My Grandfather's Mirror

Once, when I was a lad in my youth, a girl of fancy asked me “why does the cage bird sing?” I told her something poetic and romantic that could only have come off as pretentious with ignorance. I now know the answer. They do not sing, they scream. It was only after gazing upon that mirror that I understand the horror of imprisonment; of only being able to stare at the world, of having all your screams and pleas come off as singing.

The mirror was a gift from my late Grandfather. It was a surprise as I was sure he hated me. I thought him a fool, and he the same of me. At the time I assumed this was for appearances sake, a gift to every child and grandchild of some kind. The mirror was this massive obelisk the height of an entire wall. Atop, perched and staring down were three mold dragons. Beneath the mirror, a dozen gold men carrying the thing with their bones breaking beneath the weight. It was truly a sight of craftsmanship! I placed the thing in my study, thinking the intricate carvings would offer the occasional inspiration for my writings.

At first, nothing happened. The mirror sat there and besides the passing paranoia of something in its reflection, a feeling common in mirrors, there was nothing to care about. Then I started to have the dreams.

In an ethereal body, I stared down at myself sleeping, and I was stuck there with only an occasional roll in my bed. But, as the dreams reoccurred they seemed to get longer. After awhile, I noticed something else besides my sleeping frame. From the sides of my bed, perhaps stretching from the darkness beneath, many long black, spindly arms made of smoke and brume crept to my sides. First I thought it was some strange kind of tunnel vision, but each night they seemed to get closer and closer till they reached my flesh. Than I started to see them dig into my arms and side until some blood was drawn and I would wake screaming.

These dreams become nightly curses. Every night they got a little more vivid. I noticed the things dipping and stabbing into me looked like branches, each covered in thousands of hairs like spider’s legs. Each time they dug a little deeper inside before I’d wake up. After awhile I started to wake with a horrible chilling feeling in my arms as those black spindles tickled the bone. Several would try and burrow into my ears at once, slowly jamming in till it ripped at the sides. They would slip into my closed moth, pushing aside my lips, and curl down my throat, till they would grabbed my tonsil and I jolted awake in a vomit.

There was also a chaotic sound would emanate from behind my floating dream body. I could never turn to see it, but I could feel a breath on my neck. My brain could only ever half process the sound. It was loud though; loud and terrible. I needed longer and longer each morning to adjust back to normality.

I was prone to night terrors and hoped that these would fade like the others. It took awhile for me to suspect the mirror until I noticed marks on the floor, scratches as if the thing had been moving on it’s own, trying to sneak back to it’s spot across my bed. My paranoia grew as imagined that chaotic dream sound behind me as I worked. During the times I felt bold enough to turn, there was always nothing there, just the mirror reflecting my mad face.

My last night with the mirror was truly terrible. It was late, and the constant paranoia furthered into frustration. I went to the mirror; to confront it like the cruel assailant I thought it was. It was a foolish idea and I regret it.

I looked the mirror top to bottom, the molds staring back with disinterest. With a hyper eye for detail, I stared at my own being looking for the tiniest inconsistency. I looked to see if my hazel eyes darted somewhere else, if  the two buttons undone on my night shirt were the same buttons, if the heavy black bruises beneath my eyes would grow darker like shadows in the night. I was staring so intensely into the mirror that I jumped as my reflected body dropped to the floor like a doll let go from the hand.

And then I could not move.

I tried to leave my spot in the air, to shift my gaze away from my corpse but I could not. I had entered another dream. This was the same, yet it was different. My mind was not cloudy, instead it was too sharp. The details of everything around me became hyper and overwhelming. My eyes could barely move to the fringes, screaming as they dried and begging for a single blink, which had become an exhausting effort. The chaotic sound came behind me again, and this time knew it would let me turn and see it if I chose.  Yet my subconscious, out of an animalistic fear, froze me like the chaotic force did. The chaotic sound continued to boom from behind without a care. Soon I started to see something from the corners of my vision, a blackness nipping at my sight. I wanted to see, I wanted to better look at the thousands of little things tickling my periphery, but my subconscious would not let me. I was forced to stare at my sleeping body, as the world became a little blurrier, as my eyes screamed in pain, as a fear at the things I could not see well scratched at more and more of my vision. All the while the booming sound that I recognized but could not name was moistly shouted at my neck. I stayed like this for what felt like centuries. Trapped like a picture in slow decay.

