Happy Little Horrors

by Reuben, David

  I heard Kate start to cry from her bassinet in the master bedroom. Just as I turned my head toward her sound, I saw a quick shadow pass by the mirror. I froze as I realized the shadow didn’t move across the wall behind the mirror. It didn’t even pass along the frame. I shuddered, blamed it on being overly tired, and made a mental note to have Jake look at it to see if he noticed anything strange.

  ***

  The next several nights passed without incident. When I got up with Kate, I only had to go to the family room a few times. When I did, I avoided looking at the mirror and walked past it as quickly as I could. Though I didn’t tell him why, Jake checked out the mirror and said the only strange thing he could see was a hand print that didn’t want to come off when he cleaned it. I looked at the print and rubbed it with my finger. It seemed to be inside the glass, but that couldn’t be. We figured the mirror was so old, the print had just become part of its charm. I felt foolish for allowing my dream to influence my imagination.

  During the following days, I didn’t have time to think about the mirror. I discovered that having two children was not twice as hard as having one; it was ten times as hard. The days only got more difficult when Jake went back to work. Hunter wanted to be held much more than usual, and I found myself having to tell him no as Kate became increasingly fussy. It seemed I never had time to myself and was overwhelmed with the laundry that was piling up, the dirty dishes in the sink, and the toys scattered throughout the house.

  Depression started to engulf me like a dark fog. Getting out of bed in the morning was becoming more difficult with each passing day. I went from being a great mom in my mind to a complete failure. Nothing I did was good enough for my children, for my husband, or for myself. Kate seemed to cry all the time and all she wanted to do was be held. Her cries no longer brought out my maternal instincts. Instead, they set off anxiety attacks, causing shortness of breath and numbness that started in my fingertips and made its way up my arms. At the same time, Hunter wanted my constant attention and I just couldn’t give it to him. Jake worried about me as I withdrew from him. I felt myself shutting down, and I hated myself for it. My greatest fear was becoming a reality. I was becoming my mom.

  ***

  One chilly October night, when Kate was just over twelve weeks old, I woke up and couldn’t fall back asleep. The glowing numbers on the bedside alarm told me it was one o’clock. I got out of bed and made my way down the hall. I didn’t have a destination in mind, but I needed to go somewhere to get away from my thoughts. For some reason, I wasn’t surprised when I found myself in front of my mom’s mirror. The moonlight shining through the blinds was just bright enough to allow me to see my reflection. I felt no fear as I stood there, scrutinizing my face to see if I looked as empty as I felt inside. My blond hair, blue eyes, and petite bone structure contrasted everything I remembered about my mom, yet gradually my face changed until it was hers I saw staring back at me.

  She was saying something, but no sound came out. She gave up trying to speak and I watched as the image before me wept. Before I could stop myself, I put my hand to the mirror in an attempt to comfort her but could only go as far as the glass. From the other side of the mirror, my mom brought her hand to mine causing ripples like water to radiate outward from where she made contact. I yanked my hand away in surprise, but not before I felt her cold hand against the warmth of my own. The ripples ceased and she faded away, leaving me alone with only my reflection looking back at me.

  I touched the glass of the mirror again and found it solid. Of course, it’s solid. What else would it be? I stood there a little longer as I tried to sort out what I saw and felt. Did I dream the whole thing? If it wasn’t a dream, did that mean I was going crazy? Or was it possible that it really happened? In any case, I was resolved to take the mirror down in the morning and return it to the cedar box. Decision made, I went back to bed and fell into a fitful sleep where I dreamed of floating faces calling to me from the mirror.

  The next morning brought rain. I remember this because it was Saturday and Jake had planned to take Hunter to the pumpkin patch to pick out a jack-o’-lantern. Normally that was something we did as a family, but I had no interest in going that year. With the plans for the pumpkin patch canceled, Jake made a fire in the fireplace and read books to Hunter. I sat on the couch in the next room with Kate snuggled in my arms and listened to the rain as it hit the skylight in the entryway. As usual, I was beyond tired so I was thankful Kate was sleeping instead of fussing and crying. I remembered that I had planned to take down my mom’s mirror. I didn’t know where Jake put the cedar box and figured it could wait until he was done reading to our son. I hoped he didn’t ask why I wanted the mirror gone. I knew he would think I was crazy if I told him the truth.

