Mirror, Mirror

An antique mirror with a history

Approximately 5000 words

Mirror, Mirror
by
Max Griffin

         

         Noah wrinkled his nose at the musky scent that shrouded the antique shop.  His husband, Deval, hunkered nearby inspecting a peach-colored bowl with an ornate, filigreed edge.  Depression glass, no doubt.  Deval's dark eyes twinkled with delight, and Noah let his features relax into a smile.  He could put up with just about anything for Deval, even this junkyard of a store which was so cluttered there was scarcely room to turn around.

         Noah edged closer, careful to not knock anything off a shelf.  "Whatchya got?"

         Deval held the hunk of kitschy glass as if it were a long-lost treasure from the collection of the Musee Baccarat instead of something a housewife had gotten inside a box of laundry detergent a century ago.  "Isn't this beautiful?  It's a Windsor Diamond pink butter dish."

         Noah glanced at the price and resisted the reflex to roll his eyes.  "It's nice."  He shuffled his aching feet.  "I'm getting too old for all this poking around in nooks and crannies.  I think I'll sit on the bench outside for a bit, if that's all right."

         Deval put the chunky butter dish back on the shelf. "Sure, but you're not old.  You're only forty-four."  He scanned the store.  "Look at that mirror over there.  Isn't that interesting?"

         Noah peered through the assorted crap and spotted a wardrobe-sized mirror sporting a carved wooden frame.  "Are those gargoyles?

         "You think?  That's so cool."  Deval scampered off to inspect his latest find.

         The blasted thing would clash with the Danish modern furniture in their home, but Noah had no doubt it would worm its way into their life. 

         Outside, the heat of an August afternoon in Kansas slammed into Noah.  Sweat erupted from his brow and burned his eyes.  That was Kansas all right: Hell on Earth.  He slumped onto the bench, pulled out his phone, and checked his email.  Like an electronic leash, his phone and his job never left him alone.

         Seven emails later, a touch at his shoulder made Noah jump.

         Deval said, "Can you come help me? It's too heavy for me."

         Great.  With Deval's bad back, the hauling and dragging fell to Noah.  "Sure."  He slipped his phone back in his pocket and stood.

         Sure enough, the mirror leaned against the front counter, right next to the cash register.  Up close, it was even more hideous than from afar.  Carved serpents coiled up the sides of the frame. Gargoyles and demons leered from the corners.  Bronze ivy curled around a clock centered at the crown of the grotesque thing.  The wood gleamed almost black, but with a ruddy undertone.  Noah ran his finger over a carved rendition of snake's fangs and shivered.  "What do you think they used for stain?  Pig's blood?"

         "Very funny.  It's probably cherry, but the original stain has darkened with age.  It has character."

         Noah decided it was prudent to not comment on what kind of character, and instead asked, "Does the clock work, or does it always show 12:18?" 

         "The insides are all missing.  I figured we could put a battery-powered clock in it and make it keep time again.  All that's left of the original is the key they used to wind it."  Deval showed him a massive, old-fashioned key, holding it by the blade and revealing the skull and cross-bones molded into the bow. 

         "What was it, made by pirates?"  Noah noted without comment that the price tag was missing from the mirror.  Well, he'd find out how much it cost on next month's credit card bill. "It's too big to fit in my car."

         "It'll fit with the back seats folded down.  I can scrunch mine forward if necessary."

         "That'll be good for your back."  Noah started to lift it.  "Sweet Jesus, this thing's heavy.  What is it made of, lead?"

         The store's owner joined them from the depths of the establishment, a ruby-lipped smile splitting her wrinkled features and sending crevices shooting through the layers of makeup on her face.  "Ain't it a beauty?  They built to last in the old days."  After a glance Noah's way, she nodded.  "Name's Faye." She pulled a frilly, wrinkled handkerchief from inside the folds of her copious bosom and polished the mottled surface of the mirror.  "We salvaged this from the old Wales Hotel, before the wrecking ball demolished it to make room for the new Walmart." 

