Mirrors
Hi!
Uhm, I'm new here, so I apologise in advance if I'm doing something wrong.
Soooo... there's this creepy, little story I wrote a while back, and I was hoping to get some feedback. I'm pretty sure the historical facts and everything else is incredibly inaccurate, therefore, any comments on that will be greatly appreciated :3
Anyways, withouy any further ado, here's my story: Mirrors.
*dun dun duuuuuuuuuuuuun*
Mirrors
By Priscilla Ramirez.
As I lay on the ice-cold stone floor, a coppery taste flooded my mouth: blood. The world started to spin, and every shallow breath I took lit an unforgiving fire that burned my insides. All of a sudden, my own screams and cries of help seemed distant, they turned into a fuzzy roar in the back of my mind and the only thing I could hear clearly was the slow sound of my heartbeat pounding in my ears.
The scent of death entered my nostrils, filling me with a crushing fatigue. My eyelids grew heavy and all I could think about was the series of events that had led to this moment. And so, in a futile attempt to ignore the pain, my mind drifted away to the last 48 hours…
1816 had been a dark year with no summer, haunted by a merciless cold that killed the harvests and forced my family (amongst many others) to leave their homes to seek refuge and beg for food. My younger sister and I travelled all the way from our famine-stricken town in northern Ireland to London; hoping to find a master to serve in exchange for something to eat and shelter.
We walked the streets, suffocated by the tense atmosphere created by the people who had been turned into savage tribes of famished folk thanks to the uncanny weather. No place seemed safe, we had nowhere to go, our feet were tired and the cold turned our breath into smoke; thus we were forced to spend the night in the corner of a dark alley, hugging each other tightly to preserve some warmth. We were about to fall unconscious when we heard someone clear his throat loudly, when we looked up our eyes were met by the sight of an eccentric young man wearing a dark evening tail coat and a tall top-hat decorated by a single ostrich feather.
‘I believe you could use a better place to sleep, am I correct?’ he asked with a heavy German accent.
We nodded, still shocked by his bizarre attire and his snow-coloured skin.
‘Thought so,’ he said with a light chuckle ‘No one likes to die frozen!’ he sang, breaking into hysterical laughter. Abruptly, his laughter subsided and his unusual pink eyes sobered. ‘Follow me please, and you shall serve in my humble household,’ he instructed seriously, ‘in return you will be fed and a warm bed will await you.’
Encouraged by our grumbling bellies and numbing limbs (and against all common sense) we stood up and followed the man into his luxurious carriage. We travelled a long distance under the glacial rain until we arrived to a moss-covered, stone manor.
The heavy mahogany gates opened with a prolonged lament, and we were welcomed by what seemed to be a hundred servants. The mansion didn’t seem big enough to host so many people, let alone need them to be kept clean and orderly.
An elderly lady stepped forward, and the entire crowd fell silent. It was astounding how a woman so small and fragile-looking could have such an imposing presence: her scarce silver hair was tied in a tight bun and her pitch black dress matched her beady eyes. She proceeded to introduce herself.
‘My name is Esther, I’m the house keeper,’ she said with a husky voice. ‘I’ll take you to your quarters,” she announced, flashing a toothless grin.
With that final statement, she turned her hunched back to us and walked towards a torch-lit passageway; and as the echoing sound of her dragging footsteps broke the sepulchral silence, I turned around to look for the master: he had seemingly vanished into thin air.
The long corridor led us to a moth-eaten door that seemed to belong to a prison cell. Behind that door there was a windowless room with nothing but a torch for lighting, two single beds covered with heavily starched sheets and a persistent stench of humidity and abandonment.
‘Sleep tight, ladies’ Esther mumbled, as she dragged her feet back to the corridor and closed the door behind her.
Bernadette, my little sister, curled up in one of the beds and fell sound asleep the moment her blond curls touched the stiff pillow. I followed her lead and shortly after I fell into a dreamless sleep too.
The next morning, Esther woke us up with a light knock on the door. As soon as our beds were done, we took a seat on them and listened carefully to her simple instructions.
‘Your only duty is to mop and sweep the floors. I suggest each one of you performs one task and you part your separate ways, that way you will have more time left to eat and rest,’ she smiled her toothless beam and scratched her prominent nose. ‘Well, off you go ladies; you’ll find your tools at the end of the aisle.’ She concluded, but just before her long bony fingers touched the door, she turned around with one last piece of advice. ‘Oh, and by no means shall you go down to the dungeons, understood?’
My sister and I nodded and followed her instructions, parting each on a different direction. I grabbed the broom and started sweeping, taking in all the details of the house on my way.
The walls were tall, the aisles narrow, the windows scarce and the lighting poor. However, it didn’t seem lonely at all, since each and every servant had one task to perform and they seemed to be all permanently busy. I spotted a young lady around my age dusting the walls.
