Dark Winter: Trilogy

by Hennessy, John

  I could only relate it to the time before she gave me the Mirror, with the time after she gave me the Mirror. A hundred and five years old. It was obvious that the Mirror gave her a long, healthy life. At least, that is what I convinced myself was the truth. So while I humoured Dad’s feelings on this, I disagreed with him entirely. As I saw it, that Mirror was the key to her health.

  I sat down at my dressing table. I brushed my hair, which by now was due for a cut. If I didn’t have one soon, I’d end up looking like Toril Withers, whose hair was so long she could sit on it by now.

  Glancing to the left side of my dressing table, I shot an accusing glare at the middle drawer. It was locked, of course, but I tugged at it anyway to make sure.

  I was certain that it couldn’t stay locked up forever. But Nan had left me with no way of knowing how to use it, even if I wanted to. Saying that it was ‘different for everyone’ wasn’t of much help.

  The story she told me had really unnerved me, but I decided that being afraid of things had gotten me nowhere in the past, and so maybe, I would just have to face this head-on.

  I took out the key to the dresser, which was hiding in one of my old coats in my wardrobe.

  I thought I would change my mind once I heard the lock click, but I didn’t.

  Inside the drawer, as if I expected to see anything else, lay the simple mirror inside a simple brown box. I had changed it from the one that Nan had kept it in. Somehow, it didn’t seem right to keep her box, so I got rid of it. I surprised myself at just how unsentimental I was about the whole process.

  It never crossed my mind that I should be scared. As far as I knew, Nan could have taken the Mirror out at any one time, and used it herself.

  I would have to discover its uses for myself.

  Uncomfortable emotions welled up inside of me. First, there was just total helplessness. Then came uncertainty. Third, and last, an extreme feeling of anger. Anger at being left something that may or may not help me, or others. I could do nothing, and the thing I am supposed to prevent happening to me or others could still happen. Or, I could do something, and cause it anyway. What a mess.

  With that, I pulled the lid aside, and held the Mirror in my hands, and…

  And nothing.

  I continued to hold it, and though I looked at it with great concentration, there was absolutely nothing to see. Also, just like the first time I held it, there was no reflection of me. The marks on my hands got no deeper or longer. Perhaps, like was the case with Nan, the marks got deeper with age. Perhaps so, I still could not know for sure.

  The Mirror catches souls.

  So that probably means that ghosts cannot be caught by it. Or maybe it does. The whole thing is driving me crazy.

  I put it back in its box, and then, into the drawer. I locked it up and put the key back in its hiding place.

  The Mirror might reveal itself to you. All in good time.

  That was the trouble, because ‘might’ could also mean that it might not reveal anything.

  Perhaps the best thing to do was just leave it be, and hope that I never had cause to look at it again.

  I would have to sleep this off, so I buried my head in my pillow until sleep took me.

  ***

  The next day, I went to the library. I didn’t really know what I was looking for, because the Mirror and its supposed powers defied classification. Also, I didn’t really know what classifications I was looking for.

  "Hey, Romilly, fancy seeing you here."

  A sort of familiar voice reached my ears. Facing away from the owner, I turned around to face her.

  Toril Withers sat in front of me, in front of a table which was creaking under the weight of the books she had chosen. I could see titles on the spines, such as The Occult of Eastern Europe, The Thule Society, The Origins of Wicca, Satanism and the Modern World. Yes, Toril read widely. She was rather famous at school for having read more than anyone else. When she had finished the books in the school library, she went to the main library and went through that.

  She must have still been working her way through this one.

  "Hi, Toril," I offered rather blankly. I had to find something out about the Mirror. I didn’t have time for whatever Toril wanted. I turned back to face the bookshelves.

  "What are you looking for? Maybe I can help," said Toril brightly.

  I rather doubt it, but I really hope so Toril, I thought.

  "I’m…I’m looking for…well I don’t know really. My Nan passed away recently. She used to read tea leaves."

  "Tasseography."

  "I’m sorry?"

  "Tasseography," repeated Toril. "That’s the name for the art of reading tea leaves. Your Nan must have been pretty special."

  I was taken aback by Toril. This was rather too nice of her. I wanted to keep my guard up, and not tell her anything, but this was difficult. This is how she got people on-side, and in any case, I needed help.

  "Yes, she was," I confirmed. "I don’t have any such gift, but she got me intrigued. Maybe that’s why I’m here. I don’t really know what kind of book I’m looking for."

  "Well, I have lots to go on here," said Toril. "Would you like to see?"

  I had nothing to lose, so I agreed. Maybe I would even learn something. I tried to find out something about the Mirror without actually telling her anything about it.

  "Toril, do you know anything about special artefacts, or objects that might contain special powers? Anything in your books that might help me?"

  "Wow. That’s pretty deep, Romilly," said Toril. "There’s many artefacts in history that I could talk about. Care to enlighten me a little?"

