The Crow Behind the Mirror_Book One of the Mirror Wars

by Sean M. Hogan

He inched forward. Able said there would be consequences, but of what nature he was intentionally vague. Eric had to know whether she was still alive or dead. He inched closer.

  A veil curtained a figure within.

  Closer still he inched in, fighting the urge to blink for fear of missing any signs of life.

  The figure’s head moved, turning with purpose.

  His eyes widened.

  The wind grabbed hold of the veil ripping it from the face. The shadows melted off in the moonlight exposing a horror he had never know before. A monstrous skeletal face—dipped in black oil—lunged at him. Its mouth gaping, teeth baring, and shrieking a blood chilling inhuman shrill.

  He fell backward, landing hard against the stone floor scraping his temple raw. He fought back the pain on sheer adrenaline and, in a feverish panic, he dove for the two crystals with his last conscious breath. Their light snuffed out as he closed his fist around them. Eric’s world faded to black.

  CHAPTER 5

  The Crow

  ABSOLUTE DARKNESS. Sharon opened her eyes to sheer void. Her hands in front of her face muted by blinding night. She felt the ground, smooth as glass and devoid of any dirt or oil. Rising to her feet she walked a few steps before the panic struck and she took flight, running as fast as her feet would let her, screaming for someone, anyone. She stopped, caught her breath, and sprinted off in another direction. Again and again, she changed directions until exhaustion set in and her lungs were on fire. Only then did the tears flow.

  A crack snaked out in the darkness behind her, leaking golden light like fractured tinted glass. She turned in time to witness the golden cracks expand, parting way like the opening of a hungry mouth, shattering the darkness in a silent scream of light. She shielded her narrowing eyes with her forearms as an enormous golden eye emerged, glowing as bright as a blazing sun. Flames leaped out, transforming into the tongues of serpents licking and distorting the air with waves of heat. The eye’s shape was held together by thousands of living fused crows. The crows flapped their wings, squawking and pecking in torment. They vibrated to a blur of wet paint, each in their own separate rhythms and unique fluctuations. Their horrible cries deafening, their pain and anguish seeping into Sharon’s skin and filling her stomach with sickness.

  Sharon vomited. Her knees buckled and she toppled backward, hitting her head on a stone. She curled in agony, cupping the back of her head, her blood pouring onto the smooth floor. The blood painted the stone red, giving it dimension and form, resurrecting it from the darkness. She lunged for the stone and hurled it at the eye with all her strength. The stone crashed dead center shattering the eye into shards of golden glass. The darkness melted away and the light spilled in.

  Peering through the light, she staggered back a few paces in disbelief. Sharon was now back at the same gargoyle-infested mansion the crow had led her to yesterday afternoon. She stood in the backyard, huddling from the night’s breeze, a few feet from the basement cellar doors. She felt the back of her head and discovered it dry. No blood.

  “What the hell...” she muttered shaking her head. Was it all a dream? Was she walking in her sleep? She had never done such a thing before.

  The crow... he tricked me, invaded my mind, and possessed my body. He brought me here for another go.

  A light flickered on in the third story window. She focused on the window itself, now a spider’s web of broken glass.

  The stone I threw at the eye... No, I smashed the window in its place.

  “Who’s down there?” a voice boomed down at Sharon.

  She spotted a shadow move across the room toward the window.

  “Crap,” she cursed under her breath.

  “I’m armed and I’m calling the police!” A figure peered down through the jagged glass hole Sharon just conveniently installed. “You—girl—stop right there!”

  Sharon took off in a mad sprint toward the gate. She got to the middle of the street before two blinding beams of light froze her in place.

  The police officer slammed on his brakes with the force of a bucking bull. He spilled his hot coffee and box of doughnuts all over his crotch as his squad car shrieked to a sudden halt just inches from Sharon.

  They locked eyes.

  The cop turned on his siren and flashing red and blue lights.

  Sharon cringed. Busted.