         Deval chimed in.  "Faye here told me the hotel dated back to before the Civil War.  The Wales family came from Missouri."

         "Well, at least we know the provenance."  Noah stuck out his hand.  "I'm Noah.  Nice to meet you, Faye." 

         Her eyes crinkled as she squeezed his hand.  "You, too.  You boys aren't from around Annwyn, are you?" 

         "No, but we live just down US 75 in Tulsa."  Boys! Noah hadn't been a boy for at least twenty years.  Thirty years.  Faye must be at least seventy.  He supposed perspective was everything. 

         She prattled on.  "Old Fergus Wales, the one what built this clock and mirror, he done had a history to him.  His grandpappy fought Napoleon at Waterloo, and Fergus, he kept the old man's battle sword.  He told everyone it was stained with the blood of a hundred Frenchmen.  People came from all over to touch it.  Said it brought 'em good luck."

         Noah tried to look interested at this charming tale.  But he stayed polite.  "Those old stories are so fascinating."  Not.  He tugged at the mirror and managed to move it a couple of microns. 

         She touched his arm with fingers like pudgy, short hot dogs.  "My husband can help you with that."  She turned her head to the back of the store and screeched, "Melvin? Melvin!  Git yourself out here."

         Noah held up his hand.  "That's not necessary. I'm sure we can manage."  Where had Deval gone, anyway?  He was always wandering off.  There he was, in the back of the store talking to an elderly lady about something.  Knitting, probably, or flowers.  Or maybe a recipe from his Granny Great.  People loved him for his garrulous tales.  Well, truth be told, so did Noah. 

         A thin-as-a-pencil older man, with a military bearing, a white mustache, and an iron gray crew cut approached. Faye's eyes lit up, and she said to Noah, "It ain't no problem, son."  Her voice turned warm as butter when she turned to the newcomer.  "Melvin, this here's Noah.  Him and his friend, they jest bought this mirror and could use some help gettin' it in their car.  Noah, this is my husband, Melvin."

         Noah stuck out his hand and let Melvin crush it.  He flexed his fingers when Melvin released them.  Nothing broken.  "Really, thank you, but I think we can manage."

         "Oh, it ain't no problem.  It'll give me somethin' to do."  Melvin picked up the mirror with both hands, lifting it as though it were made of cardboard, and asked, "Where to?"

         "Uh, to my car. Let me show you."  Jesus.  What did the old guy do?  Juggle howitzers in his spare time?

         Noah opened the trunk of his BMW and folded the rear seats down.  Melvin tilted the mirror into the car and gave it a gentle shove.  It pushed against the front seats and stopped.

         Six inches of the mirror still hung over the lip of the trunk.

         "I think we can make it fit."  Noah opened the passenger door, pressed the button on bottom of the seat, and it moved forward with an electronic purr.  "Try it now."

         Melvin gave a shove, and the mirror thunked into the trunk. 

         A pulse of greenish light flashed from the mirror's surface and dazzled Noah for an instant.  He blinked and frowned.  Huh.  It must have caught the sun somehow.  Something whirred from inside the vehicle, then stopped.  The damned car was overloaded with gadgets and always making odd noises.  With a shrug, he slammed the door closed, pressed the button on his key fob to close the trunk, and turned to Melvin.  "Thanks a lot.  I couldn't have done that without your help."

         "Think nothin' of it, youngster."  Melvin glanced back at the antique store and then pulled a cigarette from somewhere inside the hidden recesses of his overalls.  "Stand with me for a bit while I smoke?  The missus don't like it inside."

         Truth be told, all Noah wanted to do was find Deval and go home, but the old duffer had just helped with the mirror. "Sure."  He leaned against the car, which scorched his buttocks through his jeans, so he stood up straight and let the sun pound down on him.

         Melvin tipped the pack to him invitingly. 

