The Crow Behind the Mirror_Book One of the Mirror Wars

by Sean M. Hogan

“Published under different aliases of course, but your writing style gave you away like a sore thumb. That’s not what interests me though. It’s the fact that they were published over sixty years ago. Quite the feat for a forty-year-old man, don’t you think?”

  Eric tightened his grip over his cane.

  “I know there’s more to your story than what you’ve told me.”

  His voice devolved to a growl. “Haven’t you heard the term curiosity killed the cat?”

  Morrie called his bluff with a grin. “Then it is my good fortune that I do not drink my milk from a saucer. Shall we start with those exquisite little gems around your neck? And I want the truth.”

  Eric grabbed the two crystals dangling from his necklace, snuffing out their light inside his fist, and tucked them underneath his shirt. “What you’re looking for is not truth, Alex. What you’re looking for...” He paused, taking in a heap of air to quell his pounding heart. “...I can’t give you.” He turned his back on Morrie and headed down the street.

  “Fairies, unicorns, dragons,” Morrie said with childlike enthusiasm. “They’re all real, aren’t they?”

  “Good day to you, Alex.”

  “You’ve seen empires rise and fall. Entire worlds fade into the sand. I just want the same gift.”

  Eric stopped and spun around to face Morrie, his face reddening. “You know nothing. Just like her! She thought she could escape too. But there is always a price. Always,” he shouted, his sudden outburst catching Morrie off guard.

  Morrie staggered a few paces back. He had never seen his mentor this enraged before.

  “That is the curse of being an absolute.” He fought back tears as he forced the words out from his mouth. “The horrors you see—what I’ve seen...” He locked eyes with Morrie, passion overtaking him. “You know nothing.”

  Eric stormed off to his stagecoach. His driver opened the door for him and he stepped inside. After shutting the door behind him the driver took his place at the helm, taking hold of the horse’s reigns. But before he could motion to his driver Morrie opened the door and hopped up inside, plopping down on the seat across from him.

  “Then teach me, professor,” said Morrie.

  The veins in Eric’s neck pulsed as his face reddened. “Get out.”

  “You can’t run forever.” He folded his arms and crossed his legs. “At least not from me.”

  Eric collected himself, gazing out the window in deep thought, his leg shaking uncontrollably. At last, he motioned to his driver and they started off down the road, kicking up a cloud of dust into the air.

  “Excellent,” said Morrie, proudly wearing his victory on his face. “Now I want to know everything. Even the ugly bits.”

  CHAPTER 7

  Through the Looking-Glass

  SHARON SWATTED BACK A CLOUD of dust as she surveyed the basement. Night had already set in and she was still only halfway done and poorly at that. Each time she finished one section she’d discover more dirt and filthy disasters lurking behind boxes and under shelves. She plopped down on one of the cardboard boxes with a long sigh of defeat and glanced over at her reflection in the mirror. Gone was the perfect model she had last posed as, and in her place a pitiful, dust riddled, make-up smudged, and hair frizzed mess of a creature. Sharon cringed at the sobering sight of reality, trying her best to wipe the dirt from her face. She failed miserably at that as well, smearing and mixing the dirt with her make-up and sweat.

  Now she wished she had never put on make-up in the first place. Not like there’s anyone to impress here anyways. That is, aside from one grumpy old man and a few wandering house spiders. And Morrie was beyond manipulation through feminine charms. I’d have better luck with the spiders. Less abrasive. But at least here, alone, she could clear her mind, focus her thoughts, and think of an excuse to get out of coming back to Morrie’s tomorrow morning.

  A shadow moved over her.

  She gazed up.

  The crow was in the reflection of the mirror, perching on the middle step on the stairs behind her. She spun around. No crow, just empty stairs. She turned back to the mirror. The crow was still on the stairs in the reflection, staring back with bottomless charcoal eyes. He hopped down to the mirror and tapped the glass with his slender beak. The reflection in the glass distorted with liquid ripples, like the crow was stabbing a pond with his beak. She inched over, examining the mirror from a distance. Nothing looked out of the ordinary. She checked behind the mirror and found nothing but the back of the solid silver frame.

