Man In The Mirror

Sexual Horror | Visceral | Make an antiquities story

         On the corner of Marsh and Ledbetter there stood a rickety squat building of two floors. An ancient, rusted sign hung from the side, swinging and creaking, eluding at what the structure held. Ever since Sarah had driven past the building with her mother, it haunted her.
         Her first skimming glance revealed nothing but a barren storefront. As she and her mother puttered by in their wood paneled station wagon, the reflection of the store in the passenger side mirror held much more; a frail, decrepit man rocking away on the porch, throwing up his hand to wave at her. She spun her head back around again to see the same empty storefront she had before. Sooner or later, all children with wild imaginations learn to keep quiet about things they think they see. She refused to be the “girl who cried ghost.”
         Her interest in what she saw that day never faded, and so one day she returned. She had cut the last three hours of school to make her way back, curiosity devouring her insides every step of the way. As she walked along the side of the crumbling brick building a warm, moist breeze kicked up, gathering leaves and dust and spinning it all into a tiny twister. On the top step of the porch, reaching out for the handle, the wind twisted higher and harder, culminating in one final gust that rattled the door free of its frame as it blew inward. For one short tick she paused, her hand still outstretched, having never touched the handle.
         An instinct to flee quickly came over her but the curiosity ran too deep to turn back. Sarah stepped lightly over the threshold and into the store as the door swung closed again behind her. Already on egg shells, the crashing of the door startled her greatly. She whipped around just in time to catch the deadbolt spinning into an upright position, the door was locked. Tripping over her feet she stumbled backwards, crashed to the ground in a heap, and struck her head on the long, slender leg of an antique dresser. Almost in unison a voice other than hers screamed out momentarily before the room fell deadly silent. Pulling herself up on the massive piece of furniture she clumsily rose to her feet. Her vision still doubling, the loud ringing in her ears began to subside. Steadying herself, she rested her hands above the drawers and peered into the mirror mounted above them. Drawing her eyes up to meet her own in the reflection, the man from the porch was peering right over her shoulder, inches from her. She let out a shrill scream as the mirror man pressed her up against the dresser. Her head cocked back slightly as she saw him grabbing her hair. The buttons of her blouse began to pop off wildly in all directions, one by one. Her skirt was ripped and torn from her body, as the mirror man entered and ravished her. Her screams fell on deaf ears as she struggled to free herself from his grasp. She soon tired and surrendered, a feeling of weakness and hopelessness washing over her. The mirror man emitted what he must have assumed to be soothing sounds as he finished, but this only intensified her fears and rage. She was soon unconscious.

______________________

         Because of her beauty the shopkeeper chose that very piece of furniture as her new form and admired Sarah above all of his other pieces. And so he placed her near the front door where he could see her every day as he came into work. Through the window she had full view of all streets passing by the shop. Many times a week her mother would drive by on her way to and from work. For months Sarah would wait patiently for her mother and cry out as she passed, but her moans never echoed beyond the walls of the antique shop.