Then I woke again. I was at my desk, drool stained pages my pillow, early morning sun my savior. My groggy mind was unsure of what was real, but then the dream became clear in memory and I could feel the imagined lapse of time flay my body and soul all at once.

After that night, I gave the mirror away to my niece. She has a love for gouty things, and loves to cage exotic birds for show, the wretch. You may think I a terrible coward or fool for not destroying the mirror. There was a brief moment, after that last night, that I acted as you would have liked. When I awoke, I dragged my chair towards it with the intention of bashing the wood against its glass body. But as I approached, the dragons seemed darker in shadows, there eyes suddenly red. The men carrying, though silent, seemed to be giving terrified groans, and I could hear a low rumble from behind the reflection. So I put my chair back. I’ve never bothered to ask how my niece is doing.

Still, I am plagued by the dreams. It’s always of my sleeping body, as I hover over it like a ghost, forced to watch as creatures I can not understand have their way with it’s flesh, that chaotic noise behind me. Every night, I pray to God, I pray that I might sleep without these horrible dreams, yet my God is always silent. The only God I hear is theirs, always laughing from behind.

Bio: Josh Flowers was born in California and is currently living in Bangor, Maine. He's has never seen a moose, mostly because moose are jerks. He's been published in the Short-story.me horror section, The Cricket Online Review, Inwood Indiana, and is scheduled for the forthcoming issue of The Fictioneer.

                                                     

At Paul's Place

After some quality time at Paul's house I headed back home, it was dark already. I had my motorcycle and within a few minutes I was halfway through. Thanks to my Yamaha I was able to make it up fast; I paused for some tea and cigarettes. A cold evening and the hot tea and cigarettes were soothing. There wasn't much traffic on the roads, after some time I started again. I had my helmet removed for some fresh air, and whilst moving I suddenly felt some additional weight on my bike. Hmmm was a little weird, but wasn't much bothered at first, later my vehicle started wobbling. Now this was totally unusual. Before I could further think what it was about, I felt my body heating up, as if something was trying to hold me tight. An eerie feeling, but because of the chillness outside, I thought I must be getting sick and stuff. The intensity of this kept increasing, as I went through the roads, I saw a nice church on the left side. The moment I saw the church I felt the weight behind the bike and the heat on my body suddenly come off. In a few meters I slowed down to halt and turned back. Before I could step on the brakes I heard a huge blast, it was my tire going pop. I got off my bike, to see no one on the road. I knew there was something behind my bike but because my tire popped out I convinced myself for it to be a problem with my bike. It was late night and I couldn't find any mechanic shops and I didn't try either. I called Paul and asked him to come and pick me up. I parked my bike near the church and planned to take it back the next day.
Luckily I had bought a pack of cigarettes, and they kept me company until Paul came. He came in his dad's car. I got into the vehicle and we speeded through. He wanted me to stay over at his place. The moment we crossed streets, that is the second we moved away from the street, I could sense something else amongst us. This wasn't much of a sense, it was a feeling. I could feel the warmth around my body even with the visors down. He knew I was a little uncomfortable and asked me if I needed help. But as always I refused to say anything and asked him to turn on the music. We reached his place. We had some dinner and hit the bed immediately.
We were in his room, a nice largish room, but the small cot didn't provide enough room for the two of us. He agreed to sleep on the couch. Even in his house I was a little uneasy. The lights were off; his air conditioner wasn't turned on because of the chillness around. He dozed off in a couple of minutes. But what seemed to be happening in a lighter tone intensified. I felt I was tied up tight and my body's heat went up to an extreme, I was suffocating. I could feel the presence of a spirit for clear now, but wasn't clear enough what it wanted from me, right from the roads this heat has been engulfing me. Now it intensified and I couldn't move a muscle. Everything came to an end when Paul's mother suddenly opened the door. The lights came on, and lit brightly and fused off, all after his mother entered in. I could find myself relieved off the pressure that was holding me. I was dripping with sweat. The sound the lights made when they turned on and off woke up Paul too. We were in the dark, and an odd smell filled the room. Paul's mother immediately took the two of us out into the living room.
Paul's mother spoke to me for half an hour about this. She was a lady who could see and sense apparitions. She has been having this power from her childhood. The reason why she busted in was that, she heard mourns let out by a girl, the sounds they let out whilst having sex. She also could feel an eerie feeling that was keeping her awake. And thanks that she had come in and I didn't have to experience it any further. There were two phases in his house and the living room was lit and bright. I could see my face very pale in the mirror. Though Paul's mother and I understood what it was, we easily came out of it in a few days but Paul just witnessing the lights going on and off and his mother busting in is still in a hell of a lot of confusion. When thought about it still gives the creeps to me, as if what I would have done without his mother coming.