  Hmm. I didn’t want to involve Toril, or anyone, in something that I didn’t understand. I was worried that I would be doomed to repeat what happened to Nan. She’d lived her whole life dealing with the aftermath of Dana’s demise.

  I could not, would not let that happen to me.

  "Well, it could be something or nothing, really. My Nan left me an heirloom, and according to her, it might have some special powers."

  "Oh really?" said Toril, inquisitively. "Anything that could help your hands heal up?"

  Shoot. I’d forgotten all about that. Well, it was easy to. When I had the lace gloves on, the marks all but disappeared. This morning, I had rushed out of the house, completely forgetting to put them on, and bookworm Toril wouldn’t miss a trick like that.

  "My hands are fine," I lied. I dug around in my pockets until I found the gloves, and put them on.

  "Maybe if you gave me some more details, I could help."

  I could see that Toril was well meaning, and I had come to the library with a certain sense of purpose in that I would find….something. I decided to trust her.

  "Toril, what do your books say about something which maybe you shouldn’t be told about? I mean…by not telling you, I’d be keeping you safe, I suppose."

  Oh dear. That didn’t come out how I meant at all. Talk about a putting foot sandwich in my mouth.

  "Well then, I would definitely want to know!" said Toril, excitedly. "This is what I’m all about, Romilly. No-one ever talks to me about this stuff. Now come on, ‘fess up. What have you got?"

  Toril could see the pained look on my face.

  "I really do want to know, so I can help. Honestly!"

  "Are you just excited that someone wants to talk to you about things that interest you, or that you really believe you can help?"

  "I believe I just answered the question," said Toril. "It’s okay if you don’t want to share. I just thought you did, that’s all."

  I decided to be honest.

  "Toril, I do need help, I think. But I need to know that those I involve would be safe - "

  "Or take responsibility for their own actions, which I can and I do," affirmed Toril, with all the confidence in the world.

  Okay then. Maybe this is how it was meant to be. Nan never said I could not seek help. She did say that the Mirror would reveal itself in some way. Perh
aps Toril’s involvement would help the Mirror reveal something, anything, to me.

  "Alright then," I said, not knowing for sure if I was doing the right thing. "You’ll have to

  come to my house."

  Toril chatted to me on the walk back from the library. I was listening, but I was also rather distracted. I suppose, if I so decided that I didn’t want to show Toril the Mirror after all, that was my choice. I just wish that Nan had revealed something to me about the future, because she might not want someone like Toril having any part in it.

  White Roses for Dana

  My mother opened the door just as I put my key in the lock.

  "Hi Mrs Winter," said Toril in a bright voice, which could disarm even the steeliest of glares, something my mother was really good at. "I’m Toril Withers. You know my Mum from church."

  "Oh yes, yes," said Daphne Winter, who was surprised to hear the girl mention church, as her mother, Tori-Suzanne Withers, and her daughter were rumoured to be into some ‘funny stuff’.

  Daphne Winter purposely averted her eyes from the pentacle around Toril’s neck.

  "Well, if you’re a friend of Romilly’s, you had better come in."

  The glares continued. I just had to shoot one in my mother’s direction. I ushered Toril upstairs, and locked the bedroom door. I hadn’t been allowed a lock until I kicked up a fuss about some strange goings on at school. Mum had heard it from Beth O’Neill’s mother, something about the caretaker, Curie. I took my chance and said that I was scared of him too, and could I please have a lock on my bedroom door. My father agreed whilst my mother protested.

  "So!" said Toril. "Where is it?"

  That’s not usually the first thing people say when they see my room. Not that many have – I’m not that kind of girl. They usually say something like ‘Well, it’s rather pink,’ looking around at the bedroom walls, before casting disapproving glances at my various teddy bears and cuddly toys.

  I was about to answer Toril when she let out a huge gasp. "Oh! Oh my God!!! Where did you get this?"

  I didn’t know what Toril was on about. My face must have told my feelings honestly, because Toril ran to the corner of my room where I had most of my toys stashed. I know, I know I’m too old for toys and teddy bears, but I just couldn’t bear to throw them away. But the doll that Toril picked up, I knew I had not seen before, because I don’t possess dolls.

  With their vacant stares, and dead-behind-the-eyes expression, dolls scare the hell out of me. The lips that never move. The arms and legs that stay still in some weird plastic state of rigour mortis.

  "It’s a White Roses for Dana doll," said Toril happily.

  I’d have never believed it if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes. I especially don’t possess dolls that look like that. The doll had blonde hair and blue eyes. Just like Barbie and Sindy.

  The doll also wore a white dress, and she was holding a posey of white roses over her stomach. Then Toril pressed down on the posey, and they turned blood red, along with the dress.

  Not at all like Barbie and Sindy.

  At that point, the doll started laughing Hahahaha. Hahahaha.

  The blood receded, yet she retained her vacant stare.

