Please Don't

I smiled at myself in the mirror for the first time in months, but I didn’t want to.

​

There was absolutely no reason to be happy. My life was in shambles, reduced to a smoldering heap of charred wood and blackened concrete now twenty odd miles out of sight, but never out of mind. Everything I had, everyone left that I loved, burned to bitter ash.

​

It all started just over a year ago. A promotion that came with a hefty bump in pay. I’d been working corporate law at a bank for years now, and my time to shine had finally come. Managed to ferret out a rather insidious clause in a massive loan deal, which saved the bank from potentially losing millions. With just how big that deal was, I figured my exceptional diligence was worth at least a raise. My boss agreed, and threw in the title of Senior Associate as well.

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As the professional aspects of my life were on the rise, I saw no reason not to include the other facets as well. At the time my wife, Remi, and I were living in an upscale apartment near enough to where we both worked at the city’s center. It was lavish and beautiful, just not enough space for a family.

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While we both agreed it was as good a time to start having kids, we were far from seeing eye-to-eye on where exactly we’d be raising them. