A Short Haunting Tale

 

For it seemed to Lucy-Anne that the lady in her dreams had no intention of going away, not anytime soon. Aunt Miri was looking awfully tired. She had carried the weight of the world on her shoulders of late and her young niece could see that she was losing strength by the day. Her face was drawn, etched with worry and her countenance low. She, herself, had done her best to play quietly, to not be a nuisance, and since the time of her mother's tragic passing, she had worked hard to contain her irrational outbursts. Mother had been so terribly, terribly ill towards the end and Lucy-Anne missed her so very dearly. Her sibling, John Robert, however, would hit his toy drum relentlessly. Up and down the echoing corridors of the old house, banging away, so much so, that Aunt Miri had given up chastising him, choosing instead to think of it as a way for the young boy to release his pent up anger. The loss of his beloved mama had affected them all. 

 

Alas, the commotion of late was unsettling for everyone. The body of the woodman, known to be of such a kind nature, had eventually been found over on pastures beyond. Although he was not quite close enough to the spot of the ‘Old Mound’ to be easily discovered, not for a few days at least. The area itself, was a favoured spot for courting, therefore, it was obvious that his corpse would be found at some point in time. The poor man, apparently he was as dead as a doornail; his face full of fear, frozen solid by the cruellest of winds. 

 

Of course, the mirror had been hidden away, as if it never existed. For years it had stood in a draughty corner of a dusty, old room, full in length and shrouded with an old bed sheet or something similar. The door to the room was kept locked; the key safely hidden. Until that fateful afternoon when Lucy-Anne had found it and, unwilling to reign in her curiosity, for that was not in her nature, savoured the chance to discover any secrets that were lurking behind the door. 

 

The moth-eaten coverture, upon its removal, had made her cough a little, some might have said, overdramatically, as disturbed particles of dust danced in the chilly air before once again falling to settle. And, as she stood, face on to the mirror, she thought it somewhat unusual. It had, apparently, not been seen for twenty years or more, since the time of Aunt Elsa’s sudden death. She had been the younger sister of Aunt Miri and her mother, Martha, headstrong and wise before her years, unlike any other child of her age. The three girls had sadly lost their own mother when they were all young, in fact Elsa had never known her, for she had passed away shortly after her birth. Raised by their broken hearted father, Richard, who, although tried his best, eventually succumbed to the demon drink. Aunt Elsa had also suffered a tragic demise, though Lucy-Anne had never been told the actual details of how it came about. She’d imagined that it may have had something to do with this room though, as what other reason could there be as to why the door was always locked. She was surprised, however, that this dusty, stale and lifeless room could ever have been considered appropriate for such a young and spirited child.

 

At that moment, she recalled the words spoken to her by the lady in her dreams, “Look into the mirror for only a short time, child, or you may just tempt her out.” Whatever did she mean? What mirror? This one? She reached out to touch it and as her nimble fingers moved to examine the skilled craftsmanship, it failed to secure any appreciation. Choosing instead to admire her reflection, she moved a little closer and questioned if her nose could be growing bigger. Whilst she still had her pretty freckles, it definitely wasn't the cute, little button nose that it once had been. Turning sidewards, she could see that it was definitely changing in size. She was growing up. Did she want to? She didn't know. Growing up would change the memories she held so dear. She reigned in her emotions, took a deep breath and opted for ambivalence. Standing up straight, she stepped back a little and scowled before bobbing out her tongue like a petulant brat. Naturally, the mirror returned the gesture which made her giggle a little, though at the same time something was beginning to make her feel uneasy. It was as if it wasn't really her reflection at all, but that of another, a different Lucy-Anne, one tinged with more than a little malice.

 

After what seemed like a minute or two, the young girl threw an uneasy glance over her shoulder, for she was certain that she was no longer alone. It was as if there was someone or something else in the room with her; she had a strong sense that she was being watched and her instincts were soon to be proved correct. For there she stood, the girl, whom she now knew to be Clara-Bell, or one might say, the silhouette of a girl, not really physically present but in the form of a sepia image, though one which you could see right through, for there behind her was an old vase on a set of drawers. It was all so very odd. The vision or whatever it was, hovered, very subtly, as if it were buffering. Lucy-Anne considered the possibility that it was just a fragment of her imagination for she was feeling rather hungry. That said, the more she studied the apparition the more she could see. The eyes of the girl were inky black and seemed to penetrate through to her very soul. A small bubble of sorts floated around in the air above her; bobbing like a tiny translucent bouncing ball. A chilling air cut through to her bones as Lucy-Anne felt for the pendant that hung around her neck. Copper-like in colour, it had been her mother's and contained a lock of her hair. It comforted her during the times when her young heart would become heavy. The grief she could manage, but at times, it did become a burden too much to bear. With a little courage regained, she returned her focus to the image of the girl in front of her. Somewhat slight in frame, she wore a plain apron over what appeared to be a simple brown dress; its length not past her knees, exposing socks that were dark and shoes a little scuffed. Her hair was styled in pretty ringlets, tidied with a large ribbon. Lucy-Anne favoured it to be blue but given that the girl was only visible in sepia form, she could only surmise that to be true. 