  ***

  “Assault, trespassing, and vandalism all in one day. You seem to be working overtime, Miss Ashcraft,” said the overweight police officer with a bushy orange mustache as he glanced over at Sharon. She sulked across from his desk while he sipped his new cup of coffee with extra care. “Luckily, we bumped into each other when we did, huh?”

  “Yeah—lucky me,” Sharon groaned, utterly humiliated by the fact she was stuck in a police station while wearing her pajamas.

  Another police officer opened the main entrance doors and pointed Sharon out from a distance. To Sharon’s horror, her mother stepped on through. Grace’s face was a glorious mixture of anger, shame, and utter disappointment. Sharon braced herself as her mother marched over.

  “What were you thinking?” Grace stood almost on top of Sharon and blasted the words out like an old Civil War cannon. “You could have hurt someone or worse!”

  “It was an accident,” Sharon said with the volume of a mouse’s squeak.

  “Right, you just accidentally snuck out of the house in the dead of night and broke some poor man’s window.”

  “Would you believe me if I said I was sleepwalking?”

  “Please tell me you’re not on drugs.”

  “No.”

  “Are you robbing homes to steal money for drugs?”

  “God no, Mom, you’re embarrassing me.”

  “You? I’m the one who’s embarrassed here. Your actions are a reflection of my parenting.” Tears swelled in Grace’s eyes. “I’m not a bad mother.”

  “There’s also the matter of some other property damage.” The officer checked his computer. “It seems you broke a vase.”

  “From the Ming Dynasty to be exact and quite priceless.”

  Sharon froze. She’d heard that voice before—just hours earlier at the mansion.

  She turned to the voice.

  A regal man in his sixties hobbled over, leaning on an ivory cane for support. The cane was garnished with an artful African design that spiraled downward to the tip and a jackal’s head carved into the handle. He wore an old-fashioned tan suit framed with a golden bowtie that looked like it hadn’t been in vogue since the twenties. However, despite his age and disability, an aching chronic case of arthritis, he carried himself with an air of dignity and pride. He was somebody important.

  “The Emperor of China once entertained foreign diplomats and political dignitaries with that vase,” he said, overemphasizing his elegant English accent. “Now it’s a jigsaw puzzle.” He shifted his gaze to Sharon. “I suppose I have this hooligan to thank for that.”

  Sharon glared at him.

  He shot a cocky smirk back.

  “Alex?” Grace asked, dumbfounded. “Alexander Morrie? Is that really you?”

  Morrie adjusted his thick glasses, squinted hard, and sized her up head to toe before breaking a smile. “It’s been awhile Grace,” he said laughing and stretching out his arms. “It warms my heart to see you again in such good health.”

  Grace embraced him, hugging him the way one would a grandparent. Sharon looked on with suspicion. Old people were not to be trusted.

  “My god, I haven’t seen you since Sharon’s baptism. How have you been?”

  “Fine... fine... and don’t worry Mrs. Ashcraft, I don’t intend on pressing charges. Granted justice is served.” Morrie glanced at Sharon.

  She glared back.

  “Perhaps some time in juvenile hall will teach you to respect Mr. Morrie’s property,” the officer said as condescendingly as possible.

  “What?” Sharon shrieked. “This is bull! None of this would’ve happened if it wasn’t for that damn crow.�
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  The old man’s face hardened to stone. “Crow?” He placed his hand on Sharon’s shoulder. “What’s this business about a crow?”

  Sharon and Morrie locked narrowing eyes, suspicion written on both their faces.

  Grace defused the tension in the air as she took Morrie by the arm. “Would you excuse us for a moment?” she asked the officer, escorting Morrie out toward the hallway. “I need to speak with Mr. Morrie alone.”

  Sharon and the police officer just stared at each other for an awkward moment as they waited. A black ticking clock became their elevator music. She took a mint from the bowl of candy reserved for guests on his desk. He made her put it back.

  ***

  Grace rested her head against the hallway window and observed the birds, they glided above as if they were carving out their individual worlds from the clouds and the orange-dyed sunrise. The sun peeked over the horizon while dark thick clouds gathered in the south.