         Noah waved it off.  "No thanks.  I quit."

         Melvin shrugged and lit up.  He inhaled, narrowed his eyes, and let the smoke dribble out his nose.  "I figure what don't kill me makes me stronger."

         "Can't argue with that."

         Melvin waved his cigarette at the car. "I bet the Missus filled you with some tall tale about that mirror."

         "I don't know.  Deval said something about a sword, and the blood of Frenchman."

         "Hah.  That ain't the half of it.  Usually, she tells about the ghost of old Fergus.  He got hisself hung back during the war over Kansas statehood.  His hotel, it weren't nothin' but a front for them Border Ruffians from Missouri.  He got what he deserved, if you ask me."

         Noah frowned.  He vaguely remembered something about "Bleeding Kansas" from a US history course.  "So he was on the pro-slavery side?"

         "If you mean the traitor's side, I'd say yes."  Melvin paused for another drag.  "After the war between the states, his widow remarried, a Free-Stater no less.  Must have sent old Fergus spinning in his grave.  They turned the place into a boarding house.  Didn't last long, though.  One night, someone done killed the widow and her new husband.  Cut their heads clean off right in their bedroom. They never found the one what done it."

         Noah kept a straight face at this outlandish tale.  The old guy had helped them after all, and deserved respect.  "That's quite a story."

         "Yeah.  This very mirror,"--he thumped his knuckles against the trunk, his cigarette leaving a swirl of ash--"hung in the bedroom, splattered with their blood.  Local legend has it that Fergus hisself climbed out of the mirror, sword in hand, and kilt them in a fit of jealousy.  The story is the clock stopped at 12:18 that night, when he slayed them.  Later, people at the hotel claimed to see him late at night, staring at them from the mirror, running his thumb on the edge of his bloody sword."

         Just what they needed: a haunted mirror for their bedroom.  Not that Noah believed in any of that crap, but it was the kind of thing Deval would eat up.  He let a wry smile twist his lips.  "Maybe that's why the wooden frame looks kind of reddish."

         "You got that right, son. You got that right. It's the blood of history."  Melvin took a last puff and flicked his cigarette away and mused, "The past, it's a funny thing.  It's llke it ain't real, you know?  Them that lived it, they's all dead and gone.  But the past, it never goes away, neither.  It's like that stain. Today, in the present, we's jest a reflection of what's gone afore us.  But all that history, it ain't no more real than a dream within a dream. We jest can't escape from it."  He stretched and arched his back.  "Well, it's been good chattin' with ya, but I should get back inside.  It's too hot out here for my old bones."

         "Mine, too." 

***

         
         Once they were home, Noah positioned an old blanket on the driveway underneath the rear of the BMW and draped a towel over the edge of the trunk.  He grunted while he lifted the mirror so that the end rested on the car.  "Okay," he called out to Deval, who stood outside the open passenger door.  "You push while I pull, and we'll use gravity to tip this thing out of the car."

         "Don't scratch the frame."

         "I won't.  That's what the blanket's for."  A squirrel watched from the maple tree that shaded the drive, chittering at him.  After a few seconds of determined pulling and a few grunts, Noah managed to tip the mirror up and then slide it down to a gentle landing on the blanket.  He could swear he heard something whir from deep inside the mirror, just underneath the squirrel's helpful chatter.  He pressed his ear to the glass.  Nothing.  It must have been his imagination.  "Are you sure the clockworks are gone?"

         "I checked.  There's nothing there. Why?"

         "Nothing. I just thought I heard something."  Sweat dribbled from Noah's temple and ran down his neck.  "Jesus, it's hot."  He pulled his shirt up to wipe his brow, and then stripped it off and wadded it up in the trunk.  "All right.  I think I can walk it into the house now, if you'll help by keeping the blanket in position."

         "Hah. I see what you just did. You wanted to show off your bod, you sexy man." 

         "Thanks."  Noah pretended to flex his abs. "I just want to get this done and take a shower."

