Broken Mirrors, Fractured Minds

by Carmilla Voiez

  They all waited.

  “‘You should learn to bite your tongue, Mikey.’ And she smacked me across the face.”

  “Your teacher assaulted you?”

  “Oh? So she DID assault me? I did wonder. Whenever I told people, about those who hit me, they were bullies I should ignore.” I continued to laugh. “Daniel laughed at me again. With confirmation from the little girl who watched I said ‘take that smile off your face’.”

  My mother started to cry again. She made loud sobbing sounds. The dark haired man no longer smiled, and the other had stopped writing to listen to the finale.

  “The class laughed and pointed. I told them all ‘I will make sure you never point your finger again! And Miss Black, you should bite your tongue! The room fell silent. Miss Black returned to her desk after locking the door and closing the blinds of the window beside it. Some of the students stood up and searched the room for scissors and rulers.”

  “Jesus…” the dark man muttered, covering his mouth.

  “Oh Michael…” My mother sobbed.

  “The little girl and I stood and watched with smiles on our faces. Daniel held the scissors to his mouth and dug the blades into his disgusting face. He finally took off that sickening smile of his.”

  The man who had up until then been talkative stood up and started to walk back and forth in front of me. My story made him uncomfortable. It was good.

  “No one screamed, except for Mary. She screamed as the blood fell,” I told them. “Ask the other people who were in the building. Only one voice was heard.”

  They already knew that. I could tell by their expressions.

  “I watched as other pupils mutilated their pointing fingers. Some used scissors, others sawed at them with rulers. Many of them used their teeth.”

  “Oh God,” gasped the previously silent man.

  “A man knocked on the door, shouting for somebody to open it and demanding to know what was going on. The room was silent except for Mary’s screams and the sound of crunching, splattering and sawing. Mary shrieked. ‘What are you doing?’ I didn’t reply. I just watched her cover her eyes as Miss Black put her tongue between her teeth and bit down hard. Blood flowed like a river from her mouth.”

  “And then…you made them jump…”

  “No. They fell.” I laughed. “I said ‘And now you will fall from Heaven.’ Miss Black stood up. She was weary from blood loss, but she managed to stagger to the window and open it wide. Pupils followed her in a line. One by one, they fell from the third floor. They landed one on top of the other, and painted the school grounds red.”

  “Most of those children DIED!”

  I smiled. “Yes, they did.”

  “And the others are in critical conditions! They’ve all lost their minds!”

  It was true. They were just shells now. They would live without dignity, replaying their evil deeds over and over. But they would never point their finger at me again. Daniel and Miss Black had died. They would be punished for their ways in Hell.

  “A male teacher managed to break down the door, but too late. The police were called and they came with ambulances. When they took me away, I couldn’t help but laugh at them. It was a great day.”

  “Michael…why…” My mother cried.

  “It was for the evil that people do.” I smiled. “For the evil that children do.”

  “So how did you make them do it? Huh?” The police officer slammed his hands on the table. “You expect me to believe a little girl came along and told you all this so you could make them mutilate their bodies and jump from a bloody window?”

  “I don’t expect you to believe anything.” I sighed. “But what will you do with me? I didn’t physically do anything to hurt them. They did it to themselves.”

  He shook his head. “You are one twisted child.”

  “No. You are one twisted race.” I sneered. “I am Michael. I am an angel. I am a prince, and I will rid the world of evil.”

  He laughed.

  “I will make sure you never laugh again. I whispered. You will never doubt me ever again.”

  I looked to the corner of the room, and smiled.

  And she smiled back.

  Terror Bound

  by Jeremy Garnett

  Curled on the couch

  in the heat of the day.

  Its warmth a sweaty comfort,

  whilst the breath of air which swirls,

  unhinged by the overhead fan,

  tingles, creating goosebumps.

  In shadowed rooms, walls sweat

  and water, born of air, remains on every breath.

