Upon Reflection

Do you know why Vampires cannot see their reflections in mirrors? It's to do with the silver. Mirrors used to be backed with it; they were costly artisan pieces. Silver is challenging for the supernatural as it is their kryptonite.

To own a mirror back in the day, you had to be rich. That's why breaking a mirror is supposed to give you seven years' bad luck. When the rich had servants, if one's maid broke a mirror while dusting, she would have her pay docked to cover the damage for seven years.

Today's vampires are just dandy in more ways than one, as all modern mirrors are backed with cheap aluminium. So now, after centuries in the shadows, vampires can finally apply their own makeup.

These urban legends can be found anywhere.

Now let me share with you an honest, 'old school' superstition about your looking glass. I am from an old Irish family. Now old here does not refer to age but to outlook. The French have a phrase called France Prefend. It means deep France, deep in the country, deep in the old world and even deeper in the old ways. It is an insult. It describes a world still untouched by modernity.

Well, that is my Irish family. Despite migrating all over the world and the younger generation; my generation, having all the mod cons and good jobs in the city; that old lore still prevailed. We still lived with tales of faeries and the merrow folk. We remembered the stories of the otherworld's of the 'Good Neighbours' hidden in the earth mounds. Of course, we ignored them and laughed, but they still existed somewhere in the back of our minds.

Last Christmas, I was at my Aunty Kathleen's; an almighty thunderstorm blew overhead. She ran around the house, covering all the mirrors with towels.

"Aunty, what are you doing?"

"Don't just sit there, Mal, help me."

So I did. The Irish love mirrors. All shiny and pristine. They still treasure what used to be important. It was a mad dash, but we covered them all.Sitting down with all the lights turned off in complete darkness, as the storm raged overhead, my Aunty Kathleen finally relented to my pleas and plugged the kettle in to make us each a brew. When she returned with it and a plate of biscuits. I just had to ask.

"The mirrors, what's the deal with the mirrors?"

"It is for the lightning."

"Seriously, you think the lightning is going to come in the house and pinball all around."

"No, don't be stupid. I don't want the mirrors to catch the lightning."

I started laughing. After that, I got Kathleen's death stare, and she was not in the mood to discuss it any further. Now, all this irrelevant information might seem unnecessary and random, I mean, I lived in this world, and it was all silly stuff to me. Until something transpired, and this was all I had in my head to make sense of it all. It happened two years later while working in a big house in the city.

We were setting it up for a film shoot. I lifted a huge antique mirror into place over the central fireplace. It was a stunning piece with an intricate hawthorn frame; the glass had spotted with age, something just impossible to replicate with modern glass. It belonged to the location, but with persuasion, they had allowed us to use it. Its surface undulated from over the fireplace with a seamless curved form like the sea; it was a marriage made in heaven. The glass was finally home, where it should be.

The silent perfection of the moment was interrupted by the unmistakable crack of thunder. Everyone ran out of the room to ensure all the equipment offloaded from the trucks was protected. Left alone, I pulled out my cigarettes and positioned myself by the window to watch the chaos.

Chaos is beautiful, the perfect moment to take a skive as no one is keeping track of anything. Right as the team assembled, the rain descended. The sky ripped open and hit them with everything. It was a wonderful sight to behold. Then I jumped as the first flash of lightning opened the horizon. The whole courtyard spun into frenetic activity. Mimicking their bustle the wind started and tossed them around like rag dolls. It was at this moment that I thought I should go join them to share their pain when I stopped. I was mesmerized.

The lightning struck again but closer, and from this height, I could clearly see its advance. Counting to ten in my head, a third bolt of fury came crashing down. This time it was almost on top of us, hitting the ground in the middle of the park just behind the property. I started to count again.

…Three, Four, Five…

My arms were tingling. I stopped counting. Staring at the hairs on the back of my arms, I watched as, one by one, they curled backwards and stood out. The whole world stopped.

Now, imagine the sound of your body being split into millions of pieces and hastily reassembled; an almighty crack passing through your body to the centre of the earth and back again. Play that ghastly sound in your head. It is like a symphony of terror. Then make it twice as complicated and let the whole concerto last a fraction of a second.

Stumbling to my knees, I knew what had happened; lightning had struck the building.

Pulling myself together, I got to my feet and looked out of the window. The storm was still there, but the trucks had gone. Hearing the most acute electrical buzzing sound in my ears, I turned around. Directly opposite me was a glowing orb of light that was precisely the size of my head, and if it had had eyes, we would have been staring directly at each other. When I stepped to the left, it shadowed me! The same thing happened as I stepped to the right! The mirror was glowing with crystalline energy. It began to pulse.

