminded her of her father’s favorite Borkum Riff Scandinavian blend. There was nothing else in the room. That was it. No other furniture. No doorways to secret rooms. No secret passages. Nothing. Dead end. Maybe Mel’s family sources were mistaken.
4 – The Book & The Mirror
Curiosity got the better of Sandy, and she decided to take a complete circuit of the room. She walked at an average pace along the shelves lining all four walls, stepping around the ladders and found nothing that caught her eye. On a second circuit around the room, she slowed to scan book spines and titles at eye level. Halfway down the back wall, she noticed a book’s title, “Mirror, Mirror,” and paused to consider it. She thought silently, recalling that a mirror had been involved or at least present in some manner in the old man’s demise.
She hooked a finger over the top edge of the leather spine and pulled the book out and off the shelf. The two books to the right of the open slot fell slowly into the adjacent space left behind. A soft click sounded, and the entire bookcase section swung inward. Sandy’s jaw dropped when she discovered what the darkened room revealed behind the new opening.
Sandy stood there dumbfounded, clutching the book to her chest. Tentatively, she reached into the room and felt for a light switch. Nothing. She turned on her phone’s flashlight and stepped into the room. There were several oil lamps on sconces on the walls on both sides of the room; none had been electrified like the others in the main hallway. A solitary, upholstered, wingback chair sat in the middle of the room. Facing the chair stood an ornate, oval dressing mirror. Nothing else was in the room; she stood there frozen, staring, her mind racing. She called out for Mel but received no answer. She called louder with the same result. What should she do? Should she even tell Mel of her discovery? She knew she stood before a piece of the mystery, but what else could she learn? And did she want to know?
Something in her gut told her it would be best to investigate further before revealing what she had discovered. She turned off the flashlight as she returned to the desk in the main room, unslung her backpack, and dropped it on the floor by the chair before sitting down. Tentative fingers opened “Mirror, Mirror,” and inside, she found an inscription written in beautiful flowing calligraphy on the first page:
“Whoever possesses this book shall have exclusive control of all reflective powers that flow forth when called upon in good stead by the righteous.”
Sandy closed her eyes and the book and sat back in the chair. Her mind raced and bounced off unspoken questions. What did that inscription mean? What are reflective powers? What does it mean to flow forth when called upon in good stead? By the righteous? Who are the righteous? Who or what decides righteousness?
Curiosity returned and prompted her to go back into the small room and investigate the mirror more closely. Based on what she had just read, there must be a connection to the old man’s death. She rose, tucked the book under her arm, drew up her courage as she turned on her flashlight app again, stepped slowly into the room, and cautiously approached the mirror.
A thick sheen of dust covered everything in the room, including the mirror’s surface. She bent slightly at the waist and blew on the surface to clear away some dust. The dusty layer did not relent in her efforts to blow it away, so she swiped at it lightly with her hand.
The mirror’s surface immediately became warm to her touch and illuminated the room with a light purple glow. A voice spoke from somewhere not obvious to Sandy, “Thank you for calling me forth, Sandra Tillman.”
Sandy staggered back in shock, dropped her phone, and fell backward onto the chair in front of the mirror. She was too stunned to turn away and too paralyzed to run. Where had that voice come from? Did she hear the voice with her ears, or had it just formed in her mind? She leaned forward in the chair and swiveled her head to confirm she was still alone. Wherever it came from, and whatever it was, it knew her name, and she found that quite unsettling. How did it know?
The voice returned, interrupting her thoughts, “Yes, I know you, Sandra Tillman. I know you because you touched me. Your touch connected our spirits, and I can now speak with you because you, and only you, have possession of the book, and you and only you are connected with me.”
Sandy continued to sit in the chair with an open mouth and was too stunned to speak.
The voice spoke again, “I know you must have many questions, but I need you to understand that what we share stays between us. No one can hear me speak with you, just like no one can hear your thoughts as I can. We are connected uniquely and spiritually, and I can assist with your righteous thoughts if called upon.”
Her mind began to click into gear, and for an unexplained reason, she thought, what about unrighteous thoughts?
Please don’t go there; Sandra Tillman or I may have to punish you!
“Sandy! My name is Sandy,” she snapped, “and you need to hold on a minute, bud! Just what do you mean by punish?”
“Very well, I will refer to you as Sandy,” the voice agreed. “Please permit me to explain…punishment is commensurate with the unrighteousness of your thoughts. Marcus T. Hawthorne, my previous spiritual connection and keeper of the book, died of a punishment in that chair you are sitting in. His punishment came from excessive greed and dishonest intentions.”
Do you mean you killed him? Sandy wondered privately.
“Oh no, Sandy, he killed himself by the hand of his unrighteousness. I merely reflected to him the severity of the evil already in his heart. And that reflection caused his heart to become pierced with the power of shame and grief until it was purged. I suppose you could say he died of a broken heart…broken by his own doing.”
His passing was most unfortunate; he could have been a decent fellow. But, alas, he was not a good person by his own choices. Few people trusted him, including several family members who knew about him and his unscrupulous ways. Living a secluded life in this house fits his personality and proclivities nicely. I am not one to judge; I merely serve as a reflection of thoughts and intentions. Some reflections are worthy of reward; others are open to punishment. My role in punishment is often served simply by providing the clarity of reflection seen by the unrighteous. If the reflection’s clarity is not impactful enough…well…the reflection can be a bit more invasive.”
Sandy ran her hand over the book’s surface lying in her lap, considering what she heard and what to do about it. What had she fallen into? What did he mean by purged? More invasive?
“I highly recommend doing some reading in the book you now possess. There is much to know about our new relationship. You have powers you have never considered; the book will reveal these things. We have only just begun, Sandy. Not knowing the full story and only having the picture of a dead man in the front of your mind can be unsettling. We shall get along nicely. What do you think, Sandy?”
She spoke even though she was confident the mirror already knew what she would say, “You know what I think, and I do NOT like that you know what I think.” She stood up on wobbly legs and turned to leave the room. Over her shoulder, she said, “I have to go now. No, I need you to understand what…no, I must…right now….”
“Very well, Sandy. Remember, we have this amazing connection, and I hope you will call on me when you need me. Please come back again; I have enjoyed our little chat.”
Still clutching the book, Sandy continued through the doorway into the library, saying nothing, concentrating on blanking her mind defensively to think nothing. As she passed into the central part of the library, she moved the two fallen books back into position, and the bookcase section began to close. Sandy snatched up her backpack, opened the flap, stuffed the book into the large pocket, and zipped it closed. Slinging one strap over her shoulder, she turned off the light in the main library and pulled the door closed behind her. As it clicked shut, she fell back against the door to catch her breath and catch her mind as both were racing.
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