Reflections of Death

Billy Dwyer held the rain-soaked newspaper over his head as he marched angrily down the road. The anger was at himself. After all, it was his fault he hadn’t checked the fuel gauge like he usually did near the end of each week. Now here he was, on a road he wasn’t familiar with, trying to find a service station where he could buy a gas can and some gas or at least find a phone from which he could call a tow truck. The mistake had been doubly stupid because he had forgotten to bring his cell phone. And triply stupid because he had no jacket or rain gear in the car. He was getting soaked and starting to feel chilled to the bone.

Billy heard a motorists approaching from behind – one of the few that had passed him on this lonely road. After throwing the useless rag of a newspaper to the ground, he stuck out his thumb. The car didn’t even slow down. And given that it was nearly dusk, with the light quickly ebbing, he figured the chances someone might stop to give him a lift were growing smaller all the time. Billy wasn’t sure where the road led, but the countryside certainly didn’t seem to be getting any more populated. In the two miles he had walked, he had passed not a single business or house, and he seemed to be getting farther away from civilization with every step.

He had just about decided to turn back toward his car when he noticed a faint light through the leafless trees that the bordered the road. A long, gravel driveway led off from the road, he hurried his pace and veered off into it. His mood brightened as he realized that he could probably find a phone here and contact a towing service or someone to bring him some gas. With a little luck he’d be home and in his warm bed in a few hours.

“Please be home, please be home,” Billy uttered through chattering teeth as he approached the light. It was coming from a second floor window of a Victorian styled house that looked as if it hadn’t been painted in decades. He walked up the sagging front steps and across a bare front porch to an enormous oak door complete with a gargoyle head knocker. He grasped the knocker, hit it several times against its brass plate, and waited. Nothing. He tried again, then again and again, knocking on the silent door until the skin on his chapped knuckles began to split. No answer.

“Goddammit!” he yelled as he turned to face the foliage surrounding the driveway. “Now what?” At least the porch had protected him momentarily from the rain, and he hated the idea of going back out into the downpour. Still, he thought, it would do him no good to hang around an obviously deserted house. He began to walk back down the steps, feeling the rain pounding down harder than ever and steeling himself to continue, when he heard the whining creak of long-un-oiled door hinges. He turned and saw what appeared to be a woman through the sheets of rain before him.

“Who’s there?” called a voice from the doorway. “Please come closer.”

Billy ran back up the steps. “Hello,” he said loudly as he hurried across the porch, wiping the rain from his eyes. “I’m sorry to bother you ma’am, but my car ran out of gas about two miles up the road. I was wondering if I could use your phone.”

The woman standing in the doorway was holding a large candle and looking at him curiously.

“First of all,” she said, “why don’t you come in out of that rain. As for the phone, the power lines must have gone down again. I’m afraid it’s out of service at the time. But you’re certainly welcome to wait inside until the power comes back up.” She smiled and motioned for Billy to come in.

The woman was walking to a side table, where she opened a drawer and took out a long match. As she used the match to light several other large candles that stood on the table, she said, “It’s what anyone would do for someone stranded on such a stormy night.”

Now, with the rain wiped from his eyes and in the light of the candles, Billy could see the woman’s face better, and decided that she was quite beautiful. She stood about five-feet-seven inches tall and had dirty blond hair that was somewhat disheveled, but hung clean and rich down to just above her shoulders. Her deep green eyes reminded him of a turquoise lagoon he had seen while visiting Mexico last summer. Her lips, though unpainted and seeming a bit parched, as if she had been walking on a hot day, were full and perfectly complemented her fair complexion.

“You must be freezing,” she said. “Take off your shoes and socks and go sit by the fireplace. You also must be very hungry from walking that distance in such a storm. I will go make you some soup.

“Don’t let me put you to any trouble,” Billy said as he pulled off his shoes. “Letting me through the front door was kind enough.”

“No trouble at all,” the woman said, then disappeared into the dark hallway.

The wood in the fireplace crackled, and Billy sat rubbing his hands together as his fingers began to thaw out. His eyes wandered around the room, taking in several paintings and photographs of beautiful landscapes that gave the walls a nice ambiance. As he looked around the room he noticed, after a moment, that everything seemed to be made of wood or cloth and that there was no glass or metal anywhere, at least no polished metal. Nor was there any polished wood for that matter. The paintings and photographs were set in dull wooden frames with no glass covers, even what should have been a glass-paned window was no more than a rectangular hole in the wall with wooden shutters inside and out.

It seemed a little odd, but “To each his own,” he muttered as he waited for the arrival of his gracious hostess.

“Where are my manners?” Billy said as he got up to intercept the smoking bowl of soup as the woman entered the room. “My name is Billy. I’m very happy to meet you…”

“Alison,” she said, "My name is Alison. Now please don’t worry about the pleasantries. Just sit down here and enjoy.” She indicated to a chair at a small, unpolished hardwood table and sat the bowl and a spoon down in front of the chair. She then went around to the other side of the table. Billy waited until she was seated, then sat down himself.

As he took a spoonful of the soup, which he quickly discovered was a delicious minestrone, he noted that the bowl and the spoon that Alison had brought him were made of wood. “Very, very nice,” he said as he dug into the soup.

“Thank you,” she replied.