A sheet of paper on the floor flew up into the air, towards the mirror, disintegrating on impact. The whole room altered; it was as if the mirror was the plug in a sink full of water. The minute that sheet of paper disintegrated, the plug was removed, and the entire contents of the room were pulled towards it.

Scrambling frantically over furniture, I tried to stay away. The glowing orb also attempted to escape the danger. Without arms and legs, it had little luck; it was caught in the pull. I made every effort to survive my predicament. The furniture, as it touched the mirror, fizzed out of existence. Looking over my shoulder, I watched the orb draw closer falling into a spiral. With no purchase left to hold onto, I, too, was sliding to my death. Finally, the orb made contact with the mirror and simply blinked out of existence. All the remaining debris descended with a crash. The danger was over, and the mirror went from a shiny opalescence to a cloudy white.

Walking over to the mirror within the new stillness of the room, I was transfixed by how beneath the surface of the glass, the white billowed and churned. Then, flecks of green started to appear. It rippled through the snowy motion into ribbons of emerald. Soon the whole surface transformed into a bottle green. The light radiating outwards, filling the room. This green aura robbed the space of all other colours, and it felt as if I was trapped underwater.

I reached out to touch the surface, when the mirror shattered into a cloud of dust, surrounding the room in a preternatural glitter.

"Who are you?"

I spun around, and standing at the back of the room was the most extraordinary sight.

"Who are you, and what are you doing here?" the voice continued.

The voice was coming from me.

Not me, me. An other me!

Standing at the back of the room was a figure. It had shorter hair than mine, horn-rimmed glasses, and was dressed a lot smarter, but it was undoubtedly me. Tongue-tied, I walked towards my doppelganger. We circled each other. He, the he that was not me, pulled back in shock.

"But, but you are me," I said.

"No, not at all, you, you are me," he said.

His eyes were bulging out in shock, but there was something else there. Something that could only be described as disgust. I was fascinated. We may look the same, but we were clearly experiencing something completely different.

"This is messed up," I responded.

"What are you doing in my house," he replied.

I could do nothing else but stare; it was uncanny. I looked around the room and took everything in. The room was a bombsite in splashes of jade and lime. He moved towards the door.

"What are you doing?" I said.

"I'm getting the police," he said.

"Why?"

"Because this is wrong."

"But are you wrong? Or am I wrong?"

"What do you mean?"

"We need to work this out."

"What?!"

"I am Malachy Green, born in Birmingham…"

"…on November 26th, 1987," he finished.

"Exactly, I am you, and you are me; I think we need to have a chat."

"You first. Talk."

"I am in exactly the same position as you. None of this makes sense."

I looked my double up and down, staring intently at every aspect of him.

"What are you doing?" he said.

"Well, we are the same, but clearly different,"

"Explain."

His clothes were expensive; I was in overalls. My hair was a mess. His hair was perfect.

"Well, if I was refined wine, I would look like you…" I said.

"…And if I was a beer can in a paper bag, I would look like you," he finished.

"Touché."

That comment made him raise an eyebrow. I think the stereotype he had placed me in had been inverted.

"One of us has stepped through the looking glass into the other's realm," I said, signalling to the destroyed mirror.

"Yes, but which one?"

We walked over to the mirror; the glass was gone, and we stared at the wooden back of the frame. Standing side by side, staring at a reflection that was not there.

Now what happened next I am not proud of. I stepped behind him and put him in a stranglehold. While he struggled and pulled at my arm, the strangest thoughts raced through my brain. The central idea was disappointment. For a moment, I found myself hoping that if our positions were reversed, I would be putting up a better fight. Then, pulling my double to the ground, I got a better purchase and turned him over. Straddling my (his) body and placed my hands around my (his) throat, and squeezed until I (he) was dead. All that might sound confusing, but trust me, living it was far more perplexing.

I dragged my double to the side and pulled him into a large vanity cupboard. Flipping over a chair, I sat down and breathed deeply.

Killing yourself is exhausting.

I had stepped through the looking glass.

I was the intruder.

Life for me has always been tough. This guy had everything. I truly believe everything in life has to happen for a reason: I was placed here to take this chance.

It was destiny, not murder!

Was it suicide? Hmm, a difficult one. Maybe it was just the ultimate act of self-destruction. We do that in some way to ourselves each day. We smoke, we drink, we eat all the wrong things. We lie to ourselves every day when we stare into our looking glass.This is a victory for the downtrodden. A balancing of the scales. It feels good.

I think I am going to need to arrange a spell of amnesia. A little deliberate accident to help me get up to speed with my new life.

Do you know how I knew?

It was the picture.

There was a picture on the wall behind him I had never seen. A glorious portrait of splendour and finesse. A portrait of me. I simply wanted to be that version of myself.

Wouldn't you?

First Published on Vocal 2021