  Yet, for all the humid heat,

  a cold sweat lingers on the brow.

  Brain freeze condensation.

  In the stillness,

  shivering, shaking in endless loss,

  despair and swirling thoughts;

  A soft harsh cry on every breath reveals

  soul-bound pain, wrought by confusion.

  Huddled on the couch,

  seeking foetal comfort,

  each struggle burrows deeper,

  but the body moves only in shiver, shake.

  This the storm that was never calm.

  The dark shadow beneath the waves.

  A cyclone amidst a camp of fragile construction,

  shattering against the sandbags of artificial sanity,

  until retreating, it strengthens, grows, returns.

  The body, tense with half-seen dreams,

  keeps strangle hold on the shattered soul,

  till time breaking free of eternity

  reveals the dying sundown light.

  When shivers still, the breaths grow silent

  and the shaking retreats within;

  till future worries rain again, or terror blows the dam.

  The weight of panic rides the soul bareback, breaking in

  with reality unimagined.

  Until sleep consumes completely.

  Too tired to dream.

  Too worn to move.

  Too secure in the couch.

  That’s when Morpheus beckons.

  Peaceful is the sleep of the damned.

  Cracked

  by Carmilla Voiez

  Rachel studied Sam’s body, silhouetted against the reddening sun as he worked the bolts. Beyond him lay the twisting driveway. His excitement infected her.

  ‘I’ve done it!’ Sam pushed the gate open.

  Rachel forced a smile and stepped through the narrow gap, hunched under her rucksack. White knuckles clutched her laptop case.

  ‘I’ll close it back up.’ He replaced the bolts and shook the wire fence as if to reassure them of their protection from the outside world.

  The setting sun highlighted every aspect of him: jeans pulled tight around his perfect buttocks and the narrow waist that curved fluidly between denim and the hem of his t-shirt.

  ‘This should be fun.’ She blushed and swept her eyes across pot-marked concrete.

  Sam stepped towards her. His fingers closed around Rachel’s and he lifted the case from her. Shoulder to shoulder they ambled along the overgrown drive of Ladyswell Asylum.

  * * *

  It had seemed like a great idea: their own ghost-hunter show broadcast live on Twitter, one hundred and forty characters of terror at a time. Excitement and fear battled inside Rachel from the moment she agreed to join Sam. She had heard the ghost stories, but felt it was worth the risk to spend a whole night with the man of her dreams.

  * * *

  Seven o’clock - the shadows lengthened. They agreed to check out each abandoned building in turn, to discover the best place to make camp.

  The first was a two storey villa. Outside it looked like a disused school. The reinforced windows were subtly done. The hinges of the door had dropped and it stood ajar, wedged into muddy soil. They left their belongings outside to shoulder their way in. Inside, the gloom made her shudder. Her eyes fought to see a few meters ahead. Fallen rubble covered the floor. Layers o
f institutional-green paint peeled away from flesh-pink plaster walls. Exploding drips of water echoed through the hall. The smell of fungi overwhelmed them.

  Rachel lunged outside, gasping for fresh air. Moments later Sam followed, shaking his head. ‘Too damp.’

  The front door of the adjacent single-storey building was closed. The wood creaked but did not budge when Sam pushed against it with his shoulder. Rachel walked around the outside and found a side door moving in the wind.

  The mesh and glass panels of the door had been smashed and torn. Spikes of broken wire stabbed at the air. Stepping inside, they crunched over broken glass and fist sized chunks of concrete. The rooms were empty, but there was no shelter or clear floor on which to rest.

  Building after building was broken and unusable. The sun dipped lower. They began to worry, wishing they had spent time investigating before the big night.

  They reached the far corner of the “village” and an imposing two-storey building. A surgical trolley, used by vandals as a battering ram, blocked the entrance. Rachel pulled it towards her to walk inside. Sam followed close behind. The internal doors whispered their welcome as she pushed them open then absolute silence. A long corridor sloped gently downwards to the left.