         A few twists and turns later, including a brief struggle at the threshold between the house and the garage, they had the mirror inside.  The air conditioning chilled Noah's naked torso and sent a shiver jittering down his spine.  "Watch out for the cat." 

         Pixel, their ever-curious Siamese, eyed the open door to the garage. Deval slammed it shut, and the cat turned her attention to the latest intruder in her domain: the cat in the mirror.  Her fur fluffed out, her tail bristled erect, she turned sideways, hissing.

         Noah couldn't help the smile that bent his features.  "You stupid cat.  That's your reflection." 

         Pixel, her ears folded back, snarled, clawed at the mirror, and then raced into the living room where she disappeared under the sofa. 

         Deval tsked.  "Poor thing.  She's afraid."  He stepped toward the feline's hiding place.

         "Stop.  Don't leave me holding up this thing."  Noah waggled the mirror.  "Where do you want it?"

         "The bedroom, of course."

         "Of course.  It'll be a perfect fit for the décor."

         "That's exactly right.  The contrast will look great. You'll see."

         "Let's just get it in there so I can shower."

         They maneuvered the mirror through the house and into their first floor master suite, where they leaned it against the wall opposite the door to the hallway and the master bath.  Noah stepped back and looked it over.  "Maybe we should put it on the ceiling over the bed?  Oh, wait.  If it falls down, it would crush us.  It only weighs what?  Six tons?  Seven at the outside."

         Deval already had the furniture polish and glass cleaner out and was working on his latest prize.  "Stop it.  You'll like it once you're used to it.  Go take your shower."

         Noah turned the water to the hottest setting, stripped off his sweaty clothes, and brushed his teeth.  When steam filled the bathroom, he stepped into the glass-enclosed shower and let the spray wash over his body.  He shampooed his hair, ran a sudsy loofa over his body, and then turned the shower to icy cold for a final refreshing buzz.  His skin tingling, he shut off the stream and toweled himself dry. 

         He wrapped a fresh towel around his waist and examined himself in the mirror.  He guessed he did look pretty good for a guy in his forties.  His abs were still tight, he still had all his hair, albeit with just a touch of gray marring his blond curls.  The stubble beard was a youthful touch of style, even though it was mostly gray, too.  He wasn't near as good looking as Deval, who was ten years his junior and looked for all the world like Denzel Washington, but not bad for a geeky nebbish of a CPA. 

         Noah brushed the tangles out of his curls and called out to Deval, "What do you want to do for dinner?"

         No answer.  He must have gone to another room.

         Noah finished untangling his hair. Still wearing only a towel, he returned to the bedroom.  The mirror reflected his image in its dark, grainy glass.  The clock still read 12:18, of course. Well, it would be right twice a day, until they fixed it. The furniture polish, window cleaner, and the rag Deval had been using were on the dresser.  He picked them up and carried them back to the kitchen to return them to under the sink.

         Deval wasn't in the kitchen either. 

         Noah left the cleaning supplies on the kitchen counter and checked the garage.  Both cars were still there, so Deval hadn't run to the grocery store or anything.  He must be outside watering his plants.  Maybe the purpley-pointy ones.  Some kind of thistle, Deval had said. 

         Noah thought about what to cook for dinner.  Maybe he should grill tonight.  He pulled a couple of steaks from the freezer, dumped them in the sink, and returned to the bedroom.  Pixel lay in the middle of their bed, paws folded under her body, her tail switching.  She looked at him and yawned, her head almost splitting in half in that unnerving way that cats have.

         Noah sat next to her and opened the laptop he kept at his bedside.  He wanted to check out recipes for German cole slaw and grilled eggplant. A faint whirring noise made him pause, his fingers on the keyboard.  Was the hard drive going out?  No, that couldn't be it.  The laptop was solid state.  The fan from the air conditioner wasn't running.  He scanned the room.  It had to be coming from somewhere.

