House of Mirrors

House of Mirrors

The mirror showed a reflection that wasn’t my own. That didn’t surprise me because I maintain this Fun House. They designed the mirrors in here to distort people’s images and create confusion as the patrons moved along a dimly lit path. People laughed at their elongated or squatty reflections. They tease their friends about how big or small they look in a particular mirror. It’s all done for a laugh, at least that is what I thought.

The Fun House is one of multiple exhibits featured in a traveling carnival that arrived in town early this week. The community anxiously awaited opening day. As soon as the show arrived, help-wanted signs went up. They needed someone to maintain the exhibits, and I got the job. When I asked what happened to the last maintenance man, my new boss said he was tired of traveling and stayed behind.

Most of the booths were easy to maintain. Normally all I need to do is repair a counter, replace a flag pole, replace a lightbulb, all the usual handyman duties. It’s what I am good at doing. The booths are portable, so they have to be leveled every time we move them. Once in position, they remained stable until it was time to move to the next town. The Fun House is my only problem child. It is always in need of constant readjusting. At first, I thought it kept moving because of everyone jumping and running inside. Every day, the house listed from one side to the other. When I asked the owner about it, he said it always did that. It wasn’t anything I needed to be concerned with.

The carnival played in town for two weeks, attracting record crowds. The Merry-Go-Round, Ferris Wheel, and games of skill were all very popular, but the biggest attraction was the Fun House. Moms and dads brought their children, young couples slipped in to steal a kiss, and old people were curious to see if the mirrors made them look younger or slimmer. All had a good time—until the last night.

The carnival should have closed at midnight except that a child had gone missing. The nine-year-old’s mother frantically approached the ticket booth just as it was about to shut down.

“I can’t find my daughter! She was by my side one minute, and then she disappeared. Please, you must help me find her.” Pleaded the woman as tears streamed down her cheeks.

I was standing next to the booth, so the boss asked me to help. Nodding an acknowledgment, I walked over to the distraught mother.

“I’m going to help you find your daughter. Can you tell me where you were standing the last time you saw her?”

“Yes, we were in front of the Fun House. I’m sure of it!”

“Great! That’s where we’ll start looking. What was she wearing?”

“She had on jeans and a blue and white top. Please, we must hurry. She never goes off like this. I’m afraid something awful has happened.”

We hustled back to the Fun House and searched the surrounding area unsuccessfully. The next logical place was inside the attraction.

“I don’t know why she would be in here. I told her never to go inside any of these places without me,” exclaimed the nervous mother.

“Kids will be kids,” I replied in an attempt to ease the mother’s stressed-out nerves. “She probably got disoriented and couldn’t find the exit. I’ve seen adults become confused by those mirrors and need help to find their way out.”

We entered the attraction, stopping for a second to get our bearings. I quickly scanned the first room, hoping to spot the child.

“Amanda! Amanda, it’s mommy. Are you in here?”

The sound of a child softly whimpering off in the distance broke the eerie quiet. We rushed toward the sound, my heart pounding with anticipation as we drew closer. The mirrors acted as reflective barriers, distorting our path. We were now standing alongside the sound, but the girl was not visible.

“Amanda, honey, where are you?”

“I’m here, mommy.” The whimpering changed to pleading. “You sound so close! Please, Mommy, I’m right here!”

The girl’s mother stood, unable to move, frozen by terror. Once again, I scanned the mirrors. This time, barely visible in the bottom corner of the right-hand pane, I spotted a distorted image of Amanda. I spun on my heels and rushed to the opposite side of the room where I found the young girl tucked in the space between two mirrors.

“She’s over here. I have her.”

I helped Amanda to her feet and into the loving arms of her mother. Tears of joy flowed while I directed mother and daughter to the exit. Just before I left the Fun House, I turned around to make sure nothing was out of place. That’s when the door slammed shut and I heard the lock click into place. Fear immediately replaced my joy over having reunited mother and daughter. The mirror on the opposite wall showed a reflection that wasn’t mine.

The unrecognizable figure spread from mirror to mirror, quickly encircling me. A menacing voice directed its fury toward me.

“You have stolen our prize. Now you must pay.”

I instinctively reached for my tool belt, withdrew my hammer, and began smashing mirrors as I bolted for the door. Shrieks of agony filled the room as I shattered mirror after mirror while making my escape. The shards of glass still showed the creature’s, image but in a diminished form. I pounded the lock with my hammer, forcing the door open, and burst through it to freedom—never to return.

Several years have passed, and I still avoid all mirrors. My fear that the creature is still stalking me, hoping for revenge, persists. I know it’s not just my imagination that is haunting me. Occasionally, I’ll walk past a store window and catch a glimpse of my reflection. The creature lurks just behind my image, waiting patiently with claws and fangs at the ready.