  “Another one of your tricks?” Sharon asked, kneeling to the crow’s eye level. “So, you got me here.” She locked eyes with the crow. “What the hell do you want from me?”

  The crow pressed his beak to the glass. A hint.

  She stretched out her hand toward the crow, extending her index finger to the glass. When her finger connected with the crow’s beak the reflection in the mirror flooded with blue light. The light rippled out in vibrant pulses and dazzling rays of pure energy. The image dissolved away revealing a new reflection. An ancient stone temple’s interior appeared before Sharon, snow and ice blanketing the walls and much of the floor.

  “Whoa.” She removed her finger from the mirror. “So now what?”

  A cold breeze blasted Sharon with the force of a bucking pony. She curled up into a ball, tucking in her knees and wrapping her arms around her chest. Quelling her chattering teeth, she slowly turned from the mirror. She gasped, finding herself inside the ancient temple room. She spun back to the mirror. No, it was a different mirror, both in design and markings. It was if she had traveled through Morrie’s mirror and came out on the other side of this one.

  She gazed down to find not one but two crows. One in the reflection and the other standing before her feet on the cold stone floor.

  “What the hell…” Is this another dream?

  The crow took to the air, flying over Sharon’s head and out the temple window.

  She slowly rose to her feet and followed the crow. Please let this be another dream. When she got to the window, she froze in place.

  An alien pink sky stretched over the horizon. Dark murky clouds floated above snow covered forests and mountains. A huge moon orbited above in broad daylight.

  Sharon had gone through the looking-glass, like the infamous Alice before her, and stepped out into her own personal wonderland of horrors.

  “No, no, no, no...” The sole word Sharon could utter. “No!”

  She ran back to the mirror, slamming her hand against the glass with a loud wobbling thud. She clenched her eyes shut, waited a few painful seconds, and opened them. Nothing changed. She was still in the temple.

  She panicked, banging her fists against the glass. “Work damn it, work. Take me back. Open sesame, please...” She rested her head against the glass, defeated. “Okay, just stay calm,” she told herself, taking in rhythmic breaths to subdue her racing heart and shaking hands. “Calming down. Calming down. Calming down.” She exhaled a heap of breath. “And calm. Now think Sharon, think.” She cleared her mind. “The crow.” If he brought me here, then he can take me back. But how do I catch him?

  Another shadow moved over her. She turned. The shadow’s source was coming from the stairs in the back of the temple. Something’s coming down. She rose to her feet.

  “Alright, you flying rat. Come out. I need you to...”

  What came down wasn’t the crow. The shadow belonged to another animal. A snarling wolf-like beast with hooves and sharp spiraled antlers sprouting out from its head.

  The gray furred beast with black tiger stripes lurched toward her in a predatory stalk. A stance that gave Sharon a deep instinctual chill down her spine. Its two pure black eyes fixed on her, unwavering and unrelenting, as it bared its fangs with a baboon-like curl of its top lip and vocalized a lion’s chatter.

  “And no longer calm.”

  Sharon took off in a mad sprint to the temple doors.

  The creature chased after her.

  PAR
T TWO

  The Ritual and the Walkabout

  CHAPTER 8

  Hunter’s Moon

  SHARON’S FEET HIT THE SNOW. After sinking down to her knees, she fell forward and her face crushed the soft virgin snow. She dug her hands deep until they hit solid ground underneath the powdered snow, regained her balance, and pushed off. She glanced back to the temple doors. They had no lock but they were heavy, carved from stone, buying her a few precious seconds as the hooved wolf pounded against them.

  At last, it ripped the doors open, splitting them apart with its antlers in a single powerful upward thrust, and stalked into the sunlight.

  Sharon sized up her pursuer. Its ribs were visible and its flashing gums pale. Clearly the beast hadn’t eaten in some time. Whether or not this was to her advantage, she had no desire to stick around and find out. She scrambled to her feet.

