The House of Mirrors

The House of Mirrors

“That Mr. Noel ain’t right in the head,” Dad told me as we sat among stacks of liquor store boxes, gnawing on our discount frozen dinners that tasted like meat flavored salt. I could complain, but it wasn’t going to do any good. First he had lost his job and then he had lost his wife. Well, she really lost herself in what the boxes around us had once contained, now they were packed of memorabilia from a time when my parents were maybe, actually, happy together.

They must have convinced themselves that one was happier with her twenty four year old boyfriend in the cluttered little apartment and the other with his new decrepit rental shack in some back country hole.

Being sixteen, I got to choose who I wanted to live with. Dad was the underdog, so the decision was an easy one. I was staying with Mom for a couple weeks while he sealed the deal on on what he called his new rustic cabin. I was so eager to leave. He had picked me up early in the morning and was telling me all the plans he had on our eight hour drive.

After driving down a back country road for what felt like forever, finally we turned onto a long gravel driveway. We passed one shack.

Don’t let it be that one. Even though it hid behind so many trees, it looked old, worn and dilapidated. No sooner had it left out sight and I let out a sigh of relief, than he parked outside of one that looked even worse. Weeds and angry bushes surrounded a rotting clapboard, two bedroom ranch, as if trying to fend us off from it’s down spiraling, decomposition into the earth. It was no more inviting on the inside. Spots of black mold snuck out from the bathroom like an angry fart. Would it look worse to have a giant wall of mold or try to save the yellowed wallpaper that looked like endless blocks of wilting flowers in the shape of a cat’s head from it’s aggressive sprawl?

“How much are you paying for this place?” I was horrified, wondering if it was too late to convince my mom to shove me into the crowded hole she called home, that at least didn’t smell like a dog had decided to claim every carpet for his own.

“Don’t worry—” Dad tried to reassure me, “—I just need you to cover groceries and we’ll be set. I got some things good things lined up, Leon, real good things!”

I was mortified. Wasn’t school and trying to build a whole new social life enough stress!? “How am I supposed to get a job out here without a car!?”

Dad grinned and thumbed toward the old paneled window behind him. I saw a rusty red bike leaning against a tree. It was just awaiting to break and leave me abandoned along the country roadside.

“You said this place was homey and fresh,” I muttered, feeling completely deceived.

“It’s home to me and the fresh air blows right through the windows!” He was right about that, there was no need to even open them!

“Yeah, but it still smells like something died in here,” I said as I finished off my food, and tossed the container in a big black bag we were using for trash. I headed for the door with clenched fists.

“It just needs a little TLC. Mr. Noel said we could renovate it however we want. Once the money starts coming in…” I didn’t bother to ask him if he planned to get the windows replaced before Fall came. I was too annoyed to get started and instead stomped towards the door with clenched fists.

What was that stupid Mr. Noel’s plan? Was my dad really expected to pay for all these repairs himself!? How could someone even legally rent out such a giant dumpster? Dad had already been elusive the whole car ride here about this apparent deal he struck up. Maybe he didn’t want to seem like an idiot for signing onto this scam.

My dad called himself an idea kind of guy, which really only meant he was full of broken promises. Maybe I was the stupid one for thinking this place would be any different. The sun was setting and I needed to reevaluate my choice to stay here before I attempted to settle into this cesspit.

I slammed the screen door that was so torn it looked like someone chucked at a cat at it.

“Hey!” Dad called, as I kept walking, yet he sounded suddenly grave and serious, so I paused to turn and glare at him. “Just stay away from Mr. Noel’s house! He told me to call him if I needed him, I don’t think he wants any guests. Plus have you seen his decorations? Weird.” Dad’s eyebrows raised with a knowing look.

Weird? I thought. Good, let’s go meet this bum and find out how much he’s making my dad pay him to rebuild his crummy house!

