There wasn't supposed to be a second part but someone left a review as a guest saying that they were looking forward to more and it prompted me to think of reasons why there couldn't be more.
Which promptly failed and I wrote this.
(Fun fact: I called this file on my computer "Mirror Mask 2: The Reckoning" but I decided to name it differently when I uploaded it.
Matthew had never been all that close to Alfred. This wasn't because they didn't like each other; rather, it was his mother and Alfred's father who had had a falling out and kept out of each other's way as much as possible. The Williams lived in Canada and the Jones lived in America, in California till their move to Virginia. Matthew had overheard his parents discussing it and saying it was probably a safer place for Alfred than California and its horrible influences. He had the feeling something bad had happened in California once upon a time, perhaps the reason for his family's estrangement.
The two boys met up during the summer holidays, content to at least spend a few months together – or a couple of weeks if one was too busy with camps or going to another country. During the school term, they tended to lose touch, caught up in school and school work, friends and extracurricular activity. Christmas would find cards being sent, filling in the other with what they had been up to.
A few months before the accident, Matthew had received his usual Christmas card and was alarmed to see that it was so distant, as though Alfred was preoccupied with something. He told his parents his worries but they had reassured him that it was probably something like a crush. This had not cheered him up: if Alfred had a crush and hadn't told him, what did he think of Matthew? But Matthew left it at that, determined to catch him the next time they were online together.
Then, at the end of June, Matthew called to talk to him and discuss what they would be doing for the holidays. He called and called but they never got through: either he was out when he called or the line was engaged. Same thing for his cell phone. Eventually, Matthew gave up and celebrated his birthday without Alfred for the first time ever.
Three days later, Alfred was dead.
They said that he had been looking at his phone as he crossed the road. They said the driver had had his vision blocked by an illegally parked car. They said Alfred may have been able to save himself had he not tripped. They said it was a horrible accident.
But Matthew knew differently. That day had been Alfred's birthday and, since Matthew had no idea what Alfred had been doing to celebrate, he had sent him a message to wish him a happy one and to express his sorrow for not being there. It was sent 20:02 ET. The accident occurred a couple of minutes later.
It had come as something of a shock and, at first, he told no-one. He and his parents attended the funeral where Alfred's mother had wailed in despair and his father had stared into space, unable to react to anything. Matthew had held back tears, of course, feeling that he couldn't cry since he had been the person to cause Alfred's death. He didn't deserve to cry so openly.
Then they went back to their house for the wake.
As Matthew's parents were expressing their condolences and offering to help the bereft couple, Matthew couldn't take it any more. He came clean, tears falling as he tried to hold in his own sobs. His aunt quickly gathered him up and they cried in the corner of the room together. After he had calmed down, the poor woman told him how it wasn't his fault but theirs – he had changed in the months leading up to his death and they blamed themselves. Although Matthew tried to reassure her, it was to no avail and, eventually, his uncle came over to guide her away.
"If you want," he said once he had wrapped his arms around her, "you can go see Alfred's room. Maybe... Maybe take something."
That was how Matthew found himself in a room with a familiar set-up. The TV and games consoles opposite the bed with its crumpled sheets. He didn't dare open the wardrobe, just in case clothes fell out. Interestingly, there was an en suite bathroom and he ventured in, glancing around.
Catching sight of his horrible face in the mirror, he sighed and ran some water, washing the tears away. Once he had dried his face and put his glasses back into place, he surveyed his face. Deciding it was suitable and feeling refreshed, he turned to go.
Mattie!
Freezing, Matthew's eyes widened. Had he just heard that? Shaking his head, he hurried out of the bathroom. He could feel tears building up again: his brain was betraying him, providing him the memory of Alfred's voice but not the boy himself. It was like it was reminding him whose fault it was for his death.
In the end, he ended up with all of Alfred's games, DVDs and comics that he didn't already have along with a few books he was surprised Alfred had bothered to read. There was also a mirror he had found under Alfred's bed – his parents were surprised to see it but let him have it.
"I don't think it was that impo-" began Aunt Sarah before choking up and burying her head in her husband's shoulder. Matthew merely nodded and joined his parents in their car.
