Mirror

The rule book felt like a little bit of overkill. I had housesat for practically every single person in the neighborhood. I assumed I was past someone having to hold my hand through it. The process was simple. Keep things clean, mind my business, take care of the pets, and no guests without permission. So simple a kindergartener could’ve done it, but I wasn’t a kindergartener. I was a twenty-two year old woman holding a leather bound book that just read ‘Rules’ across the front. I didn’t know much about the Hinchcliffe’s. At the time, they were relatively new to the neighborhood, having only been there for five or six months. What I did know was they kept to themselves, and oftentimes would avoid community events as much as they could. My little cousins would start rumors about them, saying they were vampires or cannibals. My mother just questioned their presence. ‘If they want to be left alone so bad, they shouldn’t have moved into the suburbs.’ My dad on the other hand was a full blown nut about the whole thing. ‘If you ask me, there’s something otherworldly about them Hinchcliffes. I wouldn’t go near them.’ My dad was constantly looking for a reason to talk though, so I took what he said with a grain of salt. They were paying me six-hundred for two nights so I wasn’t about to turn them down over superstition.

When I opened the book, I noticed it was practically ancient. The pages were tattered and stained with various liquids that had sat in the fibers over the years. I wasn’t a historian, but something told me this belonged in a museum. Not in my hands, that was for sure. The Hinchcliffe’s didn’t have any children, yet they insisted on moving into the largest home in the neighborhood, probably to accommodate for the plethora of artifacts hung on every wall around me. The book was so artistically handwritten, painted in cursive like an old letter from colonial times.

Good evening, Sir or Madame. We are most grateful you were kind enough to accept our invitation. Before you can properly manage our estate and all its accouterments, there are a few stipulations you must abide by. These rules and regulations are established not only for the preservation of our home, but also for your safety. Please listen to the rules listed below and be sure to follow them diligently.

1. Do not follow the voices. Anything you hear is a fabrication and is to be ignored. Do not return to the upstairs section until they pass. There is a phonograph in the den if you need something to drown out the noise.
2. Do not touch or get too close to the paintings. They may appear to be watching you. Do not investigate.
3. Dishes are to be washed, dried, and returned to their proper places before going to bed. Anything left in the sink will be gone by the morning.
4. Guests are allowed, but must leave before midnight and are required to read this book as well. Our family is not responsible for the fate of anyone you bring into this house. 
5. No board games under any circumstances. Without knowing it, you are inviting them to play. In the event this rule is forgotten or disobeyed, you must let them win.
6. Once you enter your bed, do not get out of it until morning. Soiling your sheets is a far better outcome than if you left.
7. Avoid all mirrors after midnight. Do not look, stand near, or turn in the direction of them.

You have the next thirty minutes to decide if you would like to stay and follow through on your agreement. If you choose to stay, follow all of these rules, keep the house clean, and you will receive your payment in-full upon the Hinchcliffe’s return home. I wish you the best of luck.

- Aberdeen Hinchcliffe

A pit of unease had grown in my stomach, wondering just what on earth I had gotten myself into. I immediately called my sister who was very quick to dismiss the entire thing.

“The Hinchcliffe’s are freaks, Kat. Seriously, I bet they just like fucking with their house guests.” She said, her words giving me a little bit of relief. Surely I was just caught up in the moment, not considering how ridiculous the rules I had just read were. I chalked it up to a cheap prank, and after the call, ultimately decided to stick it out. 

I should’ve known better.

I spent the first few hours on my phone, scrolling through socials and wishing I was still in college. I left after my second year when my parents said they couldn’t keep supporting me financially, something I didn’t blame them for. My dad had lost his job recently and we’d been living off unemployment for the past year. A big part of why I took to house-sitting, as it kept me out of the house, got me some spending money, and allowed me to use up someone else’s electric bill for a few days. I didn’t spend many days at home. Once word got out about my house-sitting business, I’d usually spend a few days watching someone’s place, crash at Dylan’s for two or three nights, head home to re-pack my bag, and then head to my next job. It kept me from feeling like such a burden. Especially since my sister had her own apartment, not having asked them for a single cent in nearly ten years. I’d be lying if I said part of me wasn’t jealous of her. She got to go to college twelve years ago with the full financial support of my parents, and here I was. Sitting on a dusty leather couch in a vampiric family’s aggressively timbered living room. Life can be funny if you can stop crying for long enough to notice the irony. 