In only a few minutes I was wandering through Mr. Noel’s yard, staring at a collection of mirrors nailed to trees, while others leaned on trunks, flower pots, and stones, and a full length one, which was framed in a whimsical sort of white stone, donned the front door. Up close, his house was only in slightly better condition than ours.

I slowly walked up the couple steps to stand on his long front porch that was decorated with little mirrors that hung like wind chimes that twirled in the gentle breeze. The oddity of the mirrors scattered about made me uneasy. This guy surely was a whacko, just like my dad said. Still, I wanted to meet him and maybe give him a piece of my mind. Then if he had a brain it might make him rethink about the conditions he dared to charge us to live in.

“Like what you see?” I jumped and turned around, noticing a thin old man with a wispy white beard that faded all the way down to his navel. His eyes seemed like glazed over glass and he stared at me as though he was looking past me.

“I’m Leon—” I replied, standing stiff as I explained, “—my dad just moved in next door, and now I’m here too, I guess.”

The old man only raised his head slightly, his eyes that were a ghostly white didn’t seem to blink.

“He’s probably mentioned it to you, right?” I glanced around, feeling out of place.

“Are you looking for Mr. Noel?” he asked.

I felt a bit stupid, assuming this old sod would be him since he looked like a hermit. Did he actually have a family?

“Yeah, sorry, I was…” I muttered.

He was slow to reply, only to ask another question, and it gave me eerie chill as the hairs rose on my arms, “Are you sure that’s who you want to see?”

He didn’t wait for me to answer, but instead, pointed towards the front door.

Maybe this old man doesn’t even live here! Maybe he’s some bum from the nearby town, who was hiding out in Dad’s house and now doesn’t know what to do with himself! Sheesh, the trouble I end up in!

I just nodded to the weirdo and marched up to the porch. The doorbell was even a little mirror as I pressed my finger to it and my print was smudged on its reflective glass.

I stared at my frowning, annoyed face, and even caught sight of an anxiety that was knitted into my brow.

What a weird thing to do… I pondered. Why anyone would attach a mirror to the outside of their front door? Maybe that old guy is related to this family…

The door opened slowly, and as I cocked my head to the side, feeling suddenly stunned and confused, an angry looking man did the same. I squinted at him and he at me, as I knew I had seen him before. I had seen him just a moment ago, staring back at me, but now he was my dad’s age, with deeply etched wrinkles in his brow.

“What do you want?” he asked me.

“I—,” I paused. What a strange coincidence, didn’t he think we looked alike too?

“I know why you’re here, come in,” he sighed. I obeyed and crossed through the door into the shack, yet as soon as I turned to the left, I saw another full length mirror, and in it’s reflection the man vanished in a flash of light.

The door seemed to close on itself and I darted my head around wildly.

Suddenly, standing in the same mirror on the left was an attractive girl. She was my age with the same colored hair, and her eyes were the same…

“Hey, looking good!” She winked at me and I felt my hands waving in shock as she mimicked my movement.

“Who are you!?” I exclaimed as she eyed me up and down. I turned to see who was making the reflection, but no one was there. When I glanced back, she too was gone.

I grabbed for the doorknob behind me, ready to run, but to my dismay another reflection came into view. It was me, actually me, and I looked as bewildered as I felt.

I sighed, trying to turn the door handle, but as it wouldn’t budge. Then my reflection started to move on its own. I jumped back and gasped as I watched it bring a bottle of liquor to its mouth, complaining between gulps, “This sucks! My parents suck! Everything sucks!”

I wore exactly what I was wearing three days ago, when I had drank the exact same vodka and slurred those very words. The mirrored image’s bloodshot eyes stared right into mine, with a penetrating, wounding jab.

It scared me away from the door, as I stumbling down a hall and tumbled past more mirrors. In one I saw my mother’s boyfriend, but he transformed into some strange version of myself, and he spoke all the awful things I had said about him, back at me.

I looked like my father, as I watched him, or perhaps me, buying new sheets for my bed in my new room and hang a poem I wrote years ago above it. I hadn’t noticed that…

He— or was it me? —turned back to me, with tears in his eyes.

