The Devil's in the Details

Mary held her breath as she lifted the ornate mirror. Removing it for cleaning was a monthly task, one which she dreaded. She tried to believe it was the fiddly brass frame, the work it involved, which had her hands shaking and her breath caught, but she knew better. Her mother had been of superstitious stock and it had osmosed into Mary over the years.

Always salute magpies, especially the single ones. Don't cross knives on a plate. Don't cross on the stairs. Don't stir the teapot. Never open an umbrella in the house. Don't keep peacock feathers in the house. Don't walk under ladders. And of course, seven years bad luck for every broken mirror. Bad luck that couldn't have the decency to run concurrently. Oh no, if you broke two mirrors that was fourteen years of bad luck. The list of don'ts could have filled a library by the time Mary's mother went into the mysteries of the beyond... and Mary was stuck with them all.

She'd inherited the mirror from her grandmother and had never had the heart to get rid of it, despite its clumsy appearance and patchy glass. She laid it on the table, padded with three layers of thick towels, and headed to the counter to collect the Brasso and cleaning cloths. A flash of silvery light caught her attention. She glanced to her feet and noted a pin glittering in the sunlight. She swooped, retrieved it and smiled. 'See a pin and pick it up, all the day you'll have good luck' recited in her head and she smiled. One of the few good luck sayings. She popped the pin on the surface and bent to the cupboards beneath, searching for polish.

Her back seized when she came up. She gripped the counter for support and gave an involuntary gasp at a sharp pain in her index finger. Her back eased instantly and she frowned at her finger, a couple of ruby drops already gleaming on the pad. She rolled her eyes and sighed, realising she'd grabbed the pin. She flicked it to the rear of the counter, plucked up a cleaning cloth and dabbed at the tiny puncture before heading back to the mirror.

For the next hour, using toothbrushes, cloths and polish, she worked on the ugly mirror. She could never really decide what was worse. Staring at the cherubs which pranced about the frame, cherubs with such evil expressions they were closer to demons, or gazing at herself in the hazy glass. Patches of her face took on a scarred appearance where hairline cracks fled over her pale, drawn skin. Spots where the backing had come through made her cheeks look leprous. Her sunken eyes, the black circles beneath, the general pinched look she currently wore all conspired to make neither option pleasurable.

Her final task was always to polish the glass, ensuring not so much as a hint of a smear remained. She reached for the final cloth and gave a grunt of frustration, realising it was the one she had dabbed her blood up with.

“Sorry, Gran.” she murmured to the ceiling and set to with the cloth. A couple of times she had to turn it, rebuff when the not quite dry blood smeared onto the glass, but she was finally done. The mirror travelled back to its spot above the mantel and she heaved a sigh of relief.

Halfway through turning to leave she stopped dead, transfixed by two glowing red orbs deep within the mirror. The more she stared, the deeper and clearer they became. She had to literally shake herself, break the spell when she caught the smell of burning. Burning hair to be exact. Her vision cleared, she saw a wisp of smoke curling up from behind her. Spinning around, batting at her hair, she remembered the two candles which burned on the shelf opposite the mirror. Always alight, standing sentinel over Gran's urn and photo, she'd forgotten them, must have backed into them and caught a little of her hair. She blew them out with angry puffs and left, slamming the door and stomping out to the kitchen.

Five minutes later she was curled up on the sofa with a bottle of wine, a huge box of chocolates and Love Story on the dvd player. She hated herself, somewhere deep inside, for her behaviour, but the need to wallow in self-pity was, for now, far outweighing the need to get herself together. She sobbed her way through the movie, her cheeks gradually flushing with alcohol, her lips stained with chocolate and Greg's name on her lips with every breath. The same old questions, how, why, when, who, where? She knew all the answers, tormented herself with them, pictured the two of them together, happy, laughing whilst she was left to wallow, broken of heart and wounded to her very soul.

The last thought actually made her giggle. She sounded like some emo teen, not a mature woman of … well, old enough to know better. A wickedness took her, her mind conjuring up images of horrible, but somehow comical, situations the new 'couple' could be in, whilst she lay on the sofa, full of wine and goodies. She was in the middle of a particularly vicious scenario about peanuts, a blowtorch and a naked Greg, when she was snapped back to reality by the doorbell.

She flicked her eyes to the clock, noted it was one in the morning and decided to ignore it. If it was important they'd come back. She creaked upright, shuffling with stiffness from laying still, and made it to bed. She absently closed the door to the mirror room as she passed.

