Satan's Mirror

by Roxanne Smolen

  “Bring your stuff.” She grabbed her pack from beneath the seat.

  Emily got out of the van and quietly closed the door. The night was warm and filled with the sounds of chirruping insects. She waited for Dan to circle around to her. He rattled a bit as he walked, overloaded with camera equipment.

  “Can you hold these for me?” Dan handed her several microdrives for his Olympus Evolt camera.

  Emily placed them in her backpack. She felt in high spirits, excited to get in the house, certain this was the break they needed to expose the Mirror myth. “I hope you brought your secret agent night vision camera.”

  He patted the camcorder hanging from his neck. “Me and old faithful will do the best we can.”

  “You can start by shooting the neighborhood and the walkway to our haunted mansion. Make sure I’m in the frame as much as possible.”

  “Better fix your hair then.”

  Emily grinned. Slipping the pack onto her back, she crossed the uneven brick street. The long grass was trampled along the fence as if this were a traveled route. The breeze gusted. A door slammed. She saw no sign of Joey and was glad for that. He frightened her, and she didn’t know how he would react to her following him again. Best keep a discreet distance.

  The three-storied, gabled houses loomed above, blocking the light from the street. The decorative iron made way for a chain-link fence that alternately leaned into and away from a line of foliage. Bushes and low-hanging tree branches brushed her shoulders and head.

  She stopped, suddenly wary.

  “I can’t shoot anything in this jungle,” Dan whispered. “I have to use the flood.”

  “Don’t. I think he’s watching.”

  “If he knows we’re here, it doesn’t matter what we do.”

  A trickle of foreboding crawled over her flesh. “Don’t turn on the light. Follow me.”

  “Hold on. You’re going in the wrong direction. Vanessa’s place is that-a-way.”

  “But the path leads there.” She motioned to a hole in the fence.

  He looked perplexed. “This is crazy.”

  “No, it makes perfect sense. Vanessa said she bought the house to keep away prying eyes, remember? She is protecting whatever is going on over there.”

  “I see. She probably would have bought both properties if the other one was for sale.”

  “I imagine so.”

  “Unfortunately, most of my pictures are of the front of Vanessa’s house.”

  “That’s okay,” Emily told him. “We’ll come back in the morning and take some filler shots.”

  She ducked into the hole. The curled fence snagged her clothing. Again she had the sensation that she was being watched. She straightened slowly and moved out of the way to let Dan enter.

  They stood in a yard filled with tangled twigs, leaves, and assorted litter. Vines draped the shaggy bushes, strangling them.

  Another gust of wind brought another slam. She turned toward the sound and realized it was not a door but a broken casement window. It banged in the breeze as if in invitation.

  Emily hesitated. She remembered thinking that Joey had lured Raynes and Lambert into the house to kill them. Was he luring her and Dan in there now?

  Dan opened the window and peered inside. “Want me to go first?”

  “No,” she said, breathing deep to steady her nerve. “Let’s get that story.”

  She shimmied over the sill into a large, dark room. There was a strong scent of mold and rot. Wooden floorboards creaked beneath her—she could almost hear termites gnawing away. She scanned for movement, but if Joey was there, he was in another room.

  Arms out, she helped Dan through the window. The casement banged behind him despite her efforts. She winced at the sound.

  “Are we alone?” Dan whispered.

  “It appears so.” She glanced about. “Guess I was wrong. Joey must’ve gone to Vanessa’s house after all.”

  “It’s not too late to leave.”

  “Don’t tell me you’re still squeamish about trespassing.”

  “It’s not that. I just feel—”

  Above, the floorboards creaked. They looked at each other in the dimness. Eyes wide, Emily crossed the room. She peeked around the corner.

  The next room faced the street, and light spilled through the windows. A staircase stood in the shadows. Emily crept toward it. She reached the bottom stair and gazed upward. There was a faint flicker at the top, much like that from a candle.

  Joey must be there. What was he doing? An unbidden vision came of him stacking bodies in a closet. Did she dare go up?