At a certain point, I figured I’d stop wallowing and actually go take a look around. I figured it was best to familiarize myself with the layout of the place before it got too dark. I started upstairs since that was where I’d be sleeping. I’d find my room, and then backtrack from there. As I navigated the mahogany halls, I kept having to remind myself what year it was. The oil paintings and crystal light fixtures transporting me back to the roaring twenties. I kept my distance from the paintings, the superstition of my father getting the best of me. Plus, it seemed more respectful to stay back, so as not to disturb such delicate pieces of history. Most of the paintings looked normal, quelling my worry about the rule book. That is, until I came across the one at the end of the hall. It didn’t have much of a description, just the date ‘1872’ ingrained on a small gold plaque at the bottom. It seemed incredibly foolish, but the painting looked surprisingly similar… to me.

The eyes were identical, possessing the sunken edges and green hue mine had. It had my flat black hair, careening its way down the shoulders. My trademark pale pigment. Hell, it even had my butt chin. The only noticeable difference was the outfit. The doppelganger in the painting wore a maroon evening dress with white puffed sleeves and buttons so high, they practically strangled her neck, which was at least one difference between us. Although, I don’t think women wore flannels in 1872. I finally found my room, a small nook in the back of the house, with walls lined floor to ceiling with books. I would’ve taken to reading a few if I hadn’t been so worried about disturbing them. The rest of the house was to be expected. Too many books, a few porcelain statues, and at least three studies, which is two more than any home should have.

Once I got back to the couch, I decided I’d give Dylan a call and see if he could come by. I didn’t have their permission for him to stay the night, but I figured he could at least hang out until it got dark.

“Hey…” A voice called out from some far reaching area of the home. I put my phone down and turned my ear to the air, searching for the source of the disruption. I must’ve sat in silence for nearly ten minutes, waiting for confirmation on what I’d just heard, but it never happened. I gave up, resigning to the thought that the isolation was beginning to get the better of me.

Dylan showed up about a half an hour afterward. He brought pizza which I was grateful for as I did not want to cook whatever obscure ingredients they had sitting in their pantry. We sat on the couch watching random reality television until my laptop screen began to burn through my retinas. I got up and washed the plates we’d used so I could get ready for bed. Dylan had read the rules when he got there, so he immediately began to tease me for following them so closely.

“Better wash those fast! Don’t want the dish goblins getting their hands on them.” He laughed, but I found his jokes childish and a little tone deaf. He wasn’t known for keeping jobs, or recognizing any responsibility before him, which meant every new house I’d take care of was just another new bed for us to have sex in. I shrugged off his words and finished the dishes, making sure to return them to their proper places. I want to point out that this was not done out of fear or worry. It was strictly a sign of respect. Thomas Hinchcliffe may have been a weirdo, but that didn’t mean I was going to just ignore his rules. Even if they seemed bonkers.

It took a lot of effort to shove him out after dinner. He kept grabbing up on my hips, saying it couldn’t hurt to let him stay the night. At a certain point, he even followed me up to my room which ended up being the last straw. I turned him around and said if he still wanted to have a girlfriend in the morning that he needed to go. He threw out some profanities about me being “so bitchy when I’m working.” And how I “always know how to ruin the mood.” I did not care and slammed the door in his face. Once he was finally out, I snuck a peek at the time. It was nearly midnight. I wasn’t trying to be superstitious, at least that’s what I was telling myself, but I knew it was time for bed. I headed upstairs, switching off lights and shutting doors as I went. 

As I got closer to my room, it really hit me just how creepy the place looked at night. It resembled a museum after hours, if I hadn’t been so eerie, I might’ve had the foresight to make a Night at the Museum joke or something. However, given how the next events unfolded, I wish I could’ve seen the similarities earlier. I made the mistake of crawling into bed first. It had been a long day and I was exhausted. This was a natural part of my routine as I’d spend a little bit on my phone in bed, go brush my teeth, and then hop right back in. The moment that I stood back up, I heard the most bloodcurdling scream my ears could have ever perceived, and that’s when it hit me.

Rule 6: Do not get out of your bed until morning.

Broken. Shit.

I jolted forward as I felt something touch my ankles, looking down to see what looked like four shadowy claws reaching out from under the bed. I ran out the door as fast as I could, finding myself in the center hallway of the house where the voices grew in sound and intensity until all at once, it was like a symphony of groans and shrieks, all echoes of past lives lost or forgotten. I looked up to see what can only be described as a dozen piercing red eyes staring straight through me, each pair coming from a different painting on the wall. The screams appeared to have come from them as well, and in my panic I had stood too close to one, allowing it to reach out and scratch my right shoulder.