         The mirror?  It sure sounded like it.  He strode across the room and put his ear to the surface. Nothing.  The sound stopped.

         This was weird.  He lay back down, looked from his laptop to the mirror and back again, and then opened Google.  He entered "Wales Hotel Kansas," and pressed enter.  No, not the first entry, the Prince of Wales Hotel in Kansas City.  He scrolled down, then went to the second page of matches, then the third.  There it was.  Wales Hotel, on the Village of Annwyn Historical Society page. 

         

The hotel was established in 1853 by Fergus Wales of Missouri. When the Border Wars started, it became a notorious headquarters for the Border Ruffians.  Local tradition says that Fergus Wales was hung for alleged treason by Free State vigilantes.  The hotel is on the National Registry of Historic Places, and is currently a bed and breakfast.

 

         Well, that confirmed part of old Melvin's tall tale, at least, except the entry wasn't up to date.  Faye had said the hotel had been torn down to make room for a Walmart.  Such is progress in the modern world.

         He caught a snatch of movement out of the corner of his eye and jerked his head around.  Adrenalin needles shot out his fingers.  No one.  Oh.  That damned mirror.  He must have seen his own movement.  "Well, Pixel, I'm an idiot, just like you, scared of my own reflection."

         Pixel favored him with a saturnine blink and another cavernous yawn.  Noah yawned, too.  The digital alarm clock read 4PM.  Too early to start dinner, too late to start a movie on TV.  Maybe he'd sneak a nap while Deval screwed around outside.  He laid down and closed his eyes.  Pixel cuddled up next to him.  Afternoon sunlight slanted through the window and sent a reflection glimmering from the mirror across the floor to the Eames chair in the corner.

***

         He couldn't move.  Someone was staring at him.  Someone evil.  Someone who clenched a blood drenched sword in one fist. 

         Noah squirmed, but he couldn't move. Was he bound? From somewhere, a voice shouted, "No, stop." 

         The unknown huddled over him.  Whoever or whatever it was wore a wide-brimmed hat and a flowing, dark overcoat.  A single eye glowed amber from the shadowed depth of his face.  The sword rose over Noah's head.

         A sudden, sharp pain tore into his forearm and, a cat yowled, and in an instant he was free to sit up.

         Oh.  He was also awake.  It must have been him shouting, and he must have been dreaming.  His right arm had four parallel cat scratches.  A trickle of red seeped onto the sheets.  He must have done something to the cat in his sleep.  "Pixel, where are you honey?  I didn't mean it."

         He climbed out of bed, his muscles and joints aching.  Jesus, it was dark outside.  How long had he slept?  The digital display on his bedside clock read 11:30.  Seven hours.  Incredible.

         Where was Deval?

         The mirror was a black window to, well, to nowhere he supposed.  All those stupid stories probably triggered his dumb nightmare.

         Moonglow shimmered through the window.  "Deval?  Where are you?"  He rose and searched the house.  Not in the kitchen.  Both cars were still in the garage.  He wasn't in either of the upstairs bedrooms-converted-to-offices. Surely he wasn't still outside?

         Noah opened the back door and then hesitated.  He was still wearing only a towel, now sweat-soaked from his dream and spotted with blood from the scratches.  Well, it was the middle of the night, and dark.  Who's to see him, or care for that matter?  He'd just check the flower beds and then go back in. 

         The Bermuda grass scratched against his bare feet like dry, miniature scythes. The moonlight turned his flesh white as rice. Deval wasn't anywhere to be found.  Noah stopped, looked closer at the ground, and then knelt to feel the dirt.  Dry as Aunt Tilly's Thanksgiving turkey. 

         That meant Deval hadn't gone outside to water the plants after all. 

         So where was he?

         Maybe he left a note on the refrigerator or something.

         Nope.

         Noah searched the house one more time.  Still nothing, except he found Deval's mobile phone on the kitchen table.  Maybe his sister Carolyn, or someone, had called.  Noah checked.  Wrong again. 