  “I hope you brought your mace,” Dan whispered.

  She grimaced with chagrin. She hadn’t thought to bring it, although she brought everything else. “Turn on your light. I want this recorded.”

  The camcorder light clicked on, throwing stark shadows over the staircase. Eyes glowed from the landing. She jumped. Just a rat, she told herself, but wasn’t entirely convinced.

  She climbed the stairs, her gaze never leaving the landing. Something moved in the darkness, making soft thumps.

  They reached the top. Light flooded the hall.

  “What is that?” Emily gasped, pointing at a small animal scurrying away.

  He pointed the video camera, and light caught the creature. “It’s a rabbit.”

  “A what?” She glanced at him in disbelief—but he was right. A small, brown, lop-eared rabbit hopped along the baseboard. She motioned again. “There’s another.”

  “What are rabbits doing on the second floor of an abandoned house?”

  Emily couldn’t imagine an answer. She looked toward a candlelit doorway. With halting steps, she moved toward the room and looked inside.

  A pentagram covered the floor. Stubby candles marked each point. Joey was not around. Where had he gone?

  Careful not to scatter the pentagram, Emily walked across the room. She was aware of Dan’s camera upon her. On hands and knees, she touched one of the lines drawn on the floor. The powder was dense and gritty. The center of the drawing held a mutilated rabbit.

  On the wall across from her, she saw a shimmering patch. It reminded her of the play of light upon water.

  She stood, mesmerized. “Are you getting this?”

  “Whatever this is.” He stepped behind her.

  “Is it the Mirror?” She moved closer to the wall. “I don’t see Satan.”

  As if on cue, the patch of light wavered, and an image coalesced. It was like a caricature of a devil—triangular face, red skin, two little horns atop its bald head.

  Emily laughed. She glanced about the ceiling, looking for a projector or, more likely, a team of projectors.

  “Hologram?” Dan asked.

  “Looks like it.” Emily waved her hand over the wall, hoping to disrupt the light.

  “You are fragile,” the image said, “yet you come to me willingly.” Its lips didn’t match the words.

  “Not a very professional job,” she said.

  From her pack, she pulled out her ELF meter, a palm-sized instrument that detected and measured electromagnetic fields. It was part of what she referred to as her ghost-busting equipment, which she utilized to keep her detractors from claiming she wasn’t thorough.

  She tapped the meter face. “Is this thing broken? The readings keep fluctuating.”

  “That explains the interference I’m getting.” He set the camcorder in the corner of the room, propping it with his backpack so it wouldn’t record only their feet, and took out his Olympus digital. “Pose for me.”

  With a solemn expression, Emily stood to the side and held her meter toward the shimmering image.

  “Do you fear me?” asked the devil.

  “We need to find the projector,” she said.

  “That doesn’t make sense,” Dan said, frowning. “If these electrical spikes are affecting my equipment, they must be affecting theirs, too.”

  “Could their stuff be shielded somehow?”

  “Maybe
. I think we should find out what’s causing the field.”

  Louder, the devil said, “Do you fear me?”

  “No!” Emily snapped, surprising herself by answering a projection on the wall. “I’ve seen better hoaxes than this, and I will expose you and the man responsible for this fraud.”

  The devil smiled, showing pointed teeth.

  Emily turned her back. “Perhaps if we knock down a few walls—”

  “This house is protected,” Dan said. “The Preservation Society would never allow it.”

  Emily snapped her fingers. She rushed to the door and gazed into the hallway. “What if the equipment is out here? No, stay with me for a moment. They project the hologram through a fake wall—”

  Dan yelped.

  She looked around and gasped.

  A second Mirror had formed. It hung in mid-air, shimmering like a vertical pool of water directly behind Dan. A creature, a red, horned demon thing leaned out of the Mirror as easily as from an open window. Its oversized claws wrapped about Dan’s chest. His feet left the ground.

  It was pulling him into the Mirror.