  “Looks like rain is coming,” she said, peering beyond the horizon. Almost as if she was searching for the right words and if she looked hard enough she’d find them written across the sky in white smoke. “I’m sorry we have to meet again under—”

  She stopped herself, the words too painful. The truth was the last time she and Morrie met wasn’t at Sharon’s baptism. It was five years later. The night the only man she ever loved disappeared. She had come to Morrie’s doorstep for answers. He had none to give.

  “I just don’t know what’s gotten into her. I swear we become more like strangers every day.”

  Morrie, seeing her pain, took his place by her side and followed her gaze out to the horizon. “Your daughter is supposed to hate you, Grace. You wouldn’t be doing your job if she didn’t.” He grinned, tilting his head in closer to her. “What your daughter needs is an introduction to a belt.” He was half-joking, trying his best to lighten the mood.

  She didn’t break her focus, her face still and somber. “What my daughter needs is her father.”

  Morrie’s face saddened as he took in her words. He placed his hand over hers on the window’s ledge and locked eyes with her. “I wish I knew where your husband was, Grace. But for whatever reason he left. It must have been a damn good one to leave a woman like you behind.”

  Grace’s smile returned, her face lighting up the way the sun lit up the morning sky.

  “I suppose we can work out a punishment for Sharon that both of us can be satisfied with,” he said.

  “Eric was always an excellent judge of character.” She placed her arms around him, gently pulling him in for a hug and kissing the top of his forehead. “I guess that’s why he chose you as a friend.”

  He gave her a genuine smile. “Your faith in that man astounds even me.”

  A tear ran down the side of Grace’s cheek. “Sometimes faith is all one has.”

  ***

  Sharon had spent most of the Saturday morning car ride staring out the window, watching the passing scenery, and not talking to her mother. She spent most of the past week like this. Since getting suspended from school she remained grounded in her room, stuck in solitary confinement without the aid of electronic entertainment. Her iPhone, tablet, and laptop under lock and key. The only thing she had left to look forward to now was dinner spent in silence across the table from her mother. Neither making an effort for polite conversation nor eye contact. Sharon’s solution was to eat quickly.

  “I don’t see why I have to waste my weekends helping some old geezer out,” Sharon grumbled, breaking the unbearable quiet. “Something about him gives me the creeps.” She thought of his expression when she mentioned the crow, his eyes reeking with fear.

  He’s hiding something. I’m sure of it.

  “Tough luck,” Grace said, without averting her gaze from the road. “You vandalized his home. Now you can help clean it. You’re lucky Mr. Morrie was kind enough not to make both our lives difficult.”

  Sharon opened her mouth to protest, but her mother cut her short.

  “So, you will be on your best behavior and you will treat him with the utmost respect while you work off your debts.”

  Sharon fumed in silence, her black leather jacket scrunching as she crossed her arms. She had made a point of dressing as rebelliously as possible this morning, sporting a pair of black torn jeans and some punk biker boots to drive the point home.

  “Got it?” Grace’s voice cracked, jolting Sharon from her slumped posture to a straight up position in her seat.

  Sharon nodded with wide eyes. “Yes.”

  “Besides, Mr. Morrie’s health has been fading with his age and he can no longer keep up with the day-to-day maintenance of his home. So, this is an opportunity for you to help someone in need and grow as a person. It’s the Christian thing to do.”

  “Too bad I’m not Christian,” Sharon snapped.

  Grace bit down on her teeth, vice-gripped the steering wheel, and slammed on the brakes.

  The car skidded to an abrupt stop in front of Morrie’s mansion.

  Sharon had gone too far this time. Her lack of faith had always been a sore issue and a source of much of the conflict between the two over the years. And one of the main reasons her mother enrolled her into Catholic school. To bring her back on the right path. Another thing Sharon resented her for. Grace believed her daughter just needed time to come around. Sharon thought her mother was delusional. Both never giving an inch.

