In the House of Mirrors

by Tim Meyer

  Within a few minutes, I came to the clearing where the House of Mirrors stood before me. Little Chris came trotting to my side a few seconds later. We both stared at the structure before us, gazing at its unique architecture. The place where the black masses had once taken place was mostly how I remembered it when Aurelia and I last left it—charred rubble. The rest of the house, which had been mostly intact, was now completely covered in mirrors, with the exception of the windows. The porch was exactly the way it was on the night I followed Marty Olberstad and uttered the password to Geoffrey Boone, who reluctantly let me in. The front door was not boarded up, as it had been in the dream. Instead, a giant mirror hung from it.

  “Holy shit,” Little Chris said.

  “Must have taken a week to hang all these mirrors.”

  “You think the inside is decorated the same?”

  “I think it's safe to assume.”

  “Why?”

  “Because... the House of Mirrors was Arthur Denlax's greatest accomplishment.”

  Not a second after I uttered those words, the front door with the giant mirror on it opened. Geoffrey Boone stepped through the doorway and onto the porch. His caveman hair swayed wildly. His grin was that of a court jester. His clothes were filthy, as if they had not been washed in weeks. He had worked on the House of Mirrors in them, slept in them, prayed to the master in them. There was a bloodstain on his shirt, just below the collar, from a rabbit he captured two nights ago. He ate the poor bastard without cooking it. Its remains were strewn across the dirt lot, not more than ten feet from where Little Chris and I stood still, facing off with Geoffrey Boone like gunslingers in an old western flick. Boone skipped down the steps, onto the dirt lot, on even ground with us. It took a very long minute before anyone spoke, and when the time came, it was I who broke the silence.

  “Where is she?” I asked.

  A long stream of brown liquid discharged from his mouth. “She's safe.” He glared at us, cautiously, as if we came to harm him. His seedy eyes surveyed us for several moments, waiting for us to do something rash and unexpected. “Did you bring what I asked? Did you bring the key?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Let me see it.”

  I held the camera up with one hand, as if I were King Arthur and I had just pulled the sword from the stone. Geoffrey's smile increased, and it turned my stomach upside down. He rubbed his hands with delight. He became more and more animated as time passed. He no longer acted like a human being. He appeared and behaved like the characters from the Saturday morning cartoons I watched as a kid; the kind with wild crazy eyes and grins that wrapped around their faces. The kind that made me laugh. In real life, a face with murderous insanity was hardly something to giggle about. It was something that made my knees quiver.

  “Very good.”

  “Now, give me Aurelia,” I said. “Or...” I dangled the camera in front of me and looked to Little Chris, nodding. He understood. He put the bat over his shoulder as if he were ready to swing for the fences. “The camera turns into a fucking piňata. Want to see what kind of candy comes out of it?” I asked.

  “How dare you threaten me?” he said, laughing as he spoke. “You want to destroy it? Fine. See what happens to your precious Aurelia. I'll make sure she loses her voice from screaming, before I slit her neck open.”

  I almost charged at him, but I was able to restrain myself.

  Boone turned back to the steps, toward the House of Mirrors. “Bring the camera inside, why don't you. And do us both a favor and leave the bat outside.” He hopped up on the porch and headed for the front door. “Unless you want your girlfriend's face looking like a pumpkin on Halloween.” He opened the door and put one foot inside. He stopped, as if he had forgotten something. “Oh, and gentlemen. Welcome to the House of Mirrors.” A second later, his sinister smile disappeared through the doorway and into the darkness inside.

  4

  We walked cautiously toward the House of Mirrors. It was unspoken, but both of us expected some sort of magical booby-trap to be hidden beneath the dirt lot. Slowly, we put one foot in front of the other, like two unsuspecting horror movie characters. Once we reached the porch, we both let out a sigh of relief.

  “What the hell do we do now?” Little Chris asked. I could see the excess weight in his face trembling.

  “Leave the bat here,” I told him.