  My eyelids were getting too heavy to keep open as I stared at Kate’s peaceful face and wondered why babies always seem to have eyelashes grown women would die for. I had just nodded off when I heard tapping. It sounded like the rain I had been listening to moments before but somehow more precise, more… deliberate. I sat up straighter and tried to tune my ear to the source of the sound. I could still hear Jake’s voice coming from the living room as he read Hunter’s favorite story. The one about the caterpillar who ate too much. I could still hear the rain drops on the skylight. To my consternation, I realized the tapping was coming from the opposite side of the room, where the mirror was. I gently placed Kate on her quilt on the floor and walked silently toward the mirror.

  It became undeniable that the sound was coming from the mirror itself. There was a definite pattern to it. Three taps… a three second pause… three taps. Then it repeated this pattern. I froze, trying to decide if I should pick up Kate and call for Jake, or if I should confront what was most likely my imagination. I chose to confront. The tapping stopped when I stepped up to the mirror. I looked at my reflection and tried to see beyond it. I became angry that it was playing games with me and in my mind I challenged it, “Come on, you old piece of shit! Show me what you’ve got.” My reflection scared me as I saw the anger on my face. I hardly recognized myself.

  Before I knew what was happening, my angry reflection was replaced by two hands that slapped against the glass from the other side of the mirror. I stifled a scream and stepped back involuntarily. The pair of hands was quickly followed by the face of a girl. It was as if she had been running toward the other side of the mirror and used her hands to stop herself. She couldn’t have been much older than sixteen, but it was like looking at her through a thick piece of ice, so it was difficult to be sure.

  I stepped closer to the glass and we made eye contact. She smiled sadly and I watched as her long blond hair floated up around her face while she slowly floated away from the mirror. Air bubbles escaped her lips, her eyes clouded over, and her skin took on a pale bloated appearance. I watched as she drifted away from sight and the mirror became black. Its darkness seemed to be sucking me in and I was unable to fight it. My thoughts were on the drowned girl as I drifted into nothingness.

  “Em! Emma! Wake up!” I heard Jake’s voice from somewhere far away. I could feel his hands on each side of my face.

  I opened my eyes to Jake’s worried face close to mine. I felt disoriented and realized I was on the floor under the mirror.

  “Are you okay, Em? What happened? Did you hit your head?”

  “No… I don’t know,” I answered groggily.

  He sat me up and wrapped his arms around me in a hug. I didn’t have the energy or desire to hug him in return. I felt physically and emotionally drained. As he helped me to the couch, I realized Kate was still where I laid her, but now she was crying. Hunter was standing against the wall, eyes wide with fear. I was reminded of how scared I was when I found my mom dying on the floor and I hated myself for creating that kind of fear in my son. I held my arms out to him, but he backed away like he didn’t know me. My heart broke more than I thought was possible. I was worthless. My kids deserved better than this.

  “We nee
d to get you to the doctor, Emma. There’s something wrong with—,” Jake started to say.

  “What?” I snapped back. “You’re going to say there’s something wrong with me? Are you saying I’m crazy? Like my mom?”

  “God, Em, no! I’m not saying that. I’m saying you’re different than you were. You’re never happy anymore. Now this. I’m worried about you.”

  “I’m not like her, Jake! I’m not… not… going to do what she did. I wouldn’t—I couldn’t—do that.”

  Jake didn’t know what to say when I covered my face with my hands to hide my tears. Kate’s cries grew more frantic as her little fists clenched next to her red face. Jake picked her up and tried to comfort her, to no avail. She needed me and I found myself resenting her for it. I took her from Jake and fed her. The silence was a relief. I watched my daughter as she nursed and I half-heartedly wondered if it was too late to place her for adoption. “She’d probably be better off,” I told myself.

