The Mirrors

Story by Hannah Oakland, Staff Writer

Kasper Igor Legture waited motionless in front of his desktop computer screen as he has been doing for the past two days. He was tired, hungry, and ready for his next experiment to proceed.

Suddenly, his cell phone rang a deep bell toll and Kasper reached to pick it up.

“Hello?” he asked, knowing who was on the other end of the line.

Five minutes passed when Kasper finally said, “Yes, of course. I will see you tomorrow at dusk.” As he hung up, a sly smile spread across his unstable face. Tomorrow is the day, the day he had been waiting oh so long for. His experiment was soon to begin.

  The little red Nissan pulled up on the rocky gravel that led to a perfectly white two story colonial style house. The sun was soon to set over the large estate sending rays of white light over an eerie run down carnival that jutted out, ugly and sickly, from the stately white house. The driver stepped out and squinted in the dying light. He was in his mid-forties with dark uncombed hair, and deep grey eyes that had seen too much. As he slammed his blood red car door shut, the owner of the estate ran out smiling warmly.

“Hey man, how are you,” Kasper said as he shook his visitors hand with excessive force.

“I’m pleased to meet you…”

“Kasper Igor Legture.”

“Oh, my name is Roger. I’m glad I found your offer on Craigslist, my wife loves that oriental vase of yours.”

“Ah, yes, it’s a beauty all right! Come this way, let me get it for you.” Kasper said gleefully.

After a moment of silence, Roger asked, “so what is this place?”

“I used to run a little carnival here over the summer” Kasper replied.

“What happened to it?” Roger asked curiously.

“Well, let’s just say it disappeared and never ran again.”

Muddled by Kasper’s response, Roger asked “Disappeared?”

“Disappeared,” Kasper said bluntly.

“If you don’t mind my asking, may I ask why?”

“I do mind, I mind very much…”

“Gosh, I sure am sorry Mr. Legture.”

Kasper squinted and turned sharply in the direction of the deserted funland.

“I keep it in this shed over here for safekeeping” Kasper said gesturing towards a shed made of rotting weathered planks. There was a hint of nervousness in his voice. He opened the shaking wooden door into almost complete darkness.

“You first,” he said with a smile.

Roger stepped forward quite cautiously sensing danger ahead. Complete nothingness engulfed him as he screamed a blood curdling scream that echoed behind his falling body. The trap door in the floor of the shed slammed shut with force.  Then suddenly, silence overcame the dead carnival. At that moment the world turned black, gone, forgotten.

  Roger awoke to screaming white lights that cut through his pounding head and threatened to blind him. As he looked around, all he saw was himself. In every direction, Roger stared back. The mirrors were on every wall. The stench of mold lingered heavily in the air, and the image of Kasper Igor Legture was still fresh in his mind. Roger was helpless, trapped! He cried out for help. He felt the mirror. Nothing. Hot tears ran down his face.

“Why?” he screamed, “Who has done this to me?”

When no answer came, he began to pace and pace and pace. Click, click, click, click, click, click, click whet his fine black oxfords. Minutes progressed into hours. Roger eventually collapsed in defeat and fatigue.

  Roger awoke to a defining noise that shattered his ears.

“Stop! Stop this! Let me out!” He yelled.

The pain increased, he could barely take it anymore.

“Stop! Stop!”

After twenty minutes of unbearably pitched sounds, Roger passed out again.  

  When he awoke, the first thing he saw was himself. His tired face staring back at him. He began to pace again. Click, click , click, click, click. Roger was hungry, but food was impossible to obtain in this reflective prison. Time stood still as Roger’s sweat and tears turned to haste and regret. He was losing his own self.

  

 

  It followed him everywhere, it tore at his soul. It took him back to war, to death, to the evils of the world. All over a stupid vase. The pain, the fear, the mirror, all for a little oriental vase for his beloved wife.

  Roger yelled and screamed, tears of acid burned his face. Soon, Roger turned to the mirror. The man in the mirror. Yes, it was his fault. He smashed the mirrors in an attempt to destroy the man at fault. Instead, he only created more evil eyes staring back at him. The glass was his only defense against the multiplying monster. He began to cut at it, jabbing it until blood began to pool around him, splashing onto the white walls which lay beneath the mirrors. More blood poured everywhere in a torrent. It felt relieving, the eyes were fading. The room turned cold and dark. The room of mirrors just disappeared.

 

  From above, Kasper Igor Legture merely smiled at the act being played out before him.

“It only took two days… amazing,” he said sarcastically to himself.

  

  The police and the FBI never did find Roger and his car. Over the years, speculations arose that there was a murder behind the disappearance of Roger. There was indeed a murderer that existed and he died years after in the very same manner as Roger had. He unknowingly fell in a drunken stupor, becoming trapped and committing suicide in madness. He had very much gotten a taste of his own clown act.

  Years later, when investigators searched this mad carnival set aside from the beautiful white home, they found numerous bodies, including Rogers and Kasper Igor Legtures. An evil, haunting smile still lingers on every mirror, new or old, on the estate. The same smile that rested on every corpse of the men gone mad. The curse of the mirrors shall never be lifted. It shall never disappear.

 

 

 

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