  “But—”

  “I know. But you heard what he said. Leave the bat here. Trust me. It's the only way.”

  Reluctantly, Little Chris tossed the bat on the ground in front of the porch. I took the first step toward the mirrored door. Chris followed cautiously, in anticipation of something horrible that was about to happen. When we reached the door, I was the one to open it. The reflection of me in the door was normal, a true reflection of myself. I half expected it to be a warped image of me, maybe a dwarf version of myself, like those Funhouse mirrors that were so popular when I was a kid.

  “Ready?” I asked, as I pushed the door open.

  Little Chris gulped. We ducked inside.

  5

  The entry room was covered in mirrors, just like the exterior of the house was. This was not to our surprise. The extreme decoration had been man-made and we marveled over its grandness. We swiveled our heads up and down, left to right, taking in the full scope of it. Mirrors of all shapes and sizes covered the walls and ceiling like some three-dimensional wallpaper. Some of the mirrors looked like they had been hand-me-downs, dirty and hazy. Some of them looked new, perhaps purchased at a specialty store, or ordered from a fancy catalog. The trim around them was intricately designed. These mirrors were crisp and clean, untainted. There was one thing that every mirror had in common, something Little Chris and I noticed almost simultaneously.

  None of them were broken, not so much as a scratch on them.

  “WELCOME TO THE HOUSE OF MIRRORS!” a voice boomed through speakers that had been intentionally hidden somewhere within the room. “DO NOT TOUCH THE MIRRORS, FOR YOU MAY NOT LIKE THE CONSEQUENCE OF THIS ACTION! PLEASE PROCEED UP THE STAIRS, WITH THE KEY IN HAND, SO WE CAN GET THIS PARTY STARTED!”

  I knew it was Geoffrey Boone, broadcasting from somewhere within the house. I nodded to Little Chris, telling him we should comply with the crazy bastard's demands. He nodded back to me in agreement. The two of us marched toward the stairs, utilizing less caution than we had when we were crossing the dirt lot.

  The stairs creaked with each step. Again, like the outside of the house and the living room we had just walked through, the stairway was also covered with mirrors. I looked at myself as we walked up the stairs, with a pace I couldn't seem to slow. With each passing mirror, the images of myself became more distorted. I caught a glimpse of myself in one mirror where I was the size of a small child; another displayed me as being a tall, pencil-shaped man. The mirrors had been stolen from some seaside amusement park, no doubt about it.

  “DO NOT STOP AND LOOK AT THE MIRRORS FOR AN EXTENDED PERIOD OF TIME!” Boone blared through the speakers. It caused Little Chris to jump. I heard him mutter obscenities under his breath. “YOU WILL BECOME LOST IN THEM!” he announced, like any good host would.

  I caught a bizarre image in the last mirror I passed before we came to a long hallway. It was of me, but it wasn't. I was green. I had gills growing out of my neck. My fingernails were long, curled at the ends. My eyes were yellow. I was snarling like a wild animal trying to intimidate an enemy. I looked vaguely familiar, and the images of Lynne and Buster Gritton from my dreams came flooding back to me.

  I did a double take. I didn't adhere to Boone's warning and went back to the mirror that displayed me so grotesquely. I stared at it, closely, examining every inch. I did not hear Little Chris calling to me, telling me to hurry up.

  Suddenly, something made my whole body vibrate.

  “DO NOT DWELL ON ANY MIRROR FOR TOO LONG!” Boone's warning caused me to jump out of my skin. I stumbled backwards, and my back collided with the mirrors that were faste
ned to the wall.

  None of them broke.

  I looked at Little Chris. He stared at me, eyes wide open and his arms extended, asking me what the hell had just happened. I shrugged and shook my head. He waved me on, telling me to hurry up. Then he disappeared down the hallway.

  I stood on that last step, trying to catch my breath. Before I followed Little Chris down the hallway, I looked into the mirror that had warped my image so unearthly. I peered into it.

  My mirrored image was normal.

  There was no evidence of anything otherworldly at all.