  “Help me!” he cried. His eyes bulged. “Oh God. Oh God.”

  Emily grabbed his flailing arm, leaning backward, pulling with all her might. His hand slipped from her grasp, and she snagged his camera strap.

  Behind her, the other devil boomed, “Do you fear me now?”

  “Dan!” she cried. “Dear God!”

  “Don’t let go,” he wailed.

  Emily doubled her grip on the strap. She felt heat on her face, smelled a foul, sulfuric odor. The demon was so close she saw creases in its leathery skin. It had yellowish, cat-like eyes.

  “No!” Dan screamed, nearly folded in half. “Emily!”

  The strap snapped. She fell into the pentagram with only the camera in her hand. For an instant, all she saw was Dan’s horrified expression.

  With a faint pop, both Dan and the mirror disappeared.

  NINE

  Emily gaped at the place where Dan had been. A scream edged up her throat. She bolted out the door and down the stairs. The streetlamp shone through the front window like a beacon.

  Still running, she slammed into the front door, pounding with her fists before realizing an old-fashioned key was in the lock. She opened the door and burst outside into the damp night air.

  Utter panic shortened her breath. She wheezed between her teeth. Once down the porch steps, she cut across the tangled lawn toward the wrought iron fence.

  The impact of what she’d seen struck like a physical blow. She doubled over, grasping the fence for support, not sure if she would retch or explode with fright. Dan was gone. How could it be?

  The Mirror was real.

  Padlocks and chains covered the gate. She shook them noisily. “Help!” she screamed. “Help me!”

  Sobs stole her voice. She slid to her knees, her face pressed against the metal bars. Unable to stop herself, she looked back at the house. She’d left the door open. Dear God! Anything could come out. She was trapped in the yard.

  Eyes trained upon the black maw of the unlocked door, she dialed her cell phone. “Pick up,” she pleaded.

  “Nine-one-one. What is the nature of your emergency?”

  Emily gasped in relief. “My name is Emily Goodman. I’m at an abandoned house on Weeden Street.”

  “The Emily Goodman?” the operator asked. “From that television show Do You Believe It?”

  “Please. I need help. My cameraman.” Tears coursed down her face. “It took him.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Something moved in the doorway. A shadow. Black on black. “Oh God,” Emily whispered. “I think it followed me.”

  “Ma’am, you aren’t making sense. Who’s following you?”

  “Satan.”

  Silence. “Is this a stunt?”

  “No. I swear. Please send someone to help me.”

  “You say you’re on Weeden Street?”

  Emily felt faint. She gave herself a mental slap. She couldn’t lose consciousness—it would get her, too. Defiantly, she brushed tears from her eyes. Only then did she realize she still had the strap to Dan’s Olympus wrapped about her hand.

  She cradled the camera, wracked with sobs. “He’s gone. I couldn’t save him.”

  “Stay on the line,” said the operator.

  “I couldn’t pull him back.”

  She saw again the look of horror on Dan’s face as the strap broke and she let him go. The air swallowed him. How could he disappear like that? How could it be true?

  A shadow shifted inside the house.

  Emily’s thoughts froze. “It’s coming. It’s coming.”

  “I’ve put in the call, ma’am.”

  She dropped the phone, pressing backward as if she could pass through the bars. The devil was coming. It would take her, too. She clutched the camera. Before she died, she would document all she could.

  She raised the Olympus to snap a picture of the door, but the media was full. She pulled out the microdrive and, rummaging with one hand through her backpack, replaced it from the stash Dan asked her to carry.

  Fighting to keep her aim steady, Emily took picture after picture. The camera flashed like a strobe light. She didn’t know how much time passed, but after a while, she became aware that the night had turned blue.

  She paused. Behind her, several car doors slammed.

  “Trespassing, Ms. Goodman?” a man said. “Looks like you’re under arrest.”

  “Yes. Yes,” she hissed. “Arrest me.”