  ‘This way?’

  Rachel nodded.

  Sam shrugged. He pulled a face, breaking the tension and making Rachel wheeze with laughter. They stood motionless for seconds that felt like hours, peering into the gloom.

  Walking along the corridor, they realised the floor was rubble-free. On the left a glass-paned door to a small office stood open. A desk and swivel chair waited patiently, dusty but undamaged. A green filing-cabinet gaped. Files were crammed inside its drawers, case histories, lives abandoned.

  ‘Looks good.’ Sam leaned over Rachel’s shoulder. His cheek almost touched hers and his voice caressed her aching ear. She swallowed hard, trying to control her shaking body.

  Rachel stepped forward, unpacked her laptop and switched it on. They left the computer to load up, using the time to explore. The room opposite was once a bathroom. The toilet stalls had no doors and a cast iron bath crouched at the centre. A cracked mirror leaned between floor and shadowy wall, reflecting her feet. A few sinks hung obstinately from filthy tiles. Sam tested for water, but found none.

  Wind whistled around the upstairs rooms. A door or window slammed above them, making Rachel jump. Sam laughed and affectionately patted her shoulder. She grinned, self-mockingly. His pupils were huge and his smile gentle. Looking away to break the spell, she hurried past him, out of the room and back to her computer.

  The office closed around her, shutting out the noises of the wind. Rachel zipped open her rucksack and removed a torch from it, playing with its weight in her hand.

  She opened the internet browser and accessed Twitter. Bite-sized chunks of chatter opened out on the screen. She touched the keys lightly, not wishing to disturb the silence. Sam’s footsteps clicked behind her and she smiled.

  Staying at abandoned asylum. Still daylight. Quiet so far. No sign of ghosts…yet.

  Sunlight no longer penetrated the high window, and the flickering glow of Rachel’s laptop became their only source of light. Feeling cold, Rachel pulled a sweater and a bar of chocolate from her rucksack. She offered half to Sam. He placed it in his mouth, smiling contentedly as the sweetness melted over his tongue.

  ‘Come here,’ he said, opening his arms.

  Cheek resting against his chest, wrapped in his arms, Rachel felt that she too might melt. When he dropped his arms and took a step back, the warmth drained from her skin. She coughed and sat down in front of the laptop, checking for replies to her tweet. Nothing.

  ‘I’m going to wander around.’

  ‘Do you want company?’ Sam asked.

  Perhaps too brusquely, she told him to keep track of replies.

  She grabbed her torch and turned left, walking along the dimly lit corridor. She tiptoed, through an open doorway, into a large room. The windows in front of her faced west, and the room was filled with amber light, divided into tiger stripes by the steel bars bolted to the glass. To her left, was a wall and a dark archway. A glazed observation room jutted out from the wall to her right.

  No furniture remained. She felt the hushed tension of the space and imagined its occupants, sitting about or pacing the room, unaware of each other. She heard a noise coming from the dark room beyond the archway. An animal? Curiosity pushed her to look, hoping to add spice to her next tweet. Fear held her back. Anything could have been lurking in the shadows. Embarrassed by the temptation to call Sam, she took one step closer and heard rustling. She paused, straining her hearing, trying to visualise the size, weight and position of the thing. It sounded small. At least its movements seemed small. Rachel edged closer, hovering between action and inaction. As the evening sun vanished behind trees she reached the centre of the room. The distance between her and the archway seemed to expand and contract. The sound shifted: a scratching sound, closer than before, to her right, beside or beyond the windows. She strode towards the opening.

  Rachel flashed a torch-beam around the room. White light swept across a wheelchair, an overturned laundry trolley and, in the corner, a blackened teddy bear. She picked up the toy. Its fur felt damp and sticky. Recoiling, she released it and it thudded heavily on the floor. Rubbing her hands against the rough denim of her jeans, she tried to clean them, but could not shift the dark blue-green stain at the centre of her palm. Scratching her discoloured skin, she hurried back to her office sanctuary and Sam.