  "Barbie in Hell," said Toril. She was clearly enjoying the whole thing. "Come on, where did you get it Romilly?"

  I would have loved Toril to find something else to satisfy her curiosity, but she kept on raving about the damn thing. As she held up the doll in front of me, I felt the most intense pain in my head. I could hear a girl laughing, and the sound just would not stop. It wasn’t coming from the doll. The sound was within my head. A name formed in my head, from the letter D which hung around her neck.

  Dana.

  Black and red dots formed in front of my eyes and joined in an un-coordinated, maniacal dance. The room began to spin, and I fainted.

  ***

  I could feel something. It was really uncomfortable. In the haze, I could see Toril, at least, I think it was her. The dots formed again in front of my eyes. I passed out again.

  ***

  A new sensation, the taste of blood, filled my mouth. But my view was clearing, and Toril was staring into my eyes, with a concerned look on her face.

  "Romilly? Romilly? You fainted. Are you alright? Holy cow, you gave me quite a fright there."

  Toril shook me by the shoulders, and thrust a glass of water to my lips. The fusion of blood and water didn’t disgust me as much as I thought it would.

  "What happened?"

  "You fainted," said Toril. "I had to pinch your lip to get you to come out of it, sorry. But you really scared me. Are you okay now?"

  "I think so." I was trying to get my bearings, but it seemed I had just flopped backwards onto my bed. There were drops of blood on my pink bedspread. It wasn’t a good mix. Mum would be mad, just like the time I broke the only bottle of milk in the house, way back when we didn’t have much money. I wish I had another bottle of milk just now.

  “I showed you the doll, and you just like, phased out of there. But it’s not surprising. What a find this is!! I’m really grateful to you for showing me this.”

  I was confused, because we were talking about different things.

  Toril thinks that this doll is the ‘thing’. I haven’t even showed her the Mirror yet, and this doll appears from nowhere.

  "Well, I can’t stand the sight of it,” I said. “You can have it if you like."

  "Really? You mean it?" said Toril.

  What was I thinking? That doll could have a terrible effect on Toril. This was the sort of thing you gave to someone you hate.

  "On second thoughts, maybe we shouldn’t keep it. I think it’s evil, Toril. You should throw it away."

  Images returned to my mind. The girl laughing. The bouquet of white roses turning red. Blood red.

  Toril had a look on her face which suggested she had heard such things before about anything strange she was interested in.

  "Throw it away? Oh no! It’s just a doll, Romilly. I can understand why you were freaked out, but it’s alright now. It’s okay, really. Fangoria did a whole piece on this doll two years ago. I still have the edition if you ever want to read it."

  I had visited the library intending to find something out about the Mirror and its origins, instead I find a weird doll in my room, which I have never laid eyes on before; yet I understand it has a connection to me. Even better than that, Toril seemed to be the fountain of all knowledge on this subject as well. With her help, I could learn how to deal with it.

  Perhaps I needed to know why this doll was here. My instincts rarely let me down. I really didn’t want the horrid thing in the house, let alone in my bedroom. I was still reeling from the effect it had on me. I thought about the things that really scared me, and human-like dolls, along with wasps, were near the top of the list. Clowns came in a close third. I bet that Toril, who claims to have watched every horror movie and read every scary book committed to print, wasn’t scared of clowns at all; or bloodied devil dolls that made anyone faint. Perhaps she wouldn’t be scared to look into the Mirror either.

  "Nothing scares you, does it Toril?"

  "Scares me? No. I’ve seen some things that have disturbed me though."

  I was intrigued. Toril seemed pretty unflappable about anything. She was like that Jacinta, only with a pulse. "Such as?"

  "You remember Don Curie, the school caretaker, right? One time, when I was eight, Mum organised a birthday party. She had a clown come over to…entertain us. But I knew the face under all the paint, and the crazy mad wig. And a suit that didn’t fit him at all."

  "It was him. Curie. He did the clown thing as a bit of extra income, my father claimed, can you believe that? But what would a loner like Curie need extra money for? He disturbed me greatly, Romilly. The way his mouth was framed into a permanent smile was just so…oh, I just hated it. After that, I always wore my Wiccan pentacle to school. I hadn’t before that day."

  "I see, I didn’t know that." I tried
to get things back to where we had been, before that hateful man had came into the conversation.

  "You still want the doll?"

  "Oh yes, yes!" said Toril, happily. "You don’t know what this is, do you?"

  "I’d rather not know." I didn’t want Toril to confirm my fears of what I thought it was, but I did want to know where it came from. Then it hit me. It seemed reasonable enough to me that it could have belonged to Nan at some point in the past.

  But how could this be? The damn thing looked like the bloodied ghost girl I saw in my bedroom the other night. It seemed that Dana, Nan’s friend, the one whose soul was trapped in the Mirror, embodied the spirit that was contained within the doll. It could not be mere coincidence.