I searched for another door, but gasped as I made it into what I thought was the kitchen, and nearly tripped over a body length mirror nailed into the floor.

It reflected a mirror, exactly its dimensions on the ceiling, but the one on the ceiling had no reflection, and only glowed with a strange bright light. The mirror on the ground, revealed the inside of an empty grave.

I screamed as the creepy old man seemed to walk from a mirror on the wall and stood next to the grave, asking me, “Like what you see?”

“Let me out of here!” I screamed.

“There is only one way out.”

My mouth dropped as he stepped into the mirror on the floor and disappeared.

It couldn’t be! I turned around to escape through the front door, but suddenly, as I ran through the hallway, I was trapped in an endless mirror maze. The further I ran, the more mirrors appeared. Every reflection became some distorted, alternate version of myself, and all seemed miserable, angry, self centered and annoyed.

I turned again on my heels, desperately hoping to find a way out through the kitchen. When I returned to the room, it was entirely sealed off, no windows, nothing but more mirrors.

On the far right, the wall sized mirror revealed a child-like-me.

He was holding a broken fire truck.

Instantly I knew the memory. I walked up to him, losing all sense of hope and reason.

He was crying. His mom had thrown it in one of her fits and his dad told him to grow up and throw it away. I knew he kept it anyway and tried to fix it with tape at school. It didn’t go well.

“Hey.” I knelt down next to him.

He looked at me, with a surprised expression and with tears in his eyes.

“I see you.” I reached out to put my hand on the reflection’s shoulder.

I gasped, for as soon as my fingers touched the mirror, he vanished and I felt a hand on the back of my shoulder.

I whipped my head around to see the same “me” who had greeted me at the door, the one that was my dad’s age.

But he looked different now. The lines on this face had changed, in fact, they were hardly there and he was smiling at me, laughing.

“Hey,” he told me, “I see you.”

I grabbed him by the shoulders, squeezing them tightly, amazed by how real he felt as I begged, “Get me out of here!!”

“Are you really ready?” he asked, suddenly serious, as though I was about to take some big test and better not fail.

“Are you kidding!?” I exclaimed.

“Then let’s go.” I wasn’t pleased as he walked into the grave-mirror, but if it was the only way, what choice did I have?

In a flash of light, I found myself standing outside a cellar door, dug a few steps into the ground. This door also had a mirror attached to it’s back. I jumped as I saw my reflection sputtering around madly. It was me again, dressed like me, looking exactly as I knew myself to look as this me mimicked my movements and expression. This me was sixteen, this me was…

Getting the hell out of here!

Yet before I raced up the steps, I noticed, carved into planks of wood under each step read the words from top to bottom: The world is a mirror, do you like what you see?

I stopped mid step, and turned once again to look at my horrified self, staring back at me.

“No,” I said aloud to my reflection. “No, I don’t.”

I screamed as my reflection came to life and forewarned me with a blunt snap, “Then change it!”

~*~*~*~

I knew Dad had thought it was because of the condition of the shack that I didn’t stay, but I couldn’t explain to him about the house of mirrors. I sometimes still didn’t even believe it myself. What I did know, was my belief about it really didn’t matter. The experience changed me entirely. The first thing I did when I moved in with my mom was remove all the mirrors in the house.

Aside from the erratic paranoia of my reflection, she had stopped asking me what was wrong and instead started asking me why I seemed so happy.

“If I’m smiling, the whole world is smiling,” I told her. She didn’t seem to get it, but I didn’t care. I understood. My attitude changed everything.

~*~*~*~

Time waits for no one and the years flew by. Slowly, I was able to look myself in the mirror and accept that what I saw wasn’t going to take on a persona of its own. It wasn’t just a relief, but an act through a lot of effort, trial and error, and self awareness, that I could see smiling back at me, the vibrant face of the man who lead me to my grave so many decades ago.