Dark Side Of The Mirror (Emily's War)

by R. L. Austin

  “Yes.” Jean grabbed her by the shoulders and gave a large, genuine smile. “You’ll like this one. I promise.”

  Her mother led the way to the rear hallway of the house where she opened a door and stepped inside a small closet. Emily wondered why until she noticed a second, smaller door at the back of the closet. That door opened to a narrow stairway. Jean gave Emily a wink before she started climbing. “Follow me.”

  The confined space smelled old and dusty, and a single light bulb dangling at the end of an exposed wire provided a meager glow. Emily followed, but it was a struggle to drag her large suitcase up the narrow set of stairs that twisted back and forth in the confined space. “Why is this staircase so small?”

  “It wasn’t part of the original house. Your great-grandfather built it during Prohibition.”

  Emily remembered the word from history class. “Gramps was a moonshiner?”

  “No, dear, he was a bootlegger. He made alcohol and he sold it. This staircase was used to move the product, as it was called.”

  “Wow, that is so cool! What else did he do? Was he a mobster?”

  “No, silly, he wasn’t a mobster. He made a little extra cash by making and selling wine and spirits during Prohibition, but I was never told about anything else illegal.”

  The door at the top of the staircase opened to the back of another closet, this one much larger. Jean ushered Emily into the closet before she opened the door to Nana’s room with a flourish. “Ta-da! This, my dear, is your new bedroom.”

  Emily took one step out of the closet and gaped in surprise. “Holy mother of pearl, this is amazing.”

  Museum-quality antique furniture filled the large room, and the walls portrayed a colorful scene from a garden. Upon closer inspection, Emily was shocked to realize the garden scene was entirely hand-painted. The best feature, however, was a complete wall of windows that flooded the room with bright sunshine. Emily hoped the windows would open so she could let some fresh air into a room that had been closed for far too long.

  A small side door, painted to match the wall, almost escaped Emily’s notice. She opened it to find a bathroom with a pedestal sink and old-fashioned claw-foot tub. The ceramic tank on an unusual looking toilet was mounted to the wall above the commode rather than behind it. “What’s that?”

  “It’s called a water closet, dear. It works just like a regular toilet. To flush, all you have to do is pull this chain.” Jean demonstrated, “See!” and a powerful flush made Emily hope she remembered to stand before she pulled the chain in the middle of the night.

  Emily took her time to inspect the furniture, each made of highly-polished mahogany and highlighted with gilded trim, but she was eventually drawn to the windows. Outside was a large, flat area of rooftop surrounded by a waist-high wall. “Can I go out there?”

  “Sure. Nana let me play out there all the time when I was a child.”

  “Who’s Nana?”

  Jean stared out the windows and smiled at something fondly remembered from long ago. “That’s what I called my grandmother. She lived with us until I finished grade school, before she moved to Miami to retire. She’s been gone for many years now.”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “Thank you, sweetie. Your great-grandmother had a fantastic imagination, and together we turned that roof into the most wonderful playground any child ever had. It’s hidden from every other room, and no one on the ground can see you. You’ll have plenty of privacy. And best of all, on a clear day you can see the Golden Gate Bridge.”

  Emily wished she could see the intricate metal grid-work of the Williamsburg Bridge in Manhattan, a bridge she had crossed almost every day of her life, but it was 3,000 miles away. In an effort not to give in to homesickness, Emily returned her attention to the roof. “Is that where gramps made his moonshine?”

  “Yes, and that’s the reason for the wall that surrounds this area. Your grandfather built it to hide the still. At least that’s what I was told. But Prohibition was over and the still had been removed by the time I was born. Okay, sweetie, I’m going downstairs to help your father unpack. I’ll check on you again before dinner. If you need anything before then, you know where to find us.”

  Emily thought her mother was going to leave, but she paused. “I want to remind you of my promise that none of us would use electronics while we are under this roof. Is that understood?” The comment was followed by an exaggerated wink.