  Emily stood with her muscles cramped and uncooperative. She kept her back against the fence and her gaze upon the porch. Just inside, the darkness stirred. A hulking shape. Growing light outlined the doorway.

  Terror rippled through her like an electric current. She lifted a deadened arm. “Something’s in the house.” She pointed.

  The light brightened. It speared the porch. Behind it, a shadowy figure emerged.

  “All clear,” called the policeman, waving his flashlight.

  “Good,” said the officer behind her. “Smith, get the bolt cutters. Let’s get her out of there.”

  * * * *

  Emily sat wrapped in a blanket beside a desk in the police station. She shook as if she’d been doused in ice water. Three policemen hovered over her. She ignored them. Instead, she focused on Officer Harris, who smiled as he handed her a paper cup filled with hot coffee.

  “Normally, we don’t file a missing persons report for forty-eight hours,” Harris told her. “But that doesn’t mean we won’t watch for him.”

  “Lucky for you we’re incapable of running a proper investigation,” said one of the officers—the older man who had given her a parking ticket. “Otherwise we would cite you for filing a false report.”

  “What are you talking about?” she asked through chattering teeth.

  He leaned close behind her, his breath on her ear. “I’m saying this is a police department with work to do. We don’t have time to lend credence to one of your publicity stunts.”

  “Stunt!” she cried, twisting about and sloshing coffee over her fingers.

  “We have real disappearances to solve with real families waiting for answers, and you come down here and take advantage of their fear and pain to further a TV show.”

  “Got it,” a female officer called, curtailing his tirade.

  The woman sat behind a computer, downloading the images Emily captured with Dan’s camera. Emily had offered the use of her laptop, which would have made the process easier, but although they confiscated her computer, they refused to use it.

  At the woman’s call, the other police officers gathered around. Emily saw the screen clearly, although from a distance. It showed a dark image barely recognizable as a porch and an open door. Although Emily had used the camera’s flash, she realized now she had been sitting too far away. The light barely illuminated the wooden steps.

  The female officer flipped through picture after
picture, and then halted. “What’s that?”

  Emily edged forward in her seat, leaning to see around the backsides surrounding the desk. The screen showed a faint silhouette in the doorway.

  She gasped, heart racing. It had been real—someone, something had followed her.

  The woman forwarded to the next image and zoomed in upon the figure. The older policeman said snidely, “Could that be our missing cameraman?”

  “Joey,” Emily murmured.

  “What did you say?”

  “Vanessa’s boyfriend. We followed him.”

  “Vanessa has no boyfriend,” Harris said.

  “Sure she has,” said Emily. “The love of her life. Tall guy. Lots of tattoos.”

  “Joey Mastrianni,” said the old cop, snapping his fingers. “Yeah, I remember him. Weird kid. Had his whole body tattooed. He and Vanessa were inseparable when they were in school.”

  “Then you know him?” said Harris.

  “Knew him, more like it. He up and left town a good twenty years ago. I haven’t heard that he’s back.”

  “Definitely someone there,” said the woman. She flipped through the photographs, each depicting the dark shadow. Its shape became clearer as it stood away from the doorframe. Then one image showed the figure with glowing yellow eyes.

  Emily jumped, crushing her cup. Hot coffee scalded her hand and soaked the blanket. She yelped, but no one noticed.

  “What the hell?” the woman said, zooming in.

  “A trick of the light?” said Harris.

  “This has stunt written all over it.”

  Emily dabbed her smarting fingers, remembering Joey’s scarred face. What was his part in all this?

  Two more police officers entered. One was the curly haired man she’d met when first arriving in Saint Augustine.

  “There’s no one in that house,” he said. “We checked every room.”

  “Quite a few rabbits, though,” said the other. “And we found this.” He dropped Dan’s camcorder on top of the desk.

  Emily had forgotten about it. She sat straighter in her chair, swelling with hope. This would show them. No one would think she was involved in a hoax after seeing what she had seen. The woman hooked the camcorder to a firewire cable attached to her computer, and then settled back to watch.