Avert Your Eyes Vol.1

by Spike Black

  It angered him that his grandfather, always such a proud and well-respected man, had met such an undignified end, cursing, spitting and shitting himself in a hospital bed. He’d spent the last year of his life in a care home, leaving this place to fall apart. And now Callum found himself roaming the old man’s house with a trash bag, disposing of the remnants of what had once been a life: yellowed newspaper clippings, tobacco tins, playing cards, decades-old copies of Reader’s Digest. Distant but happy memories of his childhood visits haunted each of the rooms as he passed through them - silly limericks, mouth-watering bricks of fudge, watching a bizarre double-bill of Gandhi and Brewster’s Millions while eating cheap Easter eggs.

  His mother was in the living room, boxing up the salvageable possessions from a cabinet crammed with knickknacks. She paused and turned to him, eyebrows raised, presenting a hideous china figurine, her pose reminiscent of a hostess on a tacky gameshow.

  He shot her down immediately. “Ugh. No.”

  “Glinda might like it.”

  He shook his head, exited the room and made his way upstairs.

  His mother followed. “Everything has to go, you know. The new owners are moving in Friday. Anything we don’t claim goes straight to the dump.”

  Best place for it, Callum thought. He didn’t like clutter and trinkets anyway, and he certainly didn’t want any of his grandfather’s old crap infecting his nice, clean home. But as he reached the top of the stairs, he stopped in his tracks. The dark landing stretched before him, and at the far end he saw something that completely changed his mind.

  His eyes lit up. “You know what?” He pointed to a full-length mirror in an ornate frame, mounted to the wall. “I want that.”

  ***

  Getting the mirror down the rickety basement steps in one piece was a struggle, and it dawned on him that mounting this thing to the wall would take more than a quick hammer and nail job. He had to do it right - if this thing were to fall on anyone, it would be the end of them. He drilled four holes into the breeze blocks and screwed the mirror to the wall. Buffing up the frame with some furniture polish, he spent much of the afternoon cleaning the glass until he was satisfied.

  Dragging his gym equipment into position, he dropped down onto the weights bench and admired his handiwork. Manhandling the mirror had already been more than enough exercise for today. He heard footsteps on the stairs. Wiped the sweat from his brow.

  “Where did you get that?”

  He saw Glinda reflected in the mirror. “Gramps. We all got something.”

  “Are you insane?” Her eyes widened. “Don’t you know anything?”

  He groaned. “It’s a mirror, babes. No big deal.”

  “Oh, it’s not, huh? You realize it’s a bad omen to receive a mirror from a dead person’s home?”

  Callum didn’t have the strength. “Do you just make this stuff up, or what?”

  “It needs to go.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “Have you ever known me to joke about stuff like this?”

  “Whatever. I don’t care. It’s staying.”

  “No, Callum. I’m putting my foot down. I’m not having that thing in our house.”

  “Well, good. Because technically it’s not in the house, is it? It’s in the basement.”

  Her lip curled into a snarl. “It’s hideous. Why would you ever want such a thing?”

  “To piss you off.”

  She glared at him.

  He sighed. “What do you care? You never come down here, anyway.”

  “Please,” she said. “You know how I feel about these things.”

  “Yeah, and you need to get over it.”

  “Uh-huh. You’ll see. If something bad happens now…”

  “Then it will be a coincidence, and nothing to do with me bringing a mirror into the home. Just like when the fortune teller told you that one of our elderly relatives was going to die in the next few years. I mean, that was just spooky, wasn’t it? How could she have possibly known?”

  Glinda stared at him for some time, her eyes glinting with tears. “Poke fun at me all you want, but know that you’re on your own with this. I’m having nothing to do with it.”

  “Okey-dokey.”

  “I mean it, Callum. I’m not stepping one foot in this basement while that thing is still here.” She turned and marched up the stairs.

  “Good!” he shouted. That suited him just fine. Now he had his own little sanctuary - somewhere he could come to be away from all of her madness.

  ***

  Callum watched himself in the mirror as he performed two sets of concentration curls and a set of seated dumbbell shoulder presses. He told himself that watching his reflection was about ensuring good technique, but really, if he was honest about it, it was more of a confidence thing. Watching his muscles pump with blood as he worked out made him feel powerful. Invincible, even.

  He began another set of shoulder presses.

  Tap, tap, tap.

  He halted mid-rep. Listened. Heard nothing. Continued.

  Tap, tap, tap.

  He placed the dumbbells down. “Glinda?” A moment, then: “Glinda, was that you?”

  Shaking his head, he picked up the dumbbells and pressed out a full rep.

  Tap, tap, tap.

  “Gah!” He carried on, but soon his curiosity got the better of him. The tapping was close by. He dropped the dumbbells and went over to the far side of the basement to investigate. Hopping onto his toolbox for extra height, he peered out of the small, ground-level window.

  Tap, tap, tap.

  No. He was colder now. He crossed the basement.

  Tap, tap, tap.

  Warmer. It was coming from the center of the room. Somewhere near the mirror. He moved over to it.

  Tap, tap, tap.