It would be several years before Matthew saw any of his American relatives. As he went through the rest of high school, still feeling guilty over the text which had caused Alfred's death, his aunt and uncle went through a rough patch. From what little he heard (his parents didn't want to stress him out during his exams), they both blamed themselves and each other. By the time he got to college, his uncle had begun to travel, seeking who knows what. It was more like a separation than anything else and Matthew worried for them both.
When he was graduating from college, he decided to continue his academic career. Bearing in mind his lonely aunt, he found himself looking at universities in America. One such university he found to be in Richmond and since the course seemed perfect for him, he applied. Then he called up Aunt Sarah.
"Hey, Aunt Sarah. It's been a while."
"Matthew? Oh, darling! Not heard from you in a while. How are you?"
"I'm good, yeah. Going to be doing a Master's."
"Ah, yes. In Teaching, right?"
"That's right," he said, grinning a little. "I'm planning to do that and then maybe I can get a placement. Then I can hopefully teach somewhere in Canada."
"What level do you want to teach?" Aunt Sarah asked as he heard the rustle of cloth shifting through the crackle of the phone line, perhaps from her shifting the phone around.
"High school, hopefully," replied Matthew. "I mean, a lot of my teachers were really helpful and it really relieved the stress of exams and school life. Hopefully, I can match that."
"Oh, listen to you," teased Aunt Sarah, laughing. "You sound all grown up now!"
Matthew laughed before steeling himself for the next part. "Actually, I'm trying to get into Richmond."
"Really? Does this mean I get to see me favourite nephew more often?"
"I'm your only nephew," Matthew pointed out with a laugh. He grew serious once more. "Actually, I was hoping that I could stay with you. I can pay my way; get a job, I mean. It would be better than trying to find somewhere to stay in Richmond, right? A-And I could stay in..."
There was a disconcerting silence. Matthew's heart sank and he opened his mouth to apologise when his aunt spoke. "Oh. Well. That would be nice, yeah. When will you know you've gotten in, sweetie?"
"Uh, in a month or so, I think."
"I'm sure you'll get in, Mattie. I'll make sure the room is ready for you." Matthew could hear the faint smile on her face but he could also hear her sadness. She had probably kept Alfred's room exactly as he had left it. "Anything else to report?" she continued, obviously attempting to shake off the melancholy.
"Eh, nothing much," said Matthew with a shrug, allowing the change in subject. However, just before they hung up, Matthew made sure to tell his aunt that she needn't change the room too much. She agreed and Matthew went back to his dinner.
It felt like no time at all that Matthew was lowering a backpack onto his temporary bed, a suitcase sitting beneath the window. As he had predicted, his aunt had barely gone inside the room. She had obviously been in to clean somewhat but there was still a layer of dust on the games consoles beneath the TV. The curtains seemed a little dusty and, when Matthew tapped one of them, he found himself coughing.
"I'm sorry, Mattie," said Aunt Sarah from the door. "I just... I couldn't-"
"It's okay, Aunt Sarah," said Matthew with a small smile. "I'll clean up; it's the least I can do when you're letting me sleep here."
"You're family, Mattie. You don't need to be so polite." His aunt chuckled. "Let me get us some coffee and a few of the cakes I've been making for the local bake sale."
She left him to it and Matthew turned his attention to his bags. He nipped into the bathroom and dropped off his toiletries. Turning to the wardrobe, he opened it to find all of Alfred's clothes either in a mess at the bottom or hanging limply. He paused with a pained expression as a few mothballs rolled out.
Sighing, he rested his head against the door, closing his eyes. God, had it really been so long? It seemed like just yesterday he had sent that text.
Frowning at himself, he straightened and closed the doors. He would have to deal with that later once he had gotten some stuff for cleaning. In the meantime, he turned to his suitcase and crouched beside it. Flipping it over, he unzipped it and pushed the top off. He buried his hands into the pile of clothes resting there until his fingers brushed something hard. Quickly, he grabbed it and pulled it out carefully, the clothes slowly slipping from the top of it. When he had it free, he turned and propped the mirror up below the window.
It was the same one he had found under Alfred's bed all those years ago and he felt it belonged here.
Matthew had just returned from a day at his part-time job in a café, at the end of his second week at university, utterly exhausted. For some reason, it had been unbearably busy in the small place that day and Matthew had been run off his feet. His Master's course was demanding as well. Without bothering to get changed into fresh clothes, he collapsed face first onto his maple leaf quilt.
Aunt Sarah had gone out for the night, to some sort of community thing. He could barely keep track of the woman since she was doing a lot of charity work as well as her paying job. In fact, she was out more than he was.
Not that he had too many friends in America to hang out with. All of his friends he had had were the ones Alfred had been friends with in California. The only one he was still in touch with was the Dutch guy who had been there on holiday and roped into hanging out with Alfred by his cousin. But he was in Amsterdam so it was hard to go out to bars and anything else without him in the same country.
Eventually, his stomach caused him to groan and roll off the bed. He landed in a crouch and rose to head to the en suite bathroom to wake himself up a little. As he splashed water into his face, he considered his options. The fridge and freezer were stocked up, as far as he was aware, so he could make himself something. But, since he was so tired, he figured he would stick in a microwaveable meal. Yawning, he dried off his hands and face. Once he had replaced his glasses, he reflexively glanced into the mirror.
There was a shadowy figure behind him.
Gasping, Matthew spun around, his strange shade of blue eyes open wide. However, there was nothing there. He stared for a moment before slowly putting a hand over his heart, trying to calm its wild beating.
Finally, he forced himself to move, walking briskly from the small bathroom. Obviously he was just overtired.
Two weeks later, Matthew managed to wrangle a long lie. He woke feeling refreshed and awake. With a yawn, a stretch and a sigh, he rose from his bed and meandered into the bathroom. The shower washed away the last strains of fatigue and he soon felt wide awake. Once he had dried himself off, he turned his attention to the mirror so he could comb his hair and shave. But it was covered in condensation so, with a soft sigh, he picked up the discarded towel he had already used to wipe it down.
As soon as it was clear, he squinted into the mirror, the water droplets still present distorting the image within. He adjusted his glasses and wiped it once more. When the towel moved out of the way, Matthew suddenly saw an indistinct figure behind him. Had the room not been so small, he would have said that he was far behind him, perhaps the length of the house. Whoever it was had blonde hair and was shorter than him but he couldn't make out anything else.
Instinct demanded he turned around to check that the person wasn't behind him. However, Matthew could only stare at the thing in the mirror, his heart hammering. Was that...? Could it be?
"Alfred?" he whispered.
That single word seemed to shatter the stillness and, when he blinked, the figure was gone. The mirror began to shake slightly, though, and then a screaming started in his ears. With a yell, he slapped his hands over them, crouching on the tiles with his eyes screwed shut. His heart was beating terribly fast and it took a long time for it to calm. Once the ringing in his ears subsided somewhat, he removed his hands – only to hear something much more disturbing than the screaming.
Coming from everywhere and nowhere was a familiar, cheerful voice saying, MattieMattieMattieMattieMattie!
Despite leaving the bathroom as quickly as he could, Matthew was left with questions and a sense of dread. It had drawn him from the house and straight to the local library. He had had to head off his aunt's questioning about the noise he had made before he could answer his own.
Had he seen Alfred? Or was he suffering from some sort of psychotic episode brought on by guilt and living in the same space as his he had? He had thought he had gotten over it years ago. But, sometimes, he would spot his aunt looking melancholy and knew who she was thinking of, bringing on a twinge of guilt, despite telling himself over and over that it wasn't his fault.
If he was Alfred, then why was he in the mirror? That made no sense – surely he would have appeared in the bedroom? Or maybe even the road he had been killed on. To make sure, Matthew had taken a route which forced him on the very stretch of tarmac. Nothing had happened and, as much as he tried to see anything out of the ordinary, there was nothing odd there.
And, if his spirit was stuck in the mirror, did that mean he couldn't get to Heaven? Matthew had been brought up with a regular monthly visit to the church, courtesy of his Canadian grandparents, but he had never really put much stock in the old tales once he had gotten older. Now, though... If spirits were real, then was Heaven?
Heaven being real made Matthew feel hopeful. But a big dampener was that Alfred seemed to be stuck. Could he find a way to help him? Would he ever be able to apologise for what he had done?
By the end of the day, he had read a lot about spirits and mirrors but everything was vague. There was nothing for his specific situation and he had to give up on that source. Deciding to go home to use his own Internet, he left the pile of books with the librarian as they were closing.
"Oh!" she said, blinking down at the unusual combination of books. "Deja vu."
"Sorry?" asked Matthew, utterly bewildered.