  He stood up when he saw her. Instead of telling him what happened, she rushed to the laptop, eager to share the moment with the world. Typing furiously, careless of the noise, she wrote: Scared by a bear. May need a tetanus. Heard noises. Getting dark now.

  ‘A bear?’ Sam asked, reading over her shoulder.

  ‘A teddy bear,’ she replied. ‘But a very scary teddy.’

  He laughed and touched her hair. ‘Show me.’

  It took all her willpower to resist kissing his fingers. When they returned to the office, after paying a visit to the bear, Rachel broke another bar of chocolate into two generous pieces, thinking ruefully about the absence of alcohol in her rucksack.

  ‘I wish I brought some beer.’

  Sam smiled and retrieved two cans from his bag. He opened Rachel’s before passing it to her.

  She took a mouthful of slightly warm liquid and sat down. ‘Thank you.’

  Swallowing chocolate and gulping beer, she wondered where they should sleep. The thought of sitting shoulder to shoulder with Sam and dozing with their backs against the filing cabinet was tempting.

  Rachel’s pelvis grew heavy. She needed the toilet. The sudden realisation pushed her out of the office. The wind howled through the corridor. An open window slammed. She sprinted to the bathroom.

  Finding the cleanest stall, she squatted over the porcelain bowl, careful not to touch it. Torchlight bounced around the room as she adjusted her position. When it hit the looking glass its beam illuminated the entire room. She placed the torch on the floor, pointing towards the mirror. The silvered glass was pitted with black acne and spider-web scratches. The reflected room looked misty and unreal, the bathtub disjointed, like an incomplete jigsaw.

  Finished, she stood and pulled up her jeans. A movement in the mirror caught her eye. The reflected bathtub appeared clearer. Snakes of steam rose from its curved rim. Within the mist, a dark dome of hair stood proud above the edge of the tub. Rachel stared at the real bath in panic. It was empty.

  Wind groaned around the edges of the room. The sound was like the climactic scene in a zombie movie, where the heroine becomes overcome by a crush of the undead. She pointed the light towards the door and ran towards it, screaming.

  Plop - the sound of a single drop of water falling. Her heart raced. Where’s Sam? Instead of his hurried footsteps all she could hear was the sucking sound of water releasing a body from its embrace. A wet foot hit the floor wit
h a slap, then another. Slowly, the sounds moved towards her. She sensed the outstretched hands of a naked woman and dead, milky eyes staring ahead. Staring at Rachel while thin, pale arms and fingers reached for her.

  Screaming again, she ran towards the office, slamming the door behind her and cracking its frosted-glass panel.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ Sam asked. His eyelids strained against gravity. He tried to push his slouched, sleep-filled body up to meet her.

  Shaking her head, Rachel sat in the swivel chair. Her palms clamped over her ears, she rocked herself slowly at first, then more and more ferociously. She dared not look towards the door or even turn to face Sam, acutely aware that the latter would place the door in her periphery vision.

  ‘I saw something,’ Rachel whispered.

  ‘What did you see?’ Sam asked.

  She shrugged.

  ‘I’ll go and check,’ Sam said.

  The door groaned open. The handle clicked as he closed it behind him. Sam’s footsteps moved away from her. She turned to face the door, to call him back, confess her terror. Through the cracked panel she saw the squashed features of a woman’s face pressed against the glass.

  Help me, she typed. Rachel pressed the send button and prayed. The door-handle clicked sharply as something pushed it downwards. Cold, damp air rushed towards her.

  ‘Help,’ Rachel whispered as narrowed eyes peered at her. A green surgical mask filled with air then compressed against the curved lips of a cruel mouth. The figure stepped away from the door and towards Rachel. She shook her head to deny its presence then closed her eyes as a knot of fingers clasped her throat and squeezed.

  Loud and Dangerous

  by Tom Killeen