Page 3 of Grotesque
I walked into the kitchen and popped open a bottle of champagne.
The sky turned molten as the sun made its descent over the treetops. Swatches of magenta were splashed against the clouds, and warm light spilled into the manor, washing me and everything in it in bright colors that felt like a dream.
I wasina dream.
I rested my chin on my knuckles as I stared out the bay windows of the kitchen, taking in the view of the garden and the open expanse of the field behind it.
I can’t believe this is mine.
I waited until the sun disappeared behind the trees, only faint glimmers of its golden light peeking through the branches, before turning to make my way upstairs.
I paused at the bottom of the steps, unsure what had stopped me. Trailing my gaze up through the dimness, I caught sight of the mirror hanging at the top in its ornate frame, and thoughtback to the welcome note with its short list of rules. My heart thundered as I flipped the switch to my right.
Artificial light flooded the staircase, illuminating the landing, and the mirror. It looked like the sun had re-appeared, and was suspended, forever reflected in the glass.
I made my way up slowly, my eyes flickering to the mirror and back down to my feet. As I finally made it to the top I stopped.
I was looking back at myself.
My dark brown hair was mussed from having laid on the couch too long. One of my cheeks was tinged pink, and creased with lines from one of the pillows. My jeans and wrinkled bookish tee shirt were baggy and made me look larger than I was. (But I was comfy, so who cared?) My green eyes were wide.
I’d never seen fear on myself before. The longer I stared at my spooked expression, like a deer caught in the headlights… the more at ease I felt.
I let out a little breath. Nothing was going to happen.
I lifted a hand, the reflection doing the same. That’s all it was, a reflection of myself. Ghosts weren’t real. Maybe Mom was right, and Grandma Macky was just batshit crazy.
By the time darkness had settled into the house, I was curled up in the upper parlor with its pink velvet couch and floral-patterned chairs, a stack of books I’d pulled from the library at my feet. My own book collection was in the car, waiting to be hauled out, but that could wait until morning. For the moment I was content with exploring what Macky had left behind, and with discovering just what else occupied the enormous shelves downstairs.
To my surprise, Macky and I had a lot in common. We both enjoyed fantasy books. She had a broad collection of epic and high fantasy novels with a few non-fiction books sprinkled throughout. The current book I was thumbing through could be described as a tome. It had caught my eye immediately, beingso large, and bound in heavy leather. There was an eccentric dragon carved into its cover. Mythical beasts were sketched on its pages in what looked like charcoal, accompanied by scribbles I couldn’t discern. There was no author. No name anywhere that I had seen in the book.
I wasn’t sure if this was some elaborate sketchbook Macky had crafted, or a collectible she had acquired for her library. Whatever the case, it was simply stunning.
I slid it beneath the novel I was currently reading as I tucked myself into the corner of the couch. Mine was an Irish folk horror about a woman unknowingly being toyed with and hunted by two creatures that lurked within the icy waters just offshore. The blurb had hinted at romance, but there weren’t yet any orgasms building in the heroine, just a sense of creeping unease. It was just weird enough that I wanted to give it a shot. But not so weird that I thought it would spook me further.
The tableside lamp flickered, drawing my attention up. It was entirely dark now, save for the lamplight and what spilled into the room from the hallway. Outside the window, the dark seemed to deepen. To take on a life of its own, as it swallowed up the landscape. I stared, holding my breath as I waited for my eyes to adjust, but the trees never came back into view. There was nothing but a giant black void. The only thing I could see was my own reflection.
Does this count as a mirror?
I looked back to my book quickly, pushing the thought away as soon as it entered my head.
There was no harm in mirrors.
Except everything I had read or watched said they housed spirits. That they were portals to other worlds. That they showed reflections of doppelgangers. That they grew hungry.
Something moved in the corner of my vision.
I jerked my head up.
I could have sworn that I saw something dark flash through the hallway. Like someone had sprinted past. But there was nothing. No sound of retreating footsteps.
I berated myself.Night one and you’re already losing your wits? Get. A. Grip.
Surely it had been my eyelashes, or the lamp flickering. A shadow I’d glimpsed at the wrong angle, and my overactive imagination had done the rest.
In the large room with its massive, uncovered window, I felt suddenly exposed. Tucking the books beneath my arm, I rose to my feet.
It rose with me.