‘Hullo,’ I said shyly ‘I’m Josephine, you?’
My greeting was only met by silence; however, it didn’t seem like she had ignored me... it was as though she couldn’t even tell there was someone else around.
The same thing kept happening with everyone I tried to talk to, it was as though I had suddenly become invisible... a ghost.
The end of the day arrived sooner than expected, and before I knew it I found myself back to the confinement of the small room I shared with my sister. We went straight to bed without saying a word to each other, and even though I made no effort to address her, I deeply hoped that at least she could acknowledge my existence.
Bernadette didn’t seem to have any trouble sleeping, but I was restless. Something was keeping me awake and uneasy, yet I couldn’t tell what it was until I closed my eyes and focused on finding the source of my discomfort. The main ingredient of my insomnia was a constant ticking sound... it wasn’t a clock, but more like a drop of water hitting the stones of the floor repeatedly.
‘Oi! Bernie!’ I hissed, trying to wake my sister up. ‘Can you hear that?’
My little sister continued to sleep soundly, so I stood up and tried to shake her into conscience. I poked her several times, but she didn’t react; it got to the point that I could only tell she was still alive because of the steady rhythm of her breathing.
Finally I gave up on my quest to bring my sister back from her land of dreams and decided to find the source of the noise myself. I exited the room, trying to keep the rust covered hinges from screeching in agony as I pushed the door open, and followed the noise to its source.
The sound led me to a long, precarious stair-case. I descended, being careful not to make the squeaky steps give me away, and at the bottom of the stairs there was a single metal door, covered in rust and with a heavy lock to keep it closed.
The lock was broken, so I pushed it aside and opened the weighty door. I could not believe what was before my eyes: instead of a dungeon, there was a splendid labyrinth of mirrors, all the walls were covered from ceiling to floor in neatly polished mirrors... everywhere I looked there was nothing but mirrors, and the ticking noise was gone.
I stepped gingerly into the room, which was soon filled by the echo of my bare feet touching the icy floor. I looked at myself in one of the mirrors, and noticed a stubborn strand of hair was brushing my nose, thus I brushed it aside... but my reflection didn’t mimic my actions; instead it stared back at me with a blank expression. I was astonished and tried to move in the hopes of having my reflection follow suit, but it never did, it remained staring at me with empty-looking eyes. Finally I rested immobile and stared at myself in the mirror with a combination of fear and fascination, it was only then that the girl in the mirror smiled and closed her eyes, and when she opened them again, my eyes... her eyes were no longer there, instead I could see deep into the dark empty sockets.
I let out a frightened yelp, and turned around only to see another version of me in another mirror, letting out a high-pitched snigger with sadistic joy.
I was convinced my mind was playing tricks on me, I must have gone insane. Everywhere I looked a thousand replicas of me flashed me twisted smiles and stared deep into my soul with piercing, murderous glares. They laughed, they screamed, they mocked me and the room was filled with loud noises. I started running, trying to find an exit... but I got trapped in the labyrinth of mirrors and there was no escape.
‘Please stop!’ I pleaded, ‘PLEASE! I’M BEGGING! LET ME GO!’ I cried.
But they ignored my pleas, and instead the walls seemed to get closer as though the room began to close around me, trapping me there forever.
Possessed by the suffocating feeling and wanting desperately to get out of there, I squeezed my eyes shut and punched one of the mirrors with all the strength my fists could muster. I could hear the loud crashing noises of the mirror as it broke, I could feel the sharp shards of glass cutting deep into my skin and my blood and tears trickling down my arms and face, but when I opened my eyes the mirror before me stood intact. I tried again, this time I kicked as hard as possible and again the glass pierced through my skin and shredded my clothes, but the mirror stood unharmed and my reflections rejoiced in watching me suffer, cheering and laughing.
Consumed by the panic I screamed as loud as my lungs allowed me to, and started trashing around hoping to at least bring down one mirror. I kicked, scratched and punched; the pieces of glass ripped my clothes, tore my skin and got caught between my nails and the delicate flesh of my fingers. Finally, I slipped on a puddle of my own blood and fell on the glass covered floor.
And so I lay there for a while, feeling weak and helpless, unable to stop my life from escaping through every wound.
When my eyes were about to close to let the merciful darkness engulf me and take away my pain, I noticed that the entire room fell silent and the voices had ceased to make their scandal. I blinked once, twice, trying to clear my sight; when I could finally see clearly, I realized the mirrors were gone... my only company were the flickering lights of the torches dancing on the stone walls of the dungeon.
I coughed up the blood that had pooled in my mouth, and, dumbfounded, I whispered to no one, ‘the mirrors were never there...’
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