  ***

  As the rain fell into the night, Jake and I lay in bed and talked. I promised him I would make an appointment with the doctor on Monday morning, even though I didn’t want to. Deep inside I knew he was right, but I had always prided myself on being strong. I didn’t want to admit that I might need help with the sadness and worthlessness I felt. It seemed that by acknowledging my weakness, I would be like her— the woman who gave up on us. I surprised myself when I started telling Jake about my experiences with the mirror. As I opened up to him, I watched his face to gauge whether or not he was judging me.

  When I finished, he didn’t say a word. He left the room and went into the garage. I heard him come back into the house and walk toward the family room. I got out of bed to see what he was doing. In his hands was the cedar box the mirror had come in. He placed it on the floor, stepped up to the mirror, and took it off the wall. After removing the lid of the box, he set the mirror in and replaced it. I felt a small sense of relief, though I’m not sure if it came from the fact that Jake had taken me seriously or if it was because the mirror was out of sight. Jake held my hand as we walked back to the bedroom where we fell asleep in each other’s arms. For me, it was the deepest sleep I had been allowed to have for a long time.

  ***

  I was young again, trying to find my way through the dark house. I was searching for my mom and thought I heard her voice calling for help in her bedroom. As I stepped into her room, I could barely make out the empty pill bottles on the floor. Instead of my mom lying on the floor next to them, I saw a cedar box. Something about the box was familiar. My mom’s voice seemed to be coming from inside of it. With a wildly beating heart, I knelt next to the box and removed the lid. There was a mirror and I saw my face— my grown up face— looking back at me. Beyond my reflection I saw movement, like a shadow trying to find its way to the forefront. Then I saw my mom’s face looking at me dimly. Beyond her was the face of a woman I did not know. Beyond her was another face. And another. There were six reflections in all. They were all women and each grew more obscure as the perceived distance increased from my own reflection— except for the last. Her face was the clearest of all. She had eyes that gleamed with malevolence as they regarded me. My soul turned to ice at her glare and I was unable to pull away even as I saw her coming straight toward me like a missile.

  Her dead fingers pushed through the glass of the mirror. The glass remained intact as the fingers became claw-like hands, and then skeletal arms. I felt her claws grab me around the back of my neck and pull me toward her, down into the mirror. With a scream, I struggled to hold on to the outside world, but the force pulling me was powerful. I felt my grip on the rim of the cedar box loosen and suddenly I was falling through a black void. At first I felt listless, then incredibly sleepy. As that feeling faded, I felt searing pain shoot through my wrists, which quickly changed to a gritty burning in my throat. I fell farther and realized I couldn’t breathe as my lungs seemed to fill with water. Just as my lungs cleared, I felt a sudden jolt of unbearable pain throughout my entire body. For a second, I thought I had slammed to the bottom of the black hole I was yanked into, but I was still falling. The pain then concentrated to my neck. The hands that pulled me in were strangling the life out of me. I tried to pull them off my neck and realized they weren’t hands, but a rope.

  When I stopped falling, there was no pain. I simply stopped. I found myself on my hands and knees upon a wood floor. The sun was shining through a pair of open windows above me. As a warm breeze caressed my arms and face, I noticed a shadow sweeping back and forth on the ground next to me. Looking up, I saw the woman who dragged me into the mirror. I rose to get a better look at her. The rope around her neck was tied to an exposed beam in the ceiling. The stool she used was on its side below her feet. Her eyes were open and I could see the whites had turned completely red. Her swollen face was purple and her neck was raw where the rope dug into her skin. She didn’t look evil like she did when she leered at me through the mirror. She was just… dead.

  She was wearing a long simple dress with an apron covering the front. Though her head was hanging, a white cloth cap remained, covering most of her hair. Her fashion seemed to come straight out of a book on colonial history. I looked out the big windows and saw below me an expanse of green in every direction. In the distance there were crops, but I couldn’t tell what they were from where I stood. I looked around me and saw I was standing in a beautifully furnished bedroom. The only item of interest to me, however, hung on the wall opposite the two windows.