"Ah, sorry. You see, a kid came in what must have been... six, seven years ago? He looked at all these at the same time which I thought, hey, weird combo so I asked him about it. He said something about wanting to know more about a TV show. I remember because he looked kind of embarrassed about it and I figured it was some sort of dare."
"I see..." said Matthew, slowly, thinking. Seven years ago... Alfred would have been alive then. He wondered if the kid had been him.
As soon as he had managed to shake off his aunt and holed up in his room, he began browsing the Internet. He spent hours on Google and trawling through the sites it brought up. It took a long time to find anything different from the books and the only thing he did find were stories of people smashing the mirror a spirit was in. This apparently destroyed the spirit completely.
Dismissing this as unacceptable, Matthew gave up on getting anything concrete. Instead, he began to watch for Alfred in the mirror. However, it took a week for him to see anything in the glass – and it certainly wasn't Alfred.
It had started out as a regular morning. He had stared in the mirror for a minute before, disappointed, he relieved himself and showered. When he brushed his teeth, he bent over to spit out the toothpaste and, when he straightened, he found himself glancing into the startlingly green eyes of a strange boy. He gaped at him for a second. So he hadn't seen Alfred? But he had definitely heard him... What was going on? Who was this?
"Um... Hello?" he said.
The boy's mouth opened and closed several times. It was obvious that he was trying to speak but Matthew couldn't hear him. He wondered why that was, when he had clearly heard Alfred's voice. Shooting the boy a confused look, the spirit finally stopped and he apparently heaved a silent sigh.
"Wait a minute," Matthew told him. "I'll go find a pen and paper, okay?"
Before the ghost could say anything (or not), he hurried from the bathroom. Grabbing his backpack, he rifled through it for a pad of paper and a pen that he used for his classes. He rushed back and glanced around the room before returning his attention to the mirror.
The boy had disappeared.
On Halloween, Matthew was swamped with work. He had been in college all day, done a shift at the café and was now trying to write an essay while keeping an ear out for any knocks on the front door. Aunt Sarah had gone to a party dressed as something Matthew would rather forget.
It was creepier than a ghost in the mirror.
Since the meeting with the boy, Matthew had done a lot of thinking. It was clearly obvious that the boy was not his cousin. However, that meant that the ghost had been there when Alfred had been alive. Had Alfred seen the ghost? It could explain the mirror beneath the bed. A hidden communication device. But, if that was the case, why had the boy not appeared to Matthew in the mirror propped up in the bedroom? Was he confined to the bathroom one?
And was it a benign or a malicious ghost?
Had it hurt Alfred? Would it hurt him if he continued to acknowledge it? After all, it was getting closer the more he puzzled over it. That was what scared him the most. His aunt and uncle had also mentioned the change in behaviour of Alfred before he died. Had seeing the ghost affected Alfred? Did he keep it to himself because he didn't want to sound crazy?
If it was a good ghost, could he help it? There were mentions of various strange methods of exorcising a ghost without getting a priest. He had bought incense and set some up in both the bathroom and the bedroom. Supposedly, they were holy candles but Matthew was unsure as to whether they had worked.
The thing that distracted him the most from his work, though, was that he had gotten a self-proclaimed psychic to come the day before when his aunt had been out and he had had the house to himself. A woman named Fiona had turned up, dripping bangles and large, tacky baubles. He had almost immediately wanted to cancel their agreement: she looked too fake to be the real thing. But his curiosity had persevered and he showed her in. Upon walking into the bedroom, she had instantly screamed and rushed from the room. When he had managed to find her again, cowering by the front door, she had explained that the room was heavy with spiritual activity like she had never felt before. There was so much that she couldn't pick out which one Matthew needed to know about. He had driven her home and returned.
So he had asked for a priest to come with holy water and salt on the coming Sunday.
Of course, the other way to get rid of a ghost was forgiving the poor thing for something it had done while it was alive. Unfortunately, he could only do that if he could speak to the ghost, something which he deemed unlikely. Especially since it had been almost two weeks since he had last seen it.
Rubbing at his eyes, Matthew yawned, grabbed a glass and made his way to the bathroom to get himself something to drink. As he waited for it to fill up, Matthew glanced into the mirror out of habit – and found the boy, now closer but still behind him, staring back at him. With a surprised yelp, he dropped the glass and it shattered. Before he could look down to clean it up, the boy opened his mouth and finally said something Matthew could hear.
"No! Don't! If you look away I'll be trapped in darkness again!"
Matthew blinked at him. "Darkness? What do you mean?"
"I think I'm stuck in this mirror. Whenever someone doesn't look at me, all I can see is darkness." The boy frowned.
"It's Halloween, though. Aren't you supposed to be able to move around a lot more?"
"I... don't know," it admitted.
"Who are you? What are you?"
"Arthur," replied the ghost. "But what I am escapes me. Who are you?"
"Matthew." Frowning, Matthew tilted his head. "Is that... That's an English accent, isn't it? What are you doing here?"
Now it was the ghost's turn to frown. "People can move, can they not? Or are you outlawing that?"
Raising his hands in surrender, Matthew shrugged. "I don't know. I was only asking."
"Ah. Sorry. I'm a little stressed. Being stuck here has made me... quite irritable. I wish I could go out into the rain or be able to see a sunset or sunrise. Or-Or... several things like that. I miss being alive."
"How did you die?"
"I killed myself."
"Ah. Is that what I need to forgive to let you move on?"
"Maybe," agreed Arthur, nodding thoughtfully.
"Well, before I forgive you, I have a question for you." Once the boy looked interested enough, Matthew continued. "Did you ever meet a boy here? Blonde hair, blue eyes. He was called Alfred."
"Alfred?" repeated the ghost. "No... I don't recall an Alfred. I'm sorry."
Matthew surveyed the boy who looked rather apologetic. "I see. I forgive you, then."
They both waited, staring at each other. But nothing happened and Arthur eventually seemed to deflate. "It seems that didn't work..."
"Nope. But I've got a priest coming on Sunday. Maybe that'll do it?"
"Maybe. We can but hope."
At that point, the doorbell rang. Matthew jumped, gasping in surprise. Apparently, it was still early enough for trick-or-treaters. "Sorry," he told Arthur. "I have to go."
"No!" cried Arthur as Matthew turned away. "Wait!"
Ignoring the ghost, Matthew hurried downstairs and grabbed the bowl full of sweets and chocolate and other such treats. There was even a few pieces of optimistic fruit but he had no doubt that he would be eating them instead. Answering the door, he was confronted with a Captain America, a cowboy and a traditional sheet ghost. Chuckling, Matthew proffered the sweets. After a brief conversation about each of their costumes, Matthew let them move on and returned to his room. He went back to the mirror and looked in to see if Arthur was still there.
Surprisingly, instead of disappearing, Arthur was still there. He appeared shocked to see Matthew so soon and gaped at the Canadian. "I... I'm still...?"
"Yeah..." said Matthew, not as enthusiastically as Arthur might have liked. But he was beginning to feel rather uneasy and wasn't sure what to say to the ghost.
Both the young man and the ghost endured a full day of stilted conversation. Matthew was not sure whether to trust him or not, especially since there was the odd occasion when he could hear the whispering. Whereas everything had started with him hearing only Alfred's voice, now there were others, all of them whispering warnings. Run! Don't do it! Stay away!
Finally, Sunday brought Father Brown to the house. He was an older man, his hair greying and disappearing from his shiny dome. Straightening his dog collar, he stepped into the house with a friendly greeting. Before they went upstairs, Matthew explained what had happened and the more recent developments, such as Arthur being able to appear in the mirror in the bedroom. He also told the priest of the psychic's reaction and his own feelings of wishing to be elsewhere.
"I see," said the religious man, nodding solemnly. "It sounds as if you have an evil spirit residing here. No doubt, somebody tried to use witchcraft and summoned a demon of some sort into it."
"Does it have anything to do with my cousin's death?" asked Matthew, worriedly.
"There is a possibility. However, we cannot know for sure and talking to it will not yield any true answers. Shall I bless your room? I can exorcise it after I've made sure you're safe from its evil influences."
"Yes. Thank you, Father," said Matthew, smiling at him briefly before leading the way upstairs. He ushered the priest into the room and glanced in the mirror. Arthur was nowhere to be seen. "He appears in that one."
Nodding, the Father looked around, taking in the unchanged room. Only the sheets on the bed and Matthew's books had been added. The rest of the things and the decorations were entirely Alfred's; neither he nor his aunt wished to get rid of them. Glancing at Matthew the Father looked as though he wanted to say something. However, they were both interrupted by the doorbell.
"Oh!" said Matthew, blinking in surprise. "I should... Will you be okay?"
"I'll be fine, son. Off you go. I will start my preparations."
Trusting the man, Matthew went downstairs and answered the door. It turned out to be one of the neighbours dropping off some dirty clothes: their washing machine had broken and, in the meantime, Aunt Sarah had promised to do it for them. They had a brief, meaningless conversation about how they were and, finally, the woman went back to her own house. Just as Matthew was setting down the rather heavy basket next to their own machine, he heard a scream from upstairs.
With wide eyes, he raced back to his bedroom, throwing the door open. The priest was lying in the middle of the room, his grey hair darkened with blood. An open bottle of water was lying on its side, the contents seeping into the carpet. Beside him, the mirror had landed face down, almost slipping under the bed. One corner was coated in a red substance.
Matthew could only gape at the scene before he thought to call for an ambulance.
Aunt Sarah asked her own questions when Matthew finally got home that night. Thankfully, the priest was still alive. He had woken several hours later and had been able to tell the police that Matthew had nothing to do with the attack – which was lucky, for the detectives had been interrogating him relentlessly since the priest had been stabilised. When he got home, he wanted nothing more than to collapse on his bed but he was intercepted.
"What the hell is going on?" demanded his aunt.
"Ah... Well." Matthew was uncertain if he should tell his aunt about the ghost and the evil residing in the house. If she did, would it harm her mentally? Would she even believe him? "I'm not entirely sure," he settled on, deciding to use a half-truth. After all, how was it a spirit stuck in a mirror had used it to attack a holy man?
"Really?" Aunt Sarah looked both unamused and unimpressed.
"Yeah... I'm going to bed – if that's okay?"
"Fine, fine," sighed Aunt Sarah. "But I want to talk to you about all the odd things going on in this house. A few weeks ago, your room smelled exactly like... like when..." Her voice became strained, suddenly. "When Alfred claimed to be using a new deodorant... But I know he wasn't."
That caught Matthew's attention. He turned back to her, noting her glum and guilty expression. "Aunt Sarah..." he started, slowly. When he had her attention, he bit his lip for a moment before ploughing ahead. "Did... Did Alfred ever mention someone called Arthur to you?"
She looked at him in confusion for a moment before frowning in thought. "I... I think so. Yes. Yes, I remember now. We told him he should get out more but he said something about how, if he went out, Arthur would be upset. We asked him who that was, of course, but he kept quiet."
"Oh, okay." So Arthur had lied to him. What else was he lying about?
"Why do you want to know?"
"Ah. I bumped into someone called Arthur who thought I was Alfred. He was rather shocked that Alfred was... well... And for so long, too. So I wondered how he knew him."
"I see. Poor man. It must be somewhat of a shock to find out news that late."
"Yup. Well. Goodnight," said Matthew, with a smile, eager to get to his bed. After all, he may dislike Arthur for lying but he was just as bad.
One day, not long after the strange incident – for which he had had to make up an entire story for his aunt (which he was sure meant that he would be going straight to hell for lying about a priest) – Matthew went into his bathroom to shave. He had been being lazy, mainly because he hated talking to Arthur. After all, every session was filled with lies from both parties. The mirror in the bedroom had been left face down under the bed. It had crossed his mind that Alfred had left it there for a reason.
Now, though, he looked so scruffy people were starting to frown when he saw him. Or, worse, comment on it. Whenever that happened, Matthew would grimace and have to try to explain. Really, he was getting sick of it and was looking forward to the Christmas holidays when he could go home and see his parents.
"Good morning, Matthew," said Arthur as soon as he came into the room. The Canadian merely grunted in response and began to lather his shaving cream: mornings were not a time for extensive conversation. "It's been a while since you did that," continued Arthur, surveying his face closely. "In fact, it's been a while since I saw you at all."
"Uh huh," said Matthew, vaguely. He was too busy concentrating to give a reply. This one-sided, barbed conversation continued until Matthew had finished and glanced down to wash off his shaver in the sink. When he looked back up, he yelped and jumped backwards, eyes wide at the vision before him.
Instead of his own reflection, the shocked face of Arthur was staring back at him.
"Oh... Oh, my goodness," breathed Arthur. "I-I'm so close!"
"Close? To what?" asked Matthew, suspiciously.
"To the world," answered Arthur. "Maybe if I get out of this mirror, I'll be able to move on!"
Matthew frowned at him. How would they get him out? And what would happen when he got to this side? He felt uneasy again and the warnings he had heard seemed to echo in his head: Don't do it! Run! Get away! Don't listen to him!
Mattie!
Before Matthew could do or say anything, he heard a shout from downstairs. "Oh. Hang on," he told Arthur and hurried to his bedroom door, glad for the distraction. "Yes?" he called down once he had opened it.
"I was just wondering if you could get the wrapped present that's on my bed!"
Considering whether he should indulge her or not, he decided he should get rid of the spirit in the mirror first. "I... Well, I can't! I'm dripping shaving cream everywhere!"
"Okay, forget it – I'll get it myself!"
"'Kay!"
Turning back into the room, he closed the door behind him and leaned against it. Now, how would he get rid of the spirit? Wasn't there something about smashing the mirror? Brightening up with this thought, he hurried to the wardrobe and the drawer beneath it. In it were several of Alfred's prized possessions, including a baseball bat. He wasn't an avid fan, much preferring surfing to baseball, but he had had it signed by some famous player and had kept it ever since. Now, though, it was the perfect weapon.
Returning to Arthur, Matthew noted that his face was still the only one present in the glass. He positioned himself in such a way that he would be able to get a good swing but kept the bat hidden as much as he could. Arthur seemed to notice something was odd.
"What are you doing?" he asked, his eyebrows drawn together. His hopeful, sad face was beginning to look angry and ugly. Matthew took a sense of accomplishment from that and grinned.
"I don't know what you did to Alfred but I know you did something. So, now, I'm going to stop you from getting your way." With that, he raised the bat and turned his head in case of flying glass. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Arthur's wide, green ones. Then he swung with all his might, the metallic grey of the bat blurring until it came into contact with the mirror. There was a loud cracking sound and Matthew watched as Arthur's surprised face was fractured.
A terrible, high-pitched, unearthly scream echoed around the small room and Matthew dropped the bat to cover his ears. Squinting at the spirit, he looked on as the glass shook before shattering completely, tiny bits of glass flying everywhere. The larger bits dropped and Matthew could still see hints of green and blonde stuck forever in the shards.
But that wasn't the end of it. A blast of wind knocked Matthew off his feet, landing sprawled against the opposite wall. When he managed to open his eyes, it was to see that the room had seemed to settle. The glass covered the floor but, apart from that, everything else was still and normal. Blinking, he scrambled to his feet.
Was that it? Was everything over? Matthew wondered if he could relax now. With a huge sigh, he left the bathroom, feeling exhausted.
He froze as soon as he entered the bedroom, staring at a new apparition in shock. For, standing with his back to the window, was Alfred. Shorter than Matthew by around a head, he still had that familiar golden hair and shining blue eyes. The familiar grin was on his face as his eyes lit up.
"Mattie!" he cried. "You did it!"
"I... did?" breathed Matthew before managing to raise his voice. "Alfred. Oh, my God! Al!"
The boy chuckled. "Yup. It's me. Well, what's left of me, anyway."
"What happened?" asked Matthew as he took a step towards his cousin.
"That Arthur dude... thing... whatever – he swapped places with me and took over my body."
"What?!"
"Yeah. Something about wanting to live in the real world or something." Alfred paused and Matthew came closer, still stunned at this development. His cousin turned sombre suddenly, nervously glancing around before returning his gaze to Matthew. "Hey. Do you think I'll be able to go to Heaven now?"
At that, Matthew could feel tears trying to escape. With a quiet sob, he closed the distance and threw his arms around Alfred, hugging him tight. It was surprising and magnificent to be able to feel him again, to hear him, see him. "I thought I'd never see you again!"
"Aw, Mattie," laughed Alfred. "Of course you'd see me again! I mean, I don't want to be on my own for all eternity."
Matthew's brow furrowed. What did that mean? He pulled back, holding Alfred at arm's length. Before he could do any more than open his mouth to speak, a sharp pain sliced its way into his chest. With a gasp, Matthew's hand shot up and he tried to curl up on himself. However, he found that he was held up by some unknown force. Looking down, his eyes widened at the sight.
Alfred's hand was inside his chest: all Matthew could see was Alfred's arm ending at the wrist right where the pain was.
"Wh-Wha-?" stuttered Matthew. Suddenly, he started coughing and he instinctively moved his hand to cover his mouth. When he drew it away, it was covered in blood and he could hazard a guess at what was dribbling down his chin.
Tilting his head, Alfred smiled warmly at Matthew. "Hey, hey now. Don't worry. I've found a way to stop being so lonely forever and ever and ever." His smile turned into a wide grin. "Don't run off when you get out and stay with me, okay? Can you promise me that?"
Staring at him in horror, Matthew backed away, his legs feeling as though they might give out. Alfred's hand was removed from his body, blood covering it and slowly dripping to the floor. Matthew shook his head. This was a nightmare, it had to be. Why would Alfred try to kill him? It couldn't be real.
But the pain was immense and seemed to be flooding through his body. It forced him to his knees. He looked back up at Alfred, trying to speak, but every time he opened his mouth, he would cough up more blood. The teenager stood over him, watching rather impassively, a small and expectant smile on his face.
"Come on, Mattie. Tell me you'll stay. Mattie. Come on. Mattie. Mattie. Mattie, Mattie, Mattie!" And Alfred began to sing his name over and over again, bouncing on the spot and clapping his hands together.
As Matthew's vision began to blur and darkness ate at the edges, the last thing he could clearly see was Alfred's grin...
It took too long for Mattie to die, in Alfred's opinion. He wanted to start having fun as soon as possible. They could prank his mom until they brought her to this plane of existence, too. But he could only watch as he waited, clenching the hand which had given the fatal blow and relaxing it again, over and over.
Finally, Mattie stopped breathing and, slowly, a faint substance rose from his body. It took on the vague shape of Mattie, complete with glasses, before tilting till it seemed to be standing, floating just above his body. For a few seconds, it gaped at Alfred, the fear clear in his eyes. Alfred found that fear funny and giggled.
"Yay! Now we can- Wait, what are you doing?" Alfred demanded as the spirit began to rise towards the ceiling. "I thought you promised to stay!" he shouted, angry now. How dare Mattie lie to him! "Don't you leave me here! I don't want to be here alone!" The panic with which Alfred took a step towards his cousin made the spirit stop for a second. Then it continued on as if there had been no interruption. Mattie disappeared through the ceiling and was soon gone from sight.
Enraged, Alfred turned to the bookcase and pulled the books from it, sending them flying everywhere. Then he used his spiritual energy to make everything shake, stomping his foot as he did so, loud thumping noises issuing from where his foot cracked the floorboards. The windows rattled and one of them eventually shattered which quickly brought Alfred back to himself. Everything ceased all at once.
Of course, it didn't matter if Mattie had moved on without his permission. After all, he could always find someone else. And, as if on cue, someone else made their presence known.
"Matthew? Are you all right?" called his mother.
Grinning, Alfred turned to the door. How could he have forgotten his mom? How silly. Stifling a giggle, he walked to the closed door – leaving a trail of blood – and passed through it. The rest of the blood on his hand was left as a smear on the wood as the room settled into silence, the shadows that did not belong there sniggering in amusement.
I mentioned I was writing this on Tumblr (I think there's still a link in my profile, if you're interested but it's not that great) and Zeplerfer asked for a happy ending. Alfred's happy making a fatal reign of terror - does that count?
He may have went a bit mad over the years left in the dark with ghosts for company. (Although, he feels as if he's on his own because no-one really talks to him which is why he doesn't want to be alone any more.) But the ending with him killing Matthew was the only reason I decided to write this.
The moral of this story, by the way, is that mirrors aren't safe. Particularly that one - see Arthur at all and you die. So... be careful out there. Particularly since Matthew released all the souls Arthur had been collecting. And the shadow people who seem to think it's funny that they've caused Alfred to go a bit insane.
By the way, the priest called him a demon but Arthur isn't. He's a spirit who is now dead forever. And all the bits of him are stuck in that broken mirror. The police were confused as to why the mirror only showed bits of green and blonde, though no-one ever did put it back together. Otherwise they would have another mystery of why a mirror had the image of some teenage boy in it.
There are so many spirits trapped in that mirror, by the way, that, when Arthur is on the prowl, their own spiritual activity seeps out. They can make things move and make it feel cold and stuff.
I think that's it. Remember, mirrors are dangerous.