  The hooved wolf spotted her and bolted into the snow. But once it hit the deep snow it stumbled, having as much trouble as Sharon.

  She kept digging and pushing forward, but fell again when she reached an even deeper patch of snow.

  The hooved wolf lunged, leaping into the air and descending upon her.

  It missed by inches, caving deeper into the snow than even her, scraping her side with its antlers as it thrashed and struggled, drawing blood.

  She bit her bottom lip, muffling her scream.

  Unable to find stable footing, the haggard creature toppled over.

  Sharon recovered quickly, digging herself out of the heavy snow, and reached the foot of a hill. She climbed like a madwoman in a delirious frenzy. The hill was steep and littered with jagged rocks that cut into her palms as she pulled herself up. She glanced back.

  The hooved wolf made it out of the deep snow and darted up the hill after her. To her horror, it was a better climber than her, armed with sharp hooves and powerful leg muscles. Her soft palms and worn out boots paled in comparison.

  She grabbed hold of the end of a boulder on her left side. But before she could pull herself up the boulder gave way, tumbling down.

  The hooved wolf leaped off the hill, just narrowly dodging the huge rock.

  Sharon made it to the top of the hill, pulling herself up and over, not stopping to look back this time. She ran down the other end of the hill to a frozen lake below.

  She sprinted on top of the ice, hoping to gain more speed and distance from her pursuer, but it was like trying to run across a skating rink. She lost her balance and slipped on the ice, landing on her ass with a painful thud and slide.

  Once she slid to a stop she took the opportunity to catch her breath and look around. Empty forest in every direction. I’m alone. Good. I think I lost him...

  Off in the distance a howl echoed out, rattling Sharon more than the cold ever could.

  Crap.

  She trained her ears to the woods. Behind her another howl sounded off, louder than the one before. A third howl echoed out, a different direction this time, to her left side and closer.

  Crap. Crap. Crap!

  Sharon was no longer dealing with just one ravenous beast but a whole pack.

  ***

  The forest canopy had kept the snow from piling up. The pack of hooved wolves gained full speed as they raced across the forest floor. One, two, three, four predators, united with one singular purpose. The pack weaved between trees and bushes in a focused gallop, hunting Sharon down in an instinctual flawless formation. They stopped and circled in unison, sniffing the ground and combing every inch of dirt coated snow and frozen leaves. One picked up Sharon’s scent, gave out a chatter of its teeth, and changed course. The others followed suit.

  ***

  Sharon spotted a fallen hollowed-out tree ahead of her. She made it inside just in time to avoid snapping jaws a breath from her feet.

  The hooved wolf lunged farther into the mouth of the hollowed-out tree, its antlers scraping the insides like rusty nails across glass. Its lips curled, exposing glistening fangs, as puffs of white-hot stench leaked out from its throat.

  Wham!

  Sharon kicked it back, giving it a mouthful of boot. It grabbed hold of her boot and started dragging her. She clutched to the innards of the tree, raking her nails against the hardwood till they broke. The boot gave way and the hooved wolf fell backward, rolling into the snow.

  She crawled to the center of the tree, minus one shoe but still in one piece, hoping their antlers would prevent them from squeezing all the way in. The tree rocked with the clatter of hooves above. She gazed up.

  The other three hooved wolves circled Sharon in her little wooden deathtrap. They took turns jumping on and off the tree, searching for another way in. She was running out of time. Even mice with pea-sized brains could navigate through obstacle courses to earn their prize, their cheese at the end of the maze. And predators like wolves were smarter than dogs, possessing bigger brains for organized, social hunting. And four brains working together on one goal divided her time horridly. The one on top of the tree dug in a frenzy—spraying bark into the air—chiseling away the cold brittle wood with its sharp hooves.

  Light broke free, shooting down on Sharon in tiny beams. Splinters and wood-chips sprinkled over her head and into her hair as the hooved wolf stripped apart the bark. She had to do something and fast.