         Still, Carolyn was pretty flaky.  She could have shown up, and the two of them gone off somewhere while he slept.  It was just like Deval to forget his phone. 

         He thought about calling Carolyn, but it was close to midnight.  That must be what happened, though.  They must have run off somewhere together, on some crazy Carolyn errand.  He sent her a text.  No answer.

         Noah chewed his lip and returned to the bedroom.  Don't panic.  There's got to be a reasonable explanation for this.  People don't just disappear. 

         The digital display on the nightstand clock flashed to 12:18.

          A flicker of motion caught his eye.  It was Pixel's reflection in the mirror.  She must be under the bed.  She hunkered, head down, tail switching, in her pre-jump stalking pose. 

         "Pixel, honey.  Come here, baby."  Noah knelt down and looked under the bed. 

         No Pixel.

         He looked back at the mirror, and she was still there.

         Like cat lightning, she leapt out of the mirror, onto the carpet, and scampered away to the living room.

         A ball of ice gripped Noah's gut.  That was friggin' impossible.  He hesitated, but then walked to the mirror and reached out to put his palm on the glass.  Just as he was about to touch it, there was Deval!  Right there, in the reflected image of the bedroom.

         Noah whirled about. "Where have you been?  I was worried--" 

         Deval wasn't there.

         Noah turned back to the mirror. 

         Deval was there, in the friggin' mirror, beckoning to him.  His voice came, as if from the depths of a black hole.  "Noah, help me."

         What the f?  Noah's mind whirled.  This couldn't be.  He must be going crazy.

         He reached out again with his palm and pressed against the mirror.

         Instead of meeting glass, it went through the mirror.  Electric tingles shot up his arm and prickled his skin.  The mirror emitted a burr that rose to a keening whine.

         He snatched his hand back.

         Deval still called, more distinct now.  "Noah, help me.  I'm trapped."

         A shadow appeared behind Deval's image.  It coalesced into a man.  A man wearing a floppy, black hat and carrying a sword. The man from his nightmare.  His gray beard and long coat made Noah think of legends of Old One Eye, or Odin, or the Grim Reaper.  Sometimes he hated having a classical education for the images that it conjured.

         Crimson liquid drooled from the Reaper's blade.  It formed a dark pool on the floor, and red coiled about Deval's feet.

         Noah snatched a glance behind him again, at the real bedroom, not the phantasm in the mirror.  Still nothing there.

         But back in the mirror, the sword raised.  Deval was oblivious to the threat behind him.

         Noah shouted, "No!"  He reached out, and his hand passed through the mirror again.  Old One Eye drew the sword back and grinned at him with a gap-toothed leer.

         Deval reached out.  His voice bubbled as if coming from the depths of the sea.  "Help me, Noah."

         Noah leaned forward and took a step.  Then another.  Just like that, he was inside the mirror. 

         Impossible.  He looked back.  There was the mirror, all right, behind him.  It showed their bedroom. The mussed bed where he'd napped was right there.  Pixel crouched on the floor watching.  No Deval. No Reaper.

         But here, inside the mirror, Deval was with him. The Reaper, too, stood ready to take his toll, squinting at him with a single eye.

         "Deval, watch out behind you." Noah held his hands out, palm forward, and stumbled backwards.  The cold, hard glass of the mirror stopped him. 

         The reaper howled with laughter.

         He turned and pounded against the surface.  The image on the other side of the mirror, on the reality side, changed.  From nowhere blood sprayed across the bed and up the wall.  On this side of the mirror, something hot and wet splattered against his backside. 

         When he turned, Deval had disappeared into the shadowland of nightmares.  But the Reaper was still right there, his garments soaked red.  He raised the sword, his eye agleam.

         Noah screamed as the sword fell.

         And missed.  At the last instant, Deval reappeared like an avenging revenant and his strong hand deflected the Reaper's blow. 

