Voices in the Mirror

by Ross Turner

The night crept gradually in over them, and still Richard had not returned.

  At one point their front door was knocked and they all practically jumped out of their skin, but when Johnathan went to open it, he found not Richard, but instead Father Peter, and they all breathed a huge sigh of relief.

  The Vicar told them that Miss Falcon had raised concerns with him when Johnathan had abruptly left school that day.

  Johnathan apologised, as he knew he should, but they did not question him further, for they all knew the reason for his actions. Or, at least, they thought they did.

  The old man’s presence comforted them greatly, and it put them all slightly more at ease to have somebody to talk to, even if only a little, and having him there helped at least to break the dreadful silence that had seemingly been bestowed upon the household.

  Eventually though, Father Peter bid them farewell for the night, assuring them that if they needed him, he would be at their beckoned call.

  They thanked him of course, but fearfully, for once he was gone, they locked their doors and crept once more silently into bed. Emily and Maddie slept in together, for they were both afraid, though of course their mother would never admit that to them, for she was doing her best to reassure them.

  Johnathan too was afraid, but he slept with his father in his room, just as Maddie slept in with their mother, so none of them were truly alone, but of course, he said nothing of that either.

  We all have our little secrets.

  Thankfully, for all three of them, sleep came a little more easily that night, though that was likely through sheer exhaustion more than anything else, and at some point during those dark hours Arthur left his son be to sleep, and Emily carried Maddie back through into her own room.

  It was sleep that they all needed, and surely they would all feel better for it by the morning.

  Their rest was interrupted during the darker, colder hours of the night however, and it was Johnathan who was first to rouse, in the very early hours of the morning.

  His head was groggy and at first he still couldn’t tell whether he was dreaming or not. His eyes were bleary and he felt an uncomfortable tingling at the back of his throat. He could smell something strange too, though he couldn’t quite place it.

  Beginning to cough, he pushed himself up to sit and rubbed his heavy eyes. But as he did so his coughing only worsened, and he began to splutter terribly. Glancing up quickly, the young boy’s eyes widened as the smell suddenly registered in his mind, and he saw the thick, black smoke billowing in under his bedroom door.

  Chapter Eleven

  The skies were surprisingly clear, and Father Peter breathed in the dark air deeply, allowing it to fill his lungs completely. It was cold and it swarmed through his grateful chest eagerly, as so often the chill does.

  High above him a thousand and more suns gazed down upon the solitary Vicar. He was a man of God, truly, there was no doubt about that. But nonetheless he hoped, and rather fervently at that, that one of those stars was not just the memory of Arthur Knight looking down, but in fact the still living soul of him. And perhaps, just perhaps, he could still be looking out for his family even now, from beyond the grave.

  It was cold enough now that as he sighed his warm breath billowed out in front of his eyes in great steaming clouds, and those thoughts remained stuck in his head for quite some time.

  He stayed there for a while, allowing the cold to seep its way into his bones, allowing his mind to wander, content with his thoughts, and allowing his heart to hope.

  After half an hour or so though, his thoughts became distracted, and he took to glancing around frequently, almost even agitatedly.

  It was most likely the cold, he surmised, pulling his thick cloak around his shoulders a little tighter, though it did very little to ward off the chill he had already allowed to invade his body.

  As he finally moved off, his legs stiff from standing still, a strange crackling and popping sound caught his attention.

  Looking around however, he saw nothing that betrayed the sound.

  Emily’s house was still in view, as were several others, and he could even make out the outline of the spire of the church in the distance, by the dim light of the stars.

  Continuing, he shrugged off the sound as it died and faded away and he could no longer hear it. Perhaps he was simply tired and his mind was playing tricks on him. He had lost a lot of sleep recently, worrying for Emily and her family no less.

  Suddenly a bright orange flash illuminated the night, and the gentle popping and crackling roared into new life and bellowed with ferocity to match the blinding light.

  Father Peter gasped, startled, and spun around to face the light, though at first he could not see and had to shield his eyes from the orange glare.

  Then the heat hit him, and with it dawned the terrible truth.

  He felt as if his heart was in his mouth.

  It couldn’t be.

  “EMILY!!” He yelled suddenly, shock and fear gripping him as he bolted forwards towards the fierce blaze that now engulfed the cottage, still with Emily and Maddie and Johnathan inside.

  The flames swelled and rose, spreading so quickly that before he was even within two dozen feet of the fire, it had swallowed the house entirely, blocking his every entry and, even worse, blocking their every escape.

  For more times than he cared to count, the old Vicar tried to fight his way through the dancing flames. But even as they toyed with him and appeared to open up a safe passage, the second he tried to pass they instantly closed ranks and licked at him menacingly, spitting at his clothes and exposed skin with their spiteful tongues.

  More than once he found himself singed and his robes burned, before eventually, after many failed attempts, he knew he would not be able to force his way in.

  There were others there now too. Shouts and cries of dismay and horror mixed with those of action as some people scrambled for buckets of water and sand. But the old man knew it was far too late for that. The flames engulfed every part of the house now, and it would be an absolute miracle if anybody was still alive.

  He was a devout man, but if anybody in the world believed in miracles, he certainly did.

  All of a sudden he saw movement from inside the house, through an open upstairs window. His heart swelled and rejoiced for a moment, before sinking again as yet even more flames swelled into the frame.

  The flames were everywhere.

  He was just giving himself false hope.

  But no, once again the flickering flames in the window died down slightly and he saw the same glimpse of movement, different to the blinding tongues of fire all around.

  He was no longer cold, and the chill in his muscles had certainly faded, through the intense heat from the blaze and through fear and adrenaline both.

  But then, amidst the blinding oranges and reds and yellows awash before him, the old Vicar saw something more clearly through the window. Silhouetted against the blinding flashes and starts that overwhelmed the house, he could just about make out a single, lonely shape.

  This single figure, even in that briefest of glances, he recognised, and a lump caught in his throat and his eyes widened. Perhaps it was fear that gripped him, or shock maybe, or perhaps simply he was dumfounded, he didn’t really know.

  But regardless, he was absolutely certain of what he saw.

  “Arthur…?” He whispered, though to whom he was speaking it mattered not. The words simply escaped his lips of their own free will.

  Of course, whomever it was he saw amidst the blazing inferno, they did not hear him: there was simply no way they could have done. The flames roared and bellowed furiously, by now drowning out the sound of all else.

  Other cries for help were lost to the sound, overshadowed by it completely, and still nobody could do a thing to stop the blazing inferno.

  Then the figure in the window vanished, overwhelmed like everything else by the searing flames. Father Peter took an automatic and involuntary step forward, b
ut he was forced back by the intense lash of the heat as it threatened to scald him.

  One side of the roof then, thatched just the same as all the others, reached its limit, collapsing into its stone foundations, disintegrating and practically pouring into the house below like molten rock.

  Suddenly a silhouette flashed in and out of view through the boiling, shimmering air, recoiling briefly in the arch to the front door as the flames attacked relentlessly.

  The figure vanished once again and the old man’s heart sank, beginning to truly believe now that he was just seeing things, and that in fact the three of them: Emily and Maddie and Johnathan, were all already dead.

  But he was wrong.

  All of a sudden the silhouette reappeared, standing tall now, and a man burst from the flames cradling a young girl tenderly in his arms.

  The old Vicar’s eyes widened.

  He had been right.

  It was Arthur.

  He was exactly as Father Peter remembered him: tall, broad, strong, brave. His face was black, his chest heaved, and his arms and legs were badly burned.

  Arthur looked gravely at the old man for a brief moment, before laying Maddie gently down upon the ground and vanishing back into the scorching flames yet again, ignoring all of the pain he was enduring.

  Within mere moments, before Father Peter even had a chance to catch his breath, Arthur reappeared, this time clasping Emily protectively in his arms. He carried his wife as if she weighed nothing, and though she had suffered only a few minor burns, she clung desperately to him, seeming to never want to let go.

  He carried her over and carefully set her down on the floor beside Maddie.

  The old man could only watch in awe as Arthur stooped to one knee and laid his wife safely next to their daughter.

  And there he stayed for a moment, bowing his head slightly in relief, resting his hand tenderly upon the back of his wife’s head, holding her even still.

  Then he leaned forward and kissed Emily on her forehead, and then Maddie too, before sighing deeply and rising to his feet to face Father Peter.

  The Vicar gasped as Arthur rose to his feet, for as the old man’s eyes flickered to his face, it was not Arthur that they found, but instead Johnathan. He blinked a few times disbelievingly, but no, it was Johnathan who stood protectively over Emily and Maddie, his mother and sister.

  But then, as if a great dam had been released and all of his strength had been entirely drained from him, Johnathan shuddered terribly and his legs buckled beneath him.

  He collapsed heavily to the floor, crumpling to the ground, ruined.

  Chapter Twelve

  Johnathan leapt from his bed, fear instantly gripping his heart. He darted immediately for his bedroom door and reached out his hand to open it.

  But then he froze for a moment, not knowing whether he should or not. Wouldn’t it just make the fire worse?

  It was too late now. He had no choice.

  Gritting his teeth, he yanked the door open and leapt back with a cry as the flames exploded through the doorway towards him.

  He cursed loudly and took a few tentative steps back, his mind racing and his lungs filling with smoke, only making him cough and splutter evermore heavily.

  Suddenly, as he stepped back, he caught a glimpse of his reflection in his mirror, and saw his father staring back as him, angst strewn across his face.

  “What do I do!?” Johnathan yelled desperately at his reflection, waving his arms in panic, terrified.

  Arthur did not reply. Whether he didn’t, or couldn’t, Johnathan wasn’t sure, but instead his reflection of his father reached out his hand, and Johnathan felt himself doing the same, even despite the circumstances.

  The second Johnathan fingertips touched the mirror, at exactly the same point that his father’s reached forward, endless amounts of time suddenly passed between them.

  In that moment, Johnathan saw the whole world through not his own eyes, but instead through his father’s.

  Everything his father had ever learned and taught and heard and tasted and smelled and felt. Every emotion, every love, every anger, every lesson, all passed from father to son in that single instant.

  And suddenly Johnathan was painfully aware that, even if he did survive this fire, the fight would never end.

  No matter what happened, it would never be over.

  Johnathan felt a surge race through his body, as if he had all of a sudden been reinvigorated. It was as if the veil had once again descended upon him, but instead this time instead of engulfing him, it was coming from deep within.

  Then, within seconds, Johnathan snapped his eyes forwards and back to the doorway. Instantly he made his decision.

  He knew he had very little time, but indeed also that he had even less choice.

  Surging forwards Johnathan charged and leapt through the angry flames. He felt their orange tongues lick at his legs and scald and mottle his skin, but he gritted his teeth and set his jaw against the searing pain.

  He darted left and right, avoiding the worst of the blazes as best as he could, but some suffering was inevitable, as is all too often the way.

  The young boy’s lungs heaved and he tried desperately not to inhale too much of the smoke. But no matter how much experience he had just gleaned, he was still only, fatally, human.

  Seeing that Maddie’s bedroom door was still closed Johnathan darted to the left and then used his momentum to launch himself directly at her door. He crashed through the wooden barricade, exploding into his sister’s bedroom with a sudden burst and swell of flames.

  Maddie screamed in fear as her brother erupted into her room.

  Johnathan rolled like a cat and found his feet, burned and painful as they were, and went immediately to his sister, huddled in the corner of her room, terrified and alone.

  “Maddie!” He exclaimed, though the sound came out in a rasping cough and heave and wheeze, as his lungs struggled desperately for air.

  “Johnathan?” His sister wheezed in return, looking up at him through streaming eyes.

  “We need to go!” He managed then, scooping her into his arms and rising to his feet.

  Maddie looked confused and stared at Johnathan’s face with a mixture of relief and disbelief, but she said no more and simply allowed him to carry her back over to her bed. He wrapped his sister’s blanket around her and turned yet again to face the flames.

  “MADDIE!! JOHNATHAN!!” Their mother screamed desperately through the encroaching flames, coughing and gagging as she yelled, barely able to breathe.

  Her bedroom door was still in pieces and already the flames were in her room, reaching out for her with their cruel fingers and tendrils, desperate to mark her with their fatal kiss.

  Then, seemingly from the very heart of the flames, the impossible happened.

  “Arthur…?” Emily gasped on heaving lungs as her husband appeared through the deadly fire, carrying their daughter wrapped in a blanket.

  Her legs buckled beneath her.

  She must have been hallucinating.

  She must have been dying.

  But she wasn’t.

  Arthur knelt down beside her and put his hand upon her arm.

  “There’s no time. We have to go.” His voice told her, his tone deadly serious. But it was not her husband’s voice that spoke to her, it was her son’s.

  Emily looked down at the hand upon her arm and reached for it, grasping it tightly.

  It was definitely there; she wasn’t going crazy.

  Looking back up then, she saw that in fact it wasn’t her husband, it was her son, Johnathan, carrying Maddie, and his hand that was outstretched holding hers.

  “We need to go.” He repeated, urging her to her feet.

  Emily nodded dumbly, confused and afraid, and scrambled to her feet, though they both stooped in an almost futile attempt to keep out of the worst of the smoke.

  Johnathan turned to the doorway and, though she just shrugged it off and blamed her fear for it, Em
ily could have sworn that she saw her son’s figure shimmer into the size of a man in the orange light.

  He seemed to be waiting for a break in the flames, but a minute or so later the smoke hanging in the bedroom was almost unbearable, and no such opportunity had reared its head.

  Cursing loudly, Johnathan shifted Maddie onto one arm and without even pausing to ask, scooped his mother, Emily, up into his other arm, carrying them both on his young frame as if they barely weighed anything at all.

  Without a thought then, his heart racing and thumping against his chest, Johnathan plunged back onto the landing. Immediately the flames singed his already burned legs and sent searing pain through him anew.

  But, as before, there was nothing that could be done, and he just gritted his teeth and ignored it, taking to the stairs immediately. He whispered a silent prayer that they were not too badly damaged by the flames that they wouldn’t hold the weight of the three of them.

  Luckily they held, just about, but even as he reached the last few steps, he realised suddenly that the staircase wasn’t the biggest problem.

  Even as the fires ravaged and roared and screamed all about him, he heard a huge groaning and cracking above him, and realised all of a sudden that the roof was coming down, and it wasn’t going to wait for them to get out.

  He cursed foully again and practically dove across the dining room to throw Maddie and Emily beneath the table in the kitchen, and he reached it not a moment too soon, for even as he did, the ceiling thundered down on top of him, pouring molten thatch and timber upon his head.

  Raising his arms to protect himself, the full weight of the roof bore down upon the young boy, and the impact drove him to his knees. He grunted loudly as the full force of it threw itself at him.

  “JOHNATHAN!” Maddie screamed, trying to scramble out from under the table to help him, but Emily held her back.

  “NO!” Johnathan barked, even as the scalding ceiling seared his arms and threatened to crush him entirely. “Stay there!”

  Emily screamed then, though she still refused to leg Maddie go, as the flames spread and licked at her legs beneath the table, for the fallen ceiling had set it to the burn yet even faster.