  As I drew nearer, I noticed my mom’s mirror looked new. The walnut frame was a richer shade of brown and the fine black lines had not yet marred the glass. I had no reflection as I stood before it. I could see everything behind me, including the woman hanging from the rope. It was as if I didn’t exist. I used the mirror to view the dead woman’s reflection. I was mesmerized, watching her body slowly spin as the breeze from the windows brushed past her. Her body gradually spun around until I could see her discolored face in the mirror. I nearly fell over when her red eyes moved in their sockets and locked on mine. The evil I saw emanating from them while I was on the other side of the mirror had returned. She despised me.

  I kept my eyes on her reflection in the mirror until she, and everything around her, faded to gray. When images started to reappear, I knew I was seeing something that had happened prior to the moment I was in. I also knew I was seeing it from the dead woman’s point of view. I saw a man and a woman on the bed, their naked bodies finding pleasure in each other. I couldn’t see the man’s face as his back was to the mirror, but the woman was young and pretty. Her long brown hair had come undone and framed her head and face like a halo. I could see she had high cheekbones. As her lover entered her, she opened her eyes for a moment and I saw that they were gray.

  Her Native American features were stronger than my mom’s, but the resemblance was undeniable.

  The image faded again, leaving the couple alone somewhere in the past. Now the dead woman stood behind me so I could see her in the mirror. She was no longer swinging from the end of the rope, but her neck was bruised and red where it had strangled her to death.

  “I could overlook my husband’s sexual transgressions, but when I learned she was with child, I hated them both. My womb never bore him children. I knew I would be cast aside like rubbish,” the dead woman said. “After I hung myself, she got all I had— my husband, my home, and the children I could not give him. I watched myself die in that mirror. It didn’t happen quickly. I watched my face change color and my eyes bulge as the life was slowly drained from me. I willed my empty heart to stop beating and end my suffering. When I finally felt myself leave my broken body, I prayed to the darkness to allow me to see her daughters and her daughters’ daughters suffer for her sins.”

  As soon as her words were finished, it felt as though any joy and hope I had left in me was ripped out. The pain of it seized my body and left me in a heap on the floor. I was no longer in the bedroom of the plantation ho
use. I seemed to be nowhere. All around me was darkness, and it engulfed me. It was a thick tar of despair that threatened to overtake me and gain control of my being. Somewhere in the dark, I heard the whispers of the women who came before me. I couldn’t make out what they were saying as their words swirled around my mind. I cried in my distress and searched for any way out of the pit I was in.

  Then I felt it. A hand took hold of mine. It was warm, soft, and comforting. It was the touch only a mother can have for her child. She pulled me up, and as we rose, I saw a pinprick of light above us. The higher we got, the larger the light became. Soon we were close enough to make out shapes in the light. I could see my husband looking down into the mirror. It broke my heart to think of him having to raise our son and daughter alone. My daughter! I started to panic as I thought of her becoming part of this cycle of depression and death. Just then, I felt the horrible claws grip my leg and try to pull me back down. I fought the pull even as I felt my strength weaken.

  My mom’s hand held onto mine firmly. I heard her say, “Keep fighting, Emma. You’re stronger than all of us. I’ve never forgiven myself for giving up. But you… you don’t have to end up here.”

  She was right. This didn’t have to be my legacy. I had love and support. Because of that, I had hope and a reason to live. I tore free from the grip of darkness and reached up to the underside of the glass where I saw Jake’s face. His eyes grew wide as he saw me extend my arms to him. He didn’t hesitate to reach down, grab my hand, and pull me from behind the glass. I felt my mom let go as I rose through the mirror. I turned just in time to see her hand disappear again under the surface of the glass. Jake seemed to be in shock at what he just saw. I dropped to my knees and touched the mirror. It was solid again, but I didn’t trust it to stay that way. I stood up and backed away.