A couple of hours later she shivered awake, cold to her core. She grabbed the duvet up, surrounding herself with it and went in search of the draught which seemed to be chilling the entire house. Finding no open doors or windows, dragging her duvet shroud behind her, she headed back to bed, once again closing the door to the mirror room without conscious thought.

The words which echoed through her foggy brain at 5am were definitely not polite. She wondered if she'd been dreaming, but no, there went the doorbell again. She flew up out of bed, flung a dressing gown on, stormed down the hall, slammed the mirror room door shut and hurled open the front door. All angry sentences fled her brain as she contemplated the man propped, pale and interesting, against her door-frame. His, she noted expensive, clothes were ripped and looked to be painted with dust and artistically placed oil smears. A trickle of ruby blood ran down from his left eyebrow, passed by his brilliant green eyes, over an impossibly sharp cheekbone and kissed the corner of his full mouth before caressing his firm chin and...

Mary dragged her eyes up from the v of his open shirt, mentally kicked herself for perving on an injured man, no matter how bloody gorgeous, and stepped back, clearing the doorway.

“Please, come in. What happened to you?”

She supported him, draping his arm across her shoulders, kicking the door shut with her heel and guiding him to the kitchen.

“An accident. Not sure what hit me. Happened a few hours ago on the road out front.”

A lightbulb all but lit up over Mary's head as she realised the poor guy had probably tried to get her help in the early hours. The mirror room door clicked open as they passed and she closed it heedlessly, asking the man's name as they reached the kitchen and she set him in a chair by the table.

“Seth.”

She introduced herself, wondering if she should apologise as she hunted out her first aid kit. He smiled, wincing a little, when she returned to the table.

“It's ok, I wouldn't have opened the door in the same situation.”

She gaped for a second, remembered herself and began dealing with the blood on his face. It turned out to come from a cut on his forehead, up by his hairline. Mary found herself struggling to keep from running her fingers through his hair as she held it clear of his face.

“Doesn't make it right. Where did you go?”

“You do know you're in the middle of nowhere, right? I think I passed out on your doorstep.”

Her guilt grew. She found herself supplying him with one of Greg's old shirts, making him tea and toast, offering to help in any way she could.

“Your car?”

He shook his head, wincing again, sending her scurrying for painkillers.

“I was on foot.”

“Where on earth were you going? There's nothing round here.”

“Yeah, so I noticed. I was supposed to be getting married tomorrow,” He indicated the torn clothes, she realising it was a hired suit, “Girl dumped me. Mates took me drinking and I think I took off. No idea where I am really.”

She didn't normally fall for the helpless little boy routine, but this time she felt she could indulge. She insisted he take her bed, get some sleep. They'd deal with everything when he'd warmed up, had some rest, felt clearer. She spent the day pottering about the house, baking, making a salad, some pasta, chicken soup. She even had a bath and did her hair. Distracted, she didn't realise how many times she had to close the door to the mirror room.

Later, when Seth was up, warm, bathed, fed, and generally being the most beautiful man she'd ever seen, she found herself taking him around the house. It was old, he was fascinated by everything and she found herself wanting to be in his company for as long as possible.

“Me too.” he whispered as they entered the mirror room.

“Sorry?” she asked, lighting the candles and revealing the hated mirror.

“I know it's forward, and probably creepy, but you're very pretty.”

Mary blushed hiding her confusion in attempts to keep the candles lit around her Gran. They refused all attempts, guttering repeatedly.

“Don't they say it's unlucky to see your face in a mirror by candlelight? Mary?”

She felt him behind her, warm and strong, felt her defences crumbling as his hands fell on her shoulders, turned her to face him, their reflections shadowy in the mirror lit only by the hall light.

“Yes?”

“Tell me you feel it too? That this was meant to be.”

“I've spent my life trying not to believe all those superstitions, Seth.”

“Make an allowance, this once, for me?”

Deep in the mirror, two red orbs glowed brighter than any candle flame. Seth glanced up, stared back and for a split second his eyes were glaring reflections of the orbs. He nodded minutely, buried a devilish grin in Mary's shoulder, then both the mirror and the photograph fell, shattering, spraying glass everywhere. Mary skittered deeper into Seth's embrace, lost to the world.

Author's Note - Yep, I'm back.... and no-one died! (Yet) Anyway, this is quite a traditional little yarn about mirrors and devils, but there are a couple of notes I thought might interest.

The name Seth means 'One who dazzles' (here) which I thought was very appropriate for our wicked visitor *grin*

Inspiration actually came from these lines at the end of the Stevie Wonder song (here) - When you believe in things that you don't understand, then you suffer. Superstition ain't the way...

Finally, there are many superstitions about candles and you can read them (here)

Bright Blessings

Mojo