  “Get off my log,” she screamed as she slammed her shoulder against the side of the hollowed-out tree. She planned to shake the hooved wolf off but only managed to stall its dig. She put all her weight into it the second time and the tree gave way, wobbling out of its resting place.

  The hooved wolf lost its balance and fell off. Another one jumped on.

  Sharon kept pushing, rolling the log away and praying she wouldn’t hit another tree. She got her wish when the tree moved on its own, rolling down the mountain and picking up speed.

  The hooved wolves backed off.

  She spun inside like she was stuck in a dryer, tumbling with the socks and underwear. The log launched off a rocky ledge—slamming into another tree down below with a terrible crash. Sharon felt the whack of her head against the cracking wood, her body becoming weightless, the cold snow, and… nothing.

  ***

  A hooved wolf with charcoal black fur and one eye emerged from the brush, sniffing the ground, tracking Sharon’s scent. The beast paced about searching from a less steep and hazardous way down the mountain.

  Whoosh. Thud.

  An arrow zipped through the air—slicing the cold wind—and struck the hooved wolf in the chest. The poor creature slumped to the ground like a tumbling stack of sandbags. A weak whimper poured out with its choking breaths, each one fainter than the one that proceeded it. Its dim yellow eye overflowed with tears, distorting the image of a small boy with light brown hair.

  The boy was dressed head to toe in animal fur garments, his somber eyes pale gray. He knelt beside the hooved wolf, stroking its bristled icy fur, and rested his hand on its chest. His hand rose and fell with each breath as if adrift at sea and riding the dying waves to shore. Finally, his hand grew still and the darkness came for the antlered creature. The spark in its eye was gone, slipping right between the boy’s fingers and passing on like a floating balloon drifting behind clouds never to grace the soil and flesh again.

  “So, this is him? The one who took Mom and Dad?” asked the boy, turning to the thick of the woods.

  “No, it’s not him, Matthew,” a voice rang out. “It’s not the monster.”

  A knight stepped out from the shadows. Polished plated armor glistened in the sunlight. A golden lion coat of arms sigil graced across the chest plate. A fur cloak flapped in the wind. His face hidden behind a golden mask molded in the shape of a man’s face, expressionless and cold like a Greek god with hollowed-out eyes. He stalked out with bow in hand, another arrow pulled back against the string, ready to be fired again if necessary.

  Matthew turned to face the knight.

  “His coloring is different and he didn’t have antlers,” he said, walking ove
r to the hooved wolf. He yanked out the arrow. “But good riddance all the same...”

  Suddenly, he froze in place.

  “What’s wrong?” asked Matthew.

  “Human tracks,” he answered, kneeling to the ground to examine the footprints in the snow. “And they’re fresh.”

  “Up here? That’s impossible. Not in this weather and not this deep into pig-run territory.”

  A howl echoed in the distant forest. Matthew and the knight both glanced back at each other in unison. They knew what the howl meant. The hooved wolves were hunting. And human was on the menu.

  ***

  It was a beautiful sunny day. Perfect. Sharon was attending class in her cheerfully colored underwear. Rows of empty desks surrounded her while Morrie scribbled on the chalkboard. He wore a bright yellow suit with smiley stickers spread about it like polka dots and, oddly, scuba flippers. But that wasn’t the problem.

  Sharon gazed down with frustration at the sheet of paper in front of her. A very important exam that would decide the rest of her academic future. Unfortunately, the words were all jumbles and scribbles dancing and vibrating on the page. She panicked as the clock’s hands spun wildly in opposite directions. They came to an abrupt stop. The clock blared out a loud alarm buzz.

  “Time’s up. Pencils down,” said Morrie.

  She peered up at Morrie. But he didn’t move. He just stood there with his back to her. She tried to speak, to ask for more time, but found her mouth sealed shut with dozens of Band-Aids.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked, turning at last.

  To her horror, his eyes were gone and in their place two crow heads, black as sin, violently thrashing, vibrating, and shrieking high pitch shrills.

  Oil spilled out of Morrie’s mouth. His voice melted to something truly demonic. “You stuck?”

  ***