         Deval's features flamed as he gripped Noah's hand.  "Help me."  He tugged Noah toward the mirror.
         
         The Reaper shrieked and raised his sword.

         Deval jerked on Noah's arm and stepped toward the mirror.  His foot passed through the mirror.  He shouted, "Come on.  It's opened up.  We can do it."

         Noah unfroze.  Together.  Yes, that was it.  "We've got to stay together.  That's the key."  He ducked and the sword swished over his head. 

         Deval said, "There's not room.  We have to go one at a time."  He shoved Noah ahead.  "You first.  Go. Now.  I'll be right after you.  Just don't let go of me."

         Deval shoved.  Out of balance, Noah tripped and fell.  But he fell through the mirror.  Their hands, his and Deval's, stayed locked together.  Noah's arm twisted in its socket and he screamed in agony, but he didn't let go. 

         He was on the other side, the reality side.  Deval was half inside the mirror, half in their bedroom.  The sword swung.  Deval leapt, and he tumbled to safety on the hardwood floor.  His head slammed with a sickening crack, and he lay still.

         The mirror glowed and the Reaper, Fergus, whoever, thrust his sword at them.  It penetrated the surface of the mirror and bit into Noah's chest.  He scrambled backwards, never releasing Deval's hand.

         The clock on the nightstand flicked to 12:19. 

         The mirror darkened and slept.  Fergus disappeared.

         The sword clattered to the floor.

         Noah clung to Deval, touching his face and hands to reassure himself he was back.  He was breathing, but unconscious.  He must have a concussion from that fall. 

         Noah ran to the phone on the nightstand to call 911, but he couldn't focus.  A tremor gripped his body, and the phone clattered to the floor.  It must be reaction to what just happened. 

         Wait, why was his towel covered in blood?  Noah inspected his torso.  A slashing wound ran from his right collarbone cross-ways down his chest and ending just below his left nipple.  The reaper's blade had struck him after all. 

         Dizziness staggered him, and darkness narrowed his vision.  His last thought was that he failed Deval after all.

***

         Noah stirred against crisp sheets.  Sunshine slanted through their bedroom windows, and the scent of coffee brewing and bacon crackling floated from the kitchen.  He smiled and stretched.  Deval must be fixing breakfast.  Pixel crawled from under the covers on Deval's side of the bed and nose-bumped with Noah. 

         He sat up, and there it was: the mirror.  Memories and horror came cascading back.  The hairs on his neck prickled and a ghastly chill gripped his belly.

         But then Deval peaked in the doorway.  "There you are, sleepy head.  When I came in from watering the plants last night, you were out cold.  I just let you sleep."

         Deval was all right!  But what was he talking about?  "Are you okay?  Where did you go you last night?"

         "Why shouldn't I be okay? Carolyn came over, and we watched The Amityville Horror in the living room while you slept. After that, she left and I went to bed."  An impossibly white smile split his features.  "Breakfast is almost ready.  Come on out." 

         Sleep, perchance to dream. Could it be that none of it happened?  He felt his chest.  No wound.  No bloodstains on the wall.  Deval's cheery grin filled the room and warmed his heart.

         Of course none of it happened.  It was all impossible.  Noah never fell for any of that ghost crap before.  Why start now? His face heated, and he muttered, "You wouldn't believe the dream I had."

         "You never remember your dreams.  It must have been a doozy."  Deval glanced at the mirror. "Oh, by the way, you trickster, thank you for the gift."  He flashed another of those sunshine-blessed smiles.

         "Gift?"

         "The sword.  When did you find time to buy it?"  He held up the Reaper's blade, the one that had clattered from the mirror last night.  The one that had slashed his chest.  The evidence of things seen.  "I wanted to get it, but it was too expensive for me after I paid for the mirror. It's the sword that belonged to old Fergus's grandfather.  It's full of history, did you know that?  I'll have to clean these red stains off it later today.  Strange, though.  They don't look like rust.  I wonder what they are."