  6

  I turned the corner and stood in the hallway. The long corridor had several doors on both walls, although I could hardly tell due to the amount of mirrors that covered them. Like the entry room and the stairway, the hallway walls and ceiling were hidden behind Boone's gateways. As I followed Little Chris, I watched myself sneak peeks from every angle possible. Some of the images were warped to look funny, but most of them were normal reflections of myself.

  Little Chris stared in awe. He looked around, spinning in circles with his mouth agape, at the various mirrors that had been plastered all around us. “I don't get it,” he kept muttering, but I hardly heard him.

  My attention had been turned to the camera, which now had a greenish glow to it. It was faint, and if I hadn't randomly looked down at it, I would have never noticed. With each step toward the end of the corridor, the faint glow became more apparent. Something inside of the camera began to move. At first I thought it was my imagination playing a cruel trick on me. But as we grew closer to the door at the end of the hallway—which did not have a mirror hanging on it—the pulsations from within the camera became distinct. Something inside the camera was moving all right, a steady thump that vibrated my hands. Very rhythmic, like that of a beating heart.

  I suddenly noticed that the pulsating vibration within the camera was exactly that; a heartbeat. As the door became a few footsteps closer, the camera's heartbeat pounded, much like mine had when I caught Lynne with Buster, or when Little Chris had pulled a gun on me. The camera buzzed so violently it took both hands to keep it from escaping my grasp. I realized my own heartbeat had taken off. Within seconds, both my heart and the thumping from the camera were in sync with each other. I could hear the pounding in my ears; the squishing sounds of blood pumping through the valves.

  Bump...

  Bump-Bump...

  Bump...

  For a second, I thought I might lose consciousness. The feeling was unwarranted considering I had remembered to take my medicine that morning. Suddenly, my head felt empty, as if someone had scooped out my brain like ice cream. I felt ill. I hunched over, prepared to lose my lunch on the hardwood floor. Little Chris turned to me. His hand was on the doorknob. He said something but I didn't hear him. All I could hear was the beating of our hearts—mine and the camera that had changed my life, altered my perception of reality. The sounds of the world around me had succumbed to the thumping of two hearts.

  Bump...

  Bump-Bump...

  Bump...

  Little Chris said something again, but I still couldn't make it out. Then he twisted the doorknob and pushed the door open. A bright light filled the hallway. It blinded us, and shielding my eyes did nothing to relieve the burning sensation that had entered my skull. Little Chris drifted toward the light. I said something to him. I thought I told him to stop, but I couldn't hear myself either. The heartbeat consumed me, blocking out the sounds of the world. Whatever words I had uttered, Little Chris didn't hear them. Or if he had, he ignored me.

  Instead, he stepped forward, and I watched as the blinding light swallowed him whole.

  7

  The heartbeat was almost too much for me to handle. A tremendous headache raged, but that was the least of my worries. For a brief moment, visions of my eardrums exploding plagued my thoughts. I called to Little Chris, but there was no answer. I decided there was little choice in the matter. I couldn't turn away now. Aurelia could be beyond the light, I thought, and that motivated me to carry on. It temporarily lulled the beating hearts. I found it in me to push the sick feeling in my head and stomach aside and put one foot in front of the other, toward the white light.

  I stepped forward, and felt a warm sensation as I passed through the doorway and into the white light.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  The warm, comforting sensation lasted momentarily, and then it was gone. Suddenly I found myself in a room with no mirrors on the walls. Instead, the room was comprised of raw, rotting wood, plain and unstained. I had stepped into the attic. Support beams and trusses hung before me, and if I had taken a few more steps forward without looking, I would've bounced my head off one. It took me a brief moment to collect my senses, and understand what part of the house I was in.

  I stood in the attic and surveyed my surroundings. Above me was the gabled roof. The back half of it was missing, badly burned from the fire Aurelia had started. The sun looked into the unintentional skylight, cascading rays of sunshine into the normally dark atmosphere. I looked for any evidence of the white blinding light, but I couldn't find any traces of it or identify its source.

