It is not clear how the mirror came to be in Fran's possession. It was a kerfuffle of hand-me-downs as each owner tried desperately to get rid of the bloody thing and was always relieved to pass it along to the next unsuspecting relative.
The mirror had come from the old country, and the wooden frame, which Fran had spent ages sanding and varnishing, bore the scars of travel, neglect, resentment and fear. It didn't bother her that the mirror always reflected what she was feeling and never what was actually there. She found it useful, helpful even, where her Aunt Mabel had called it cursed and her second cousin Agatha had labelled it bedevilled.
She always invited people to her house and positioned them in front of the mirror as they entered through the front door. One of two things would happen: either the mirror reflected an enhanced image in which the person saw themselves as more dashing, more slender or more handsome than they actually were. Or -- and since Fran's sixth sense about people had become more fine-tuned this happened less often -- the mirror showed the nasty side of whoever was expecting to see their reflection.
It was better than speed dating, Internet dating, hours of small talk and unnecessary back and forth. The mirror helped Fran cut through the façades of people, a task she'd previously found arduous, exhausting and a complete waste of time and emotional energy.
The last few men she'd brought to the mirror had all been ghastly, and one man threatened to sue her for causing a PTSD trigger in him with her fairground mirror, as he'd called it. She'd laughed it off.
The doorbell rang. She patted her hair, and said, "I have a good feeling about this one."
She opened the door and gasped at the bouquet. "Oh, Finnegan! How naughty of you. They're lovely. Do come in."
Finnegan's tread was lighter than the kiss he planted on her cheek. Fran glanced at the mirror. She only saw herself and a large bunch of flowers.
"Lovely place you have here." Finnegan was beaming at her.
Fran swallowed hard and checked the mirror again. Finnegan wasn't there.
She felt his hand on her arm. His smile was blinding. "Is everything all right?"
"Yes... I was just thinking that I should put these into water. But, actually, before I do, would you mind looking into the mirror for me?"
Finnegan looked confused. "What mirror? I only see your wall."
"In that case, I think you'd better go." Fran hoped her voice didn't reveal her panic.
Finnegan threw back his head and laughed.
Fran threw a desperate glance at the mirror. Nothing but her stricken face and a trickle of blood running down her hand that held the flowers.
"Don't be scared, Fran. I am the Man in the Mirror..."
No comments:
Post a Comment