Rule 2: Do not touch or get too close to the paintings.

Broken.

I winced back and ran away from the paintings expeditiously. My immediate thought was do whatever I could to get out of here. I wasn’t familiar enough with the house to have a secret escape route, meaning the front door was my best option. I winded the careening wooden halls until I came to the kitchen/den at the front of the house. I ran through, making my way to the door, where I saw what can only be described as an eight-foot tall shadowy figure guarding the front door. It turned to face me, breaking out into a full sprint in my direction. I sprinted straight back to where I had been before, recognizing that the front door was no longer an option.

I found the bathroom at the end of the hall and without thinking, ran straight into it. I slammed the door shut, locking both the bolts. I was losing control, hyperventilating as my lungs scorched my throat. I did the only thing I could think to do and called Dylan, my fingers barely able to type in his name into my contacts. I held the phone against my ear, the other hand applying pressure to the wound on my shoulder. I couldn’t feel much of anything from the adrenaline, but I could tell I was bleeding bad.

“Kat, if you’re gonna apologize, I don’t wanna hear it.” He said, my seething rage overtaken by the immeasurable fear I felt.

“Dylan! Please, I need you to come get me! It’s real! It’s fuckin’ real! All of it!” I screamed out. The voices had made their way to the door and were deafening at this point. Somehow, I don’t think Dylan heard anything.

“Are you serious, Kat? You’re being so hysterical right now, okay? Stop making shit up.” I couldn’t believe how quick he was to dismiss my fear and pain as paranoia.

“Dylan, listen to me! I’m bleeding and-” I stopped. My whole body frozen in place as I stared back at my reflection.

Shit.

Rule 8: Avoid all mirrors after midnight. Do not look, stand near, or turn in the direction of them.

Broken.

There I was. Staring straight into my own soul. I was paralyzed, like someone was holding me down with all of their might. Every muscle, even my throat, completely held hostage under the weight of this entity. My phone dropped to the floor. I could still barely make out the sound of Dylan calling out to me, helplessly unable to respond. I felt my breath getting shorter and quicker.

Then I blacked out.

When I came to, I was surrounded by total darkness, encapsulating every wall and surface of where I was. As I pushed myself off the ground, I noticed that the pain in my shoulder was gone, replaced by a numbness where the wound once was. The voices had stopped too, leaving an unsettling quiet. Like I had been transported to one of those sensory deprivation chambers. I also noticed that despite being completely devoid of light, I could see my own body clear as day. It was as if, even in a brightly lit room, my surroundings would still be coated in darkness. I searched the barren expanse, eventually finding a small window in the distance. I ran over to it, only to find I couldn’t open it, nor get out of it. I screamed out, hoping to God someone could hear me, but nothing. When I took a moment to see what was on the other side of the window, I realized it was the hallway of paintings I’d been in before. Only this time, it was me on the wall, exactly where that portrait with a striking resemblance to me once hung.

It was then when I heard the far off sound of a door opening, followed by the footsteps of a person entering the home.

“Kat! Where the hell’d you go?” It was Dylan. I guess frantic screams followed by sudden silence had passed his threshold of ‘not my problem.’ As he approached, still calling out to me, I tried to get his attention, but my words held no weight. I was soundproofed from him, unable to make my voice heard. When he neared the hallway, I saw something materialize on the wall across from me. Another portrait, this one slightly newer in design. As it developed before me, I could see that it looked exactly like Dylan. He entered the hallway, staring across at the wall of paintings, likely victims of the Hinchcliffe’s previous residences. Whatever spirit or monster followed their family, it needed to feed. The rules were simply to give the visitors a fighting chance, a fight that I had lost. A fight that Dylan had made me lose. When he waltzed down to my end of the hall, he stopped at my painting, staring straight into my cold, painted eyes. I didn’t long to hold him. In fact, all of my heart and passion was replaced with pure anger. He turned away, coming face to face with his doppelganger on the wall. This was his fault. He was the reason I was trapped in this endless hell. It was him who deserved this torment, not me. I reached my hand through the portal of the wall, my hand turning into a grotesque silhouette of claws, slowly encroaching on his throat.

Rule 2: Don’t get too close to the paintings.