  After I had regained my senses, I noticed the camera's heart had stopped beating. It was no longer pulsating in my hands. This calmed me. I was glad I could no longer hear my heart pounding away in my chest. It drummed normally again, and most importantly, it did so silently.

  I looked straight ahead and in the center of the room, with the opening in the roof behind it, a single mirror stood, staring directly at me. It did not hold my image in its reflection. Instead, the mirrored glass ebbed like ripples in the ocean.

  I stepped forward, and a familiar figure crept out from behind the mirror.

  “I was beginning to worry you wouldn't make it,” Geoffrey Boone said. He appeared with a devilish smile that split his face in half.

  I looked to the corner of the room and saw a little desk with some broadcasting equipment on it. My eyes shifted to the other corner of the room, and I spotted Aurelia, tied, gagged, and sitting on the floor. Her hands were bound behind her back. An old, dirty tee-shirt had been tied around her mouth, preventing her from speaking. She made noises of discomfort. There were several scratches on her arms and face, but for the most part, she appeared okay. If anything, she looked exhausted. I peered into her eyes and I could tell how frightened she was.

  “Ah, yes. The girl. She's been a most pleasant guest,” Geoffrey stated, through his disturbing grin. I wanted to charge him, tackle him to the ground, and beat him within an inch of his life. But I steadied myself.

  “Let her go,” I grumbled through clenched teeth.

  He skipped over to her, quite gaily. He grabbed Aurelia by her hair and stood her up. Her painful shriek was muffled by the dirt-stained shirt. I stepped forward with every intent of smashing Denlax's camera into his face, hoping I'd fracture his nose in the process. But a hand grabbed my shoulder, keeping me from doing something that would endanger Aurelia's life any further.

  I turned and saw Little Chris. He shook his head subtly. Against my wishes, I nodded to him in agreement. I stiffened when Boone produced a hunting knife from his back pocket and put it to her throat. The blade was corrugated, specifically designed for carving through muscle and tendons. It would open her throat as easy as scissors could cut through a Kleenex. I held the camera close to my body.

  “Relax,” Boone warned me. “Don't do anything you'll regret.” He shuffled from the dark corner of the attic into the beam of light the sun casted down through the missing part of the roof. He stopped and stood next to the mirror, which swirled and flowed, unable to capture the reflection of anything or anyone who stood before it. Geoffrey put his free hand on the wooden trim that outlined the peculiar mirror. He stroked it, as if it were an amiable pet. “This is the portal,” he muttered, his words were accompanied by many short bursts of laughter. “Give me the key.”

  “Give me Aurelia,” I said, holding the cam
era out in front of me.

  Boone shook his head back and forth wildly. “No! No, no, no, no.” He kept repeating the word over and over again, until he grew tired of it. “Give me the key first. Then you get the girl. That is the only way!”

  “No deal,” I said. “We swap at the same time. It's only fair.”

  “Fair!” he screamed. “Fair!” His face writhed. I had definitely pissed him off. “How's about this for fair? I slit this little cunt's throat and then chop you and your fat friend into tiny little pieces! How's that?”

  “I'll smash this thing before you get anywhere near us.”

  “Oh, I'm so scared,” he said sardonically, imitating a childish expression. A second later, his crooked grin returned, sending shivers up and down my arms and legs. This was the first time I thought that one of us might not make it out of there alive. “Give me the key,” he said sternly. “I won't ask again. If I have to, I'm going to see what the inside of a woman's uterus looks like.”

  I looked to Little Chris. He nodded to me.

  I faced Boone and Aurelia. Boone's face turned my stomach into one giant knot. The tears dripping down Aurelia's face enraged me. I looked at Denlax's camera. The time had come to surrender it, and I was not the least bit sad about it. I put the camera in the palm of my hand and rolled it across the floor like a bowling ball. It bounced off the unfinished floor several times before landing at Boone's feet. A worried look came over his face.