 

All at once, Lucy-Anne’s young body crumpled to the floor, hitting it hard with a thud. Aunt Miri, who had been frantically searching for her, rushed in, as if from nowhere. Falling to her knees, she cradled her headstrong young niece, resisting the urge to scold her, for now was not the time. Stirring a little, Lucy-Anne opened her eyes. Her sight remained a little blurred though her hearing was unhindered. Outside, in the draughty corridor, John Robert banged his drum, in a somewhat furious manner.

 

“Where am I? What happened? The mirror? Has she gone? Was she real? Aunt Miri, who is she?”

“You looked into it didn't you? The mirror. There was a reason this door remained locked Lucy-Anne, the key hidden to impede curiosity. Obviously, I did not hide it well enough thus the blame is mine. Are you hurt? Could you possibly stand?” 

It was at this point that her aunt lowered her voice to that of a whisper, though her spoken words were somewhat hurried her niece could hear them clearly, “I pray that the good Lord will help us child. We must beg for forgiveness and ask for his protection, for there is great evil around us. May our Lord guard us against it, for it surely must be the work of the devil himself. One wonders why such misery and loss has come about here. The answer must surely stem from this house and its past misdemeanours.”

“I… I think I can stand Aunt, but, what about the girl, the girl with the ball of light? She carries little colour, just mere hues of brown and perhaps a subtle pink. Who is she? Is she a… ghost?”

“Her name is Clara-Bell. She was the granddaughter of the previous owner of the house, a malevolent spirit seemingly due to the nature of her untimely demise. A failed attempt at exorcism resulted in her detainment inside the mirror, where she has remained until this day, unable to cause any further harm, or so we chose to believe. You and your Aunt Elsa were alike in so many ways; both sharing that curious nature. Elsa would look for the girl, she was fascinated; the very thought of an untamed spirit daunted her not. Unfortunately, my dearest sister left this world due to sheer fright, all alone, scared to death, as she sought to sleep in her bed.”

 

“But why didn't you just destroy the mirror, shatter it into a thousand pieces? Why keep it and lock it away, if you held such a worry?”

“Dearest child, is that not obvious? Think of the years of bad luck that would ensue. The task of removing it from the house would not have been easy; it would have undoubtedly been of great risk to someone. I could not have had that on my conscience, one cannot take such chances on fate.” And as Aunt Miri paused to look at her, Lucy-Anne was more than a little surprised to see such concern in her eyes, though somewhat taken aback, she remained motionless as her aunt continued speaking, “But the Lord is faithful. He will establish you and guard you against the evil one.”

“Has she gone now? Back into the mirror?”

“I really do hope so, dear child, I really do hope so.” Aunt Miri sighed, raising her right palm to her mouth she gently held two fingers to her lips as she coughed. Clearing her throat she continued, “The thing that you called a bobbing ball is in fact a bead. It is said to contain her last waking breath and is the only thing that has kept her spirit alive for this long.” After coughing again her voice sounded hoarse. “As long as it remains intact, she retains her power. At this point in time, we cannot possibly know if she has been set free from the mirror. We can only pray that she has not, for all our sakes.” Gathering her composure her aunt made for the door. “Now, let us make our leave and secure the room. You must rest and I am in need of one of my powders.” 

 

Six months later, the village was reeling from a number of unexplained deaths, including that of the kindly woodman. Lucy-Anne, along with her brother and her ailing aunt, eventually moved elsewhere, without leaving a forwarding address. The house was never marketed and over the years it fell into disrepair. They never knew what became of the mirror but a sensitive John-Robert never did stop banging his drum.

 

Years later, in a popular London auction house, a young couple sat patiently waiting for their chance to bid. Since spotting the antique mirror, they had set their hearts on it, considering it  perfect for their rooftop apartment. How they’d get it up there would be a job for the professionals but little did they know that that would be the least of their worries.

 

 

© 2024. Mrs WH