Deep Freeze

Deep Freeze is a scary story about a man who murders his wife and hides her body parts in the freezer. It is based on part of an old 1970s horror movie.

William Kemp hated his wife. They had been married for 20 years and he was tired of hearing her nagging voice. He was sick of listening to her criticize and belittle him every day. He was fed up with the way she ordered him around as if he was a slave. William intended to get rid of his wife once and for all.

He had planned everything perfectly. When his wife came home that evening, she put the groceries in the refrigerator and told her husband to start cooking dinner. Instead, William told her he had a surprise for her. He knew she loved surprises.

“It’s in the basement,” he said with a smile.

As his wife made her way down the stairs, into the darkened basement, William took a meat cleaver from the kitchen drawer and followed her.

Minutes later, he was wiping the sweat from his brow. He never thought chopping up a woman’s body would be such hard work. There were six pieces in all – head, arms, legs and torso. He carefully wrapped up each piece in newspaper and tied it neatly with a piece of rope.

When he had finished, there were six tidy bundles sitting at his feet. William picked them up and tossed them into the deep freeze. Then, he shut the door and secured it with a padlock. After mopping the basement floor, he went back upstairs to wash the meat cleaver in the kitchen sink.

Leaning back in his armchair, William let out a sigh of relief. He was free. If anyone asked, he would tell them that his wife had run off with another man. Nobody would suspect that she was really in the basement freezer.

He started drifting off to sleep. The house was peaceful and quiet… very quiet… except for the bumping sound.

William sat up straight and listened. Something was flopping and thudding up the basement stairs. The noise was getting closer and closer.

Suddenly, William woke up. He knew it was just a dream, but it had seemed all too real. His heart was pounding and sweat was dripping down his face. He opened the kitchen drawer and took out the meat cleaver. Then, he went back down to the basement to check the deep freeze.

It was still securely locked. He was about to go back upstairs when he noticed something on the floor. A chill ran down his spine. It was a sheet of bloody newspaper.

William unlocked the deep freeze and looked inside. To his horror, he realized that it was empty. All six packages were missing.

As he stood there in stunned silence, he thought he saw moving something out of the corner of his eye. A shadow scuttled across the floor behind him. He whirled around, but there was nothing there.

Just then, he heard a click and the lights in the basement went out. He was plunged into darkness. Then, he heard a rustling sound. It came closer and closer until it seemed to be coming from all sides. He was surrounded.

William backed up against the wall and began swinging the meat cleaver wildly. In the darkness, he couldn’t see a thing. All he could hear was the horrible rustling of newspaper.

Then, all of a sudden, something slithered between his legs. He felt icy fingers wrap around his neck. He tried to scream but nothing would come out. Something grabbed the meat cleaver from his hand and he felt the fingers around his neck tighten, choking him until he was unconscious.

It wasn’t until weeks later that the police searched the basement. They opened the deep freeze and inside, they found the lifeless frozen body of William Kemp. He was surrounded by the dismembered body parts of his wife.