For a few minutes there was little conversation as Billy ate, but then he looked up at Alison and blurted out, “I feel a bit like Goldilocks.”

“How so?” Alison asked with amusement.

Billy looked at her for a second, thinking he should have kept his mouth shut. He was embarrassed that he might be about to insult this woman who had been kind enough to bring him in from the rain.

“Well,” he stammered, “it’s just the wooden spoon and bowl – it’s just like Goldilocks and the Three Bears ate their porridge from.” He laughed nervously.

Alison bowed her head and began to fiddle with her fingers, then she looked up, her eyes revealing some deep sadness. “I’m afraid it’s because I am unable to use metal utensils due to their reflective properties. In fact, you won’t find anything here that might cast a reflection Billy. No mirrors, no glass, not even a shiny pot or pan.” It’s basically for that same reason I never go to town but instead get everything I need delivered to me.”

Finished with soup, Billy set his spoon down."I don’t understand. Just because you don’t like metals or glass, why should that keep you from going to town?”

“It’s for fear,” said Alison softly, “of seeing my own reflection.”

Thinking that this must be some new twist on the age-old story of negative self-evaluation, he replied “But you’re a beautiful woman. Why should you be self-conscious about your looks?”

Alison rose, went around the table, took Billy’s hand, and led him to the sofa next to the fireplace. “Let’s sit here,” she said. Billy sat down beside her on the sofa. “Billy, I want to tell you a story. When I’m through, you might declare me crazy and run out the door. But please believe me, it’s a true story. I only ask that you promise not to ask me to prove it to you.”

Billy looked at her curiously. “Okay Alison. I promise.” He was anxious to hear her tale.

Alison took a deep breath. “I am sure you have heard the tale of Bloody Mary. For me, this story would become a lasting curse until the day I die. When I was sixteen years old, I invited a couple of my girlfriends to a sleepover in this very house. My mother had died when I was very young and my father, who has since passed on, was away on business at the time so we had the house to ourselves all that day and night. We did things normal girls would do during slumber parties,” Alison continued.

“We talked about boys, did each other’s hair, put on makeup – just ordinary things. But at some point during the night one of my friends suggested that we try something different – that we try to conjure up Bloody Mary by saying her name three times while looking into the mirror in the dark. I had heard that unusual things might happen when this is done. Some people claim to have seen Mary were brought candy or toys, while others, mostly girls, were told of the day they would meet their future spouses. But the unlucky ones…well…”

“What about the unlucky ones?” Billy asked.

Alison looked at him for a moment and then seemed to avoid his question by saying, “But of course I wasn’t superstitious. I didn’t really believe in the legend of Bloody Mary. So to me, it was just a game we were playing – though I do admit to feeling nervous at the time. I was the first to go into the bedroom, I went in alone with lights out and stood in front of the mirror in the dark for a while, thinking how silly it was, yet a little frightened. At one point I had almost decided not to go through with it, but I didn’t want the other girls to think I was scared, so I finally started to chant.”

“Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary, I said twice. I hesitated for a brief moment, then I whispered for a third and final time, ‘Bloody Mary.’ When nothing happened I started to laugh. I turned and put my hand on the doorknob to leave the room, and at that moment a glow began emanating from the mirror.

“I was drawn to it like a baby to its bottle. I t seemed like another dimension. I saw fire in the mirror, not on the surface but deep inside, like something far in the distance inside the mirror. Then a face gradually started to appear, and as it drew closer I could see it was hideously deformed, like the face of someone who had been in a terrible accident. It was the face of a woman, she was covered with open cuts that were dripping with puss and blood, her hair singed as if by flames.

“I screamed to get out, but my friends had locked the door on me from the outside. Before I could unlock it, the entity came out of the mirror into me. I was forced to absorb her, and as I did I could feel her pain raging through my face, bloody tears trickling down my cheeks. I fell helplessly to my knees and stayed there until she released me a moment later. But before she did so, she gave me a warning.”

Billy looked at Alison raptly. “What was the warning?”

Alison stood up and crossed arms, then looked upward. “If ever you shall look upon your reflection, those around you shall see your cursed image – the image that has been deformed by my pain – and shall suffer death.”

Billy rose from the couch and walked around for a moment, rubbing his chin as he pondered this ridiculous story. He stopped and looked at Alison. “You can’t expect me to believe that story Alison. I mean, come on – who would?”

“I do Billy, I know it’s true. And I also know that the curse is true. I saw what happened later that night when I accidentally saw my image in a window. And a few years later, I saw my father burn to death right in front of my eyes! Oh God!” Alison suddenly fell to her knees in distress.

Billy felt somewhat responsible for Alison’s anguish by being curious and allowing her to tell this disturbing tale. He knelt beside her to try and comfort her, though the story still seemed to him that it must be no more than a figment of the poor woman’s imagination.

“Alison, look, I’m sorry I upset you. We won’t talk about it anymore.”

Billy caressed her hair, he lifted her face to his. She was so beautiful. He wanted to kiss her. He wanted to look into her green eyes. “Okay, Alison? Look at me, sweetheart.”

Alison slowly opened her eyes to meet Billy’s, not seeing, at first, that her tormented image was reflected in Billy’s own dark blue eyes.

***

Alison drug Billy’s body to the back yard to join those of her father and friends, she began to cry at the thought of never again getting close to another human being.