  Grace unlocked the car doors, the lock knobs shot up violently with a click. “Get out.”

  Sharon stepped out onto the sidewalk and slammed the door behind her. She shot a glare back.

  Her mother stared ahead, taking off with a roar of the car engine and squealing tires.

  Sharon turned her attention to Morrie. He stood outside his front door, leaning against his cane and shaking his head with a smirk. She marched up to him, doing her best to avoid eye contact.

  “Ah, if it isn’t Little Miss Felon,” joked Morrie. “With you here I wonder what the police will do with all their newly acquired free time.”

  “Just show me what you want done so we can both get on with our lives,” she said gritting her teeth.

  “No manners what-so-ever. In my day, little girls greeted their superiors with a smile and a curtsy.”

  She glared at him. “Well, things have changed a little since the Renaissance. I’m sure you’ll adjust.”

  He stared her down unfazed. “As will you.”

  ***

  Morrie pushed against the front door and it swung open with a creaking ache. Sharon stepped through into the shadows. He flipped on the lights and she was greeted by a cobweb-infested mansion. No, it was more museum than mansion. She scanned the walls, each one filled with more than a lifetime of hoarded artifacts and ancient foreign treasures from civilizations scattered across the globe.

  “Welcome to my humble abode,” said Morrie.

  She cringed at an old hideous shriveled up African boar’s head mounted above the front doors. Its mouth gaping and eyes glossy with thick milky fog.

  “Creepy,” she said, scrunching up her nose in a sour expression.

  “Yes, well, let’s get the ground rules straight,” he said as they toured the living room. “There will be no touching of the artifacts, no blaring of your hippie-hop music, no party fouling, no joyriding, and—”

  Sharon enacted an invisible battle with an old Zulu spear she found, stabbing an imaginary enemy. Ancient killing tools had a way of bringing out her inner child.

  “—no touching of the artifacts.” He yanked the spear from her hands.

  A fancy bronze plaque ensnared her short attention span. An award for teaching. She brushed away the dust and read the inscription. “So, you’re a professor of archaeology?”

  “Aren’t you the quick one.”

  “So—Professor Morrie—do you like animals? Apart from the decapitated ones, of course.”

  “What are you getting at?”

  “Got any pets I should be aware of?” s
he asked with a raised eyebrow.

  “Don’t worry. I don’t have any dogs if that’s what you mean. I have neither the time nor the patience.”

  “Really?” she pried. “Not even for a cat or a bird?”

  He studied her face. It was obvious what she was after. The crow.

  “Come, there’s much work to be done,” he said, deflecting the question and pushing on ahead.

  Sharon gave one last glance back at the boar’s head, before following Morrie. “Creepy.” Her final verdict.

  ***

  A light bulb flickered on above Sharon and Morrie, illuminating a large storage closet. An assortment of cleaning supplies, brooms, mops, and old-fashioned vacuums lined the walls.

  “From now on you’re going to be my new errand boy... errand girl,” he said, giving her a glance. “Your job will be to keep this place clean and orderly. Hopefully, you’ll do better than the last one.”

  “Last one?” she asked. “What happened? You scare him off with old reruns of Bonanza and stale peppermint candy?”

  He snatched up a broom. “This is called a broom. You use this end to sweep. Am I going too fast?”

  “Light speed.”

  “Good to see they do teach you things in the farce they call modern education.” He tossed her the broom. “How about we start with the basement?”

  His words put her visibly off balance. The basement, her final destination, the crow’s deathtrap. She took a step back, entertaining the thought of running while she still had a chance.

  “Is something wrong?” he asked, giving her an odd look.

  “No, nothing’s wrong,” she lied.

  He tugged the dangling brass chain, and the light bulb fizzled out.

  ***

  Aged photographs and framed, weathered news clippings decorated the piano room, filling up the black piano with old memories and past regrets. Most were caked with dust, muting the figures in the photos to faceless phantoms. Morrie led Sharon into the room.