  Warmer still. He put his ear to the glass, and listened.

  Held his breath. Waited.

  Nothing.

  As he pulled away from the mirror, catching sight of his own reflection, he saw his face contort into a mask of frozen horror. It must have only lasted for half a second before his reflection returned to normal, but there was no doubt about it.

  He saw something.

  He stood there, staring at himself in the mirror, his breath trapped in his throat, his heart thumping against his rib cage. If his face changed once again, he feared his mind might vacate the premises, and he’d come around many months from now to find that he was using the free weights at the funny farm.

  You idiot, he thought. She got to you. This is all Glinda’s bullshit.

  Yes, of course. It was his imagination playing tricks. That, coupled with all the blood rushing to his muscles and making him light-headed. He wasn’t exercising regularly enough, that was all. He’d have to get back into the swing of things.

  He sniggered at his reflection, made his way up the stairs and turned out the light.

  ***

  A noise in the darkness.

  Tap, tap, tap.

  ***

  The next morning, Callum skipped down the basement steps, ready for a good workout. He noticed immediately that there was something wrong with the mirror.

  He moved closer, his muscles tensing, his senses heightened - listening out for any sound, watching for any shift in his reflection. What he had thought of as strange markings on the mirror from across the room were, he could see now, three words. A message smeared onto the glass.

  don’t break me

  He relaxed. “Okay, woman! Jeez. I get it!”

  Wrapping the belly of his T-shirt around his fist, he wiped the message away. Performed his stretches. Sat on the exercise bench and picked up the dumbbells. Stared at himself in the mirror.

  He pulled a horrified face and returned to normal. Pulled another, more ridiculous face. He giggled, and the giggle built to a laugh, until he was laughing so hard that tears rolled down his cheeks.

  “There’s something wrong with wanting to watch yourself pumping iron,” Glinda said
over dinner that evening. “It’s nihilistic.”

  “Narcissistic,” Callum corrected her.

  “Either way, it’s not healthy for the soul. You need to get rid of that bloody thing.”

  That reminded him. “I thought you said you wouldn’t go in the basement while the mirror was there?”

  “Oh, I won’t. You mark my words.”

  “Yeah? So what’s with the little message you left for me?”

  Glinda’s fork paused inches from her mouth. She frowned. “What message?”

  “The words, written on the glass.”

  She shook her head, her eyes narrowing.

  A chill came over him as he realized she had no idea what he was talking about.

  ***

  Callum approached the mirror gingerly. He stood before it, staring at himself, waiting. Tensing. Almost too afraid to move.

  Several minutes passed. He was starting to feel silly now. He dropped into a sitting position on the exercise bench.

  Without warning, the surface of the mirror rippled. His heart lurched. His reflection warped as the ripple spread out, like a stone hitting water, and for a flash, he saw it. The face was his own, but the expression was not. It was such a look of utter, undiluted, open-mouthed terror that it took his breath away. When it was gone, his flesh crawled.

  He stood bolt upright. Stepped toward the mirror. Rapped his knuckles on the solid surface. His reflection stared back at him as if nothing had happened.

  “Glinda!” he shouted. “Come here!” He didn’t like the tremor of fear in his voice.

  “No!”

  He cleared his throat. “It’s important!”

  The basement door opened with a creak. The padding of feet on the stairs. Glinda’s legs appeared in the reflection.

  “I told you, didn’t I?” she said. “I told you I was having nothing to do with this.”

  “I know, but check this out. I want to see what you think.”

  She approached, her face awash with worry. “What?”

  “Just wait. It might take a little while.”

  Glinda stood behind him, staring into the mirror in wide-eyed anticipation. It’s not going to do it now that she’s here, he thought.

  She huffed. “This isn’t funny, you know. This isn’t the sort of thing you joke about.”

  “I’m not joking,” he said. “You just have to —”

  His face contorted for the briefest moment. A flash of horror that was gone in a blink.

  He looked at her in the mirror. “Did you see that?”

  “Wow,” she said, deadpan. “Scary.”

  “That wasn’t me. I swear to you.”

  “Callum — just don’t.”

  “It was the mirror! The mirror did it!”

  “Don’t waste my time, okay?”

  “Please.” He turned to her. “You have to believe me. I didn’t pull that face. It was something else.” He turned back and looked at her reflection in the mirror.

  She had turned white.

  “What’s wrong?”

  Her breath trembled as she inhaled. “It… It just did it again. As you were speaking.”

  “It did?”

  “Callum…” She clamped a hand on his shoulder. “What the hell was that?”

  “I know, right?”

  “I told you. I warned you. Didn’t I say? Oh my God. I told you not to bring that… that thing into the house. It’s haunted.”

  “Glinda, it’s a mirror. A mirror can’t be haunted.”

  “Yes. Oh, yes it can. It’s a well-documented phenomenon.”

  “But… I mean… haunted?”

  “That’s why it must never be in the house. Because a mirror can capture a dead person’s soul, and trap it there. Forever.”

  Callum gasped. “Gramps?”

  She nodded, her eyes never leaving him.

  “Holy shit.”

  “Now if you don’t mind,” she said, “I’m getting the hell out of here.”

  She dashed toward the stairs, stumbling up the first step in her hurry to leave.

  Callum leaned in closer to the mirror, staring at his reflection. “Gramps?”

  ***

  Callum rocked back and forth on the exercise bench, hands wrapped tightly around his knees, eyes never leaving his reflection. He watched, hypnotized, as his face contorted in fright every now and then.

  Tap, tap, tap.

  He jumped at the noise.

  Suddenly there was a rattling sound, and he realized the frame was vibrating. He leapt to his feet. The vibrations became stronger, until there was a constant thumping as the mirror banged against the wall.

  A tear rolled down Callum’s cheek. “I’ll get you out, Grampa.”

  He grabbed a dumbbell from the floor, raised it to shoulder height and thrust his arm out, slamming the heavy weight into the mirror with a thunderous smash. The glass splintered into large chunks, the mirrored pieces teetering from the frame.

  He watched with mounting alarm as the cracks filled with blood.

  Then, as if choreographed, all of the pieces crashed to the floor, shattering around Callum’s feet, and the mirror bled. A lake of claret ran in thick rivulets through the slivered remains of the mirror, pouring onto the concrete floor and creeping across the length of the room.

  The basement door swung open and Glinda came down the stairs in a frantic blur. “What was that?” She stopped a few steps from the bottom, and screamed. “What have you done?”

  “I… I don’t know.”

  She came fully into the basement, surveying the mess. “Oh, God, what have you done?” Her sandals seeped into the puddle of blood. “You can’t break the mirror. You should never have done that.”

  “Seven years bad luck, I guess.”

  “Oh, no,” Glinda said. “It’s much worse than that. You never break a haunted mirror. Because when you do, you release all the trapped spirits into our home. You open a gateway from their world into ours.”

  Callum panicked, grabbing the back of his head with both hands. “So, so, what do we do?”

  Glinda took a deep breath. She kicked off her shoes and waded through the blood, until she was in the center of the room. She turned around three times in a counterclockwise direction.

  Callum looked on, bewildered. “What are you doing?”

  She turned three times in the opposite direction, her eyes closed, arms raised to the heavens. Blood pooled around her ankles. “Spirit, specter, ghoul or ghost, fear now the power of God and his blessed host! Flee this spot where you were set free, and in your eternal rest you shall ever be!” Her eyes fluttered open, staring at the ceiling.

  After a few moments of silence, Callum spoke. “What, are they scared of rhymes?”

  Her head snapped around, her eyes burning into him. “For once in your life, take this seriously!”

  “Okay, okay.” He looked away sheepishly. “Did it work?”

  She knelt down, her fingers dipping into the blood, and picked out a large shard of mirrored glass. She held it out to him. “Not yet. There is still one more thing that must be done.”

  ***

  Callum walked up the garden path to his grandfather’s house, past the Sold sign and the freshly mown lawn that his parents had spent many hours transforming into something presentable. He slid the key into the lock and opened the door.

  Once inside, he removed the shard of mirrored glass from his pocket. It was smeared with streaks of dried blood. He buffed it with the sleeve of his jacket until it reflected the sunlight pouring in through the naked windows. He took a brief look around. It was strange seeing the house so bare - he almost didn’t recognize the place.

  Take a piece of the mirror back to its original home, Glinda had said, and the hex will be lifted.

  His footsteps echoed through the building as he ascended the staircase and, turning onto the landing, made his way to the end of the narrow corridor, floorboards creaking beneath his weight. It took a moment before it registered what was so b
izarrely wrong with the sight before him.

  The mirror was intact and mounted to the wall in its ornate frame, as if he had never removed it.

  This had to be a different mirror, of course. But as Callum stood before it he marveled at how similar it was. Had his parents replaced the one he had taken with another, identical mirror? And why would they do such a thing, given that his mother had told him everything had to go? His mind raced. Maybe the new owners had been so taken with the original mirror that they had tasked his parents with sourcing another one and fixing it to the same spot.

  He shook his head, glancing down at the shard of mirror in his hand. What should he do with it now? He knelt and placed it against the baseboard beneath the new mirror.

  Should I say anything? Turn three times, perhaps?

  He felt silly, and giggled. But then he remembered Glinda glowering at him. For once in your life, take this seriously!

  He cleared his throat. Shook the tension from his limbs. “Spirit, ghost, specter… um, phantom…”

  There was a creaking noise. Looking around, he couldn’t place where it was coming from. A shadow crept over him, and as he glanced up, realizing what was happening, it was already too late.

  The mirror lurched forward and fell on him.

  ***

  Darkness.

  He was conscious, but unable to move. A long time passed.

  At last, some light. Sparking and popping in his vision.

  More darkness, with occasional strobing light. A blurry mess of shapes. He was trapped, and couldn’t get out.

  He tried to speak, to scream, but could not.

  Then: a voice. Muffled. Familiar.

  Everything has to go, you know… anything we don’t claim goes straight to the dump.

  And then a second voice: You know what? I want that.