  Emily smiled. “Yeah, I understand, and thanks.”

  “Great! Tomorrow you and I will go shopping for dresses. I know you didn’t expect such strange conditions for living here, and I don’t like them either, but Mansel has always been a strange bird. Let’s try to make the best of it until we can get our own place. Okay?”

  “Okay, I’m really going to try, but you’ve got to promise me one thing.”

  “What’s that, honey?”

  “Three months, tops. If we stay here any longer, I might go crazy.”

  Jean threw back her head and laughed, an honest sound that always lifted Emily’s spirits. “You drive a hard bargain, young lady. Okay, no more than three months.”

  Emily placed her suitcase on the bed, intent on unpacking, but curiosity pulled her to the enormous windows. The two side windows were nailed shut, but the large window in the center had sturdy handles. Emily grabbed them and pulled up. The window slid open, slowly, with a loud groan of protest.

  Fresh air drew Emily onto the roof, and she stretched her arms as wide as she could to absorb the warm sunshine. The roof had a slight smell of tar, but the air was cool and crisp, reminding her of spring in New York. She walked from one end of the roof to the other with fine gravel crinkling under her feet. Houses stretched in all directions, but none as large as her uncle’s. The only thing that obstructed the view was a wide brick chimney in the back corner of the walled area. Behind it, out of view from the room, was a large metal box. It was bolted to the roof so it couldn’t be moved, and it had a sturdy hasp but no lock. Emily lifted the lid, but nothing was inside. She envisioned it filled of liquor bottles, and decided it must have been where her gramps stored his liquor. There was no way to know for sure, but it was dry and would make a great place to hide things. She sat on the box and spent the next hour sending text messages to her friends, telling them about her trip, the giant house, and her uncle’s crazy rules. Her best friend, Tracy, shot back a smirky message that Emily hadn’t moved across the country, she had traveled back in time.

  Emily shook her head and typed back, “U got dat rght .”

  She closed the phone with a snap, and her thoughts drifted back to the day before, her last one in New York. Tracy had surprised her with a going away party. It was also Emily’s fifteenth birthday, so the gathering doubled as a birthday celebration. Dozens of her friends had stopped by to wish her happy birthday and say their farewells. The traditional cake and ice cream were followed by a series of party games that Emily thought would be lame, but turned out to be lots of fun. After the party, a group of her best friends remained to hang out. They sat on the back steps under a full moon, trading gossip and talking about boys. Tracy even told a dirty joke that had Emily wiping away tears of laughter. She had the time of her life until it was time for final good-byes and a new round of tears was unleashed.

  The early morning flight from one coast to the other had given Emily plenty of time to think about the friends she was leaving behind, and she was feeling homesick for New York before the plane even touched down in San Francisco.

  Emily looked up at a sky that had clouded over and sighed before she went back inside to unpack. Each garment was taken out and given a good shake before it was refolded and placed it in a drawer or hung in the closet. More than one of Emily’s friends had teased her about being such a neat freak, but she hated the idea of wearing wrinkled clothes.

  The new closet already contained some storage boxes, but it had ample space for all of Emily’s clothes. A full-length mirror covered the inside
of the closet door. It was the first opportunity she had since leaving New York that morning to check her appearance, so she stepped back to inspect herself.

  A pair of green eyes looked at her from beneath a mass of dark hair that flowed down her back. She had smooth, cream-colored skin, a long, straight nose, and high cheekbones that balanced her features—all gifts of her mother’s Celtic ancestry. From her father’s side of the family, Emily had inherited an ample bosom and small waist that gave her an hourglass figure other girls longed for. Emily had even made a brief attempt, at her mother’s urging, to become a model. Her looks had earned her several interviews with top modeling agencies, and each of the interviews had gone well, but she was ultimately rejected for being too short. She pretended it didn’t bother her, but it did. Despite the rejections, the person staring back from the mirror made her smile. She was fifteen, and while she could still feel like an awkward girl on the inside, she was proud of the beautiful young woman she was becoming.

  ***

  In honor of their first night in San Francisco, Jean insisted that everyone eat together in the dining room. Emily and her parents sat at one end of a massive cherry wood table that could easily accommodate a dozen diners. They were accompanied only by their reflections in a large mirror that dominated one wall. Mansel had refused to join them, saying he preferred to dine alone in his study.

  After the meal, Emily helped her father wash the dishes while her mother cleaned and put things away. Emily asked her mother about growing up in San Francisco, and Jean rambled on about how things were when she was Emily’s age until the chores were done and Emily could escape. After that, without television, computer, or phone, the evening dragged even worse. Emily roamed the big house, bored and frustrated, until she found her uncle’s study. It was toward the front of the house on the first floor. She also tried to find his bedroom, so she could avoid it, but she finally had to give up and ask her mother.

  “He doesn’t have a bedroom, dear. He sleeps in his study.”

  Her mother’s response strengthened Emily’s opinion that her uncle had developed some odd habits. She continued roaming the large house and she was surprised to find that every room, except the kitchen and dining room, was sealed with a layer of dust. While her uncle lived in a giant house with dozens of rooms, he used almost none of them.

  ***

  Emily awoke the next morning to heavy clouds and rain. The stormy weather ruled out any chance of exploring the neighborhood, and worse, she couldn’t go onto to the roof to use her phone or computer. It was going to be a long day trapped in her uncle’s house without any means of communicating with her friends.

  She reached to her nightstand for the necklace she wore every day, a green amulet on a gold chain, but it wasn’t there. “Oh, no!” She scrambled out of bed and dropped to the floor, hoping it had fallen under the bed or behind the nightstand, but it wasn’t there. “This can’t be happening.”

  The amulet was a gift from her grandmother, given to Emily on her fourteenth birthday and only days before her grandmother’s sudden death. Emily cherished it, removing it only to sleep and shower, and now it was gone. Two more searches of the room and her empty suitcase turned up nothing.

  Jean was sympathetic, offering words of encouragement that it would eventually show up. “Probably when and where you least expect it, dear. That’s how these things work.”

  “I hope so. I really do.” Her mother’s assurance did little to lift her spirits.

  Emily spent the rest of the morning prowling the large house, looking for something to do, but most of the doors were locked. The few that could be opened turned out to be empty closets or unused bedrooms with nothing to see except dusty sheets draped over unused furniture.

  The door to Mansel’s study was in the front hallway, so Emily used the rear one to bypass it. After making three rounds of the house, she switched to the front hallway. She was passing her uncle’s study when she heard the sounds of a scuffle between two people, with grunts, tumbling furniture, and the scraping of shoes. Emily had no idea who could be in the room with her uncle. No visitors had arrived that morning; she was sure of it. She considered knocking on the door to make sure he was all right, but the noises suddenly stopped.

  Emily stood outside the door, listening, but froze when she heard someone on the other side panting for breath. It had to be her uncle, and he was probably coming out. She didn’t want to be there if he did, so she looked up and down the hallway for a place to hide. The only chance for a quick escape was a door opposite his study. She yanked it open to discover another closet. Emily squeezed inside, being careful not to knock over a mop sitting in a pail of stale water.

  She pulled the door closed, but left a small crack so she could see out. Her uncle emerged from his study. His jacket was torn, and he was still panting. Wow, he was fighting with somebody. He was also carrying a black triangular object she had never seen before. He looked around before he closed the door and whispered something she couldn’t hear. Emily waited until his footsteps had faded before she slipped out of the closet and hurried to the safety of her room.

  The moving van arrived shortly after lunch, and Emily was thankful to have something to do. She spent the afternoon in her room unpacking her belongings. It was comforting to see and touch her things again, but she almost gave up putting her belongings away after the blackouts started. Each blackout was preceded by a dimming of the lights, followed by a loss of power that lasted from several minutes to more than an hour. The last time happened during dinner. The dining room had no windows, but the evening glow from the hallway provided enough light for Emily to see her parents’ ghostly outlines.

  Jean sighed and got up from her chair. “I’ll get some candles and matches from the kitchen.”

  After she left the room, Paul leaned over and whispered, “I think I’ll stand beside the door and scare the dickens out of her when she comes back in.” He could be a practical joker at times, and his voice had a dangerous level of prankster to it.

  Emily giggled. “You better not. I think she took her knife with her. I’d hate to be a witness to murder.”

  “Hmm, maybe I should reconsider until I’m sure she’s not holding a knife, but this place is begging for a good scare, and one of these days your mom’s gonna get it, big time.”

  “Yeah, and I promise to put fresh flowers on your grave every day.”

  “Ha, ha! You have no faith in me, young lady. I’m pretty sure I could outrun your mother.”

  “You’d better.”

  They were still laughing when Jean returned with a candle she used to light others. She was tipping the flame to the last candle when Emily heard a male voice behind her say, “The gray wanderer calls to the rising moon.”

  She jerked around. “What?” But the only thing behind her was the large mirror hanging on the wall.

  Her mother glanced over. “What’s that, dear?”

  “Oh, nothing, I…”

  The voice started again. “A lover’s song, a mournful tune.”

  Emily stared at the mirror. The voice was coming from it, she was sure of that.

  “Are you okay, sweetie?”

  “Yeah, I’m fine, but there’s a voice coming from the mirror.”

  “A what?”

  “A voice. I can hear it.”

  Paul came over and used a candle to inspect the mirror. “A voice? Are you sure?” He tapped the glass several times. “Seems normal to me, and I don’t hear anything.”

  The voice, however, continued reciting what sounded like a poem.

  “Companions arrive in silver light;

  To gather as one in deepest night.

  Their voices rise in soulful lament,

  Of primal joy without repent.

  We hear the call as shadows run;

  Lifting the hearts of father and son.”

  “But there is a voice, I swear,” Emily insisted while she inspected the mirror herself.

  Her parents exchanged confus
ed looks, but the voice had fallen silent, so Emily sank back into her chair and muttered, “Never mind.”

  Emily continued to listen until the meal was over, but the voice did not return. She thought about the strange incident all evening; there was little else to do, and in the end she decided the voice was just her imagination in overdrive.

  The next evening, however, the voice in the mirror recited the same poem, and Emily kept insisting her parents could hear it if they listened closely. She even repeated the poem until her mother asked her to stop.

  The following day, Jean took Emily to see a therapist.

  Dr. Franklin was a gentle old man with thick glasses and a cardigan sweater. He asked lots of questions about the voice, what it was saying, and how Emily felt about it. She answered truthfully, even though some of the questions were about boys and how she felt about moving to San Francisco. The doctor spent the hour scribbling notes.

  When Emily learned she had to go back to the therapist, she begged her parents to keep the visits a secret. She felt bad enough that her parents were worried about her sanity, but having her friends, even her uncle, think she was crazy would be too embarrassing for her to bear. Paul and Jean agreed, maybe a bit too eagerly, and Emily wondered if they were worried that Mansel would tell them to take their crazy child and get out.

  Emily decided the next morning to get out of the house and explore the new neighborhood. The sky outside her windows was dark and overcast, but at least it wasn’t raining. She passed through Presidio Park and noticed a couple of girls her age playing tennis. Emily eventually reached the Bay and walked onto a pier to look at the dark, choppy water. The clean smell of the ocean and steady lapping of waves were lulling her into a relaxed mood when she felt the first cold raindrops. “You’ve gotta be kidding me.” Emily was wet and shivering by the time she got back to her uncle’s house.

  That evening, Emily sat with her mother on her parent’s bed. They were planning a trip to the mall when Emily heard a voice, a woman’s voice, coming from the mirror on the closet door. The woman was speaking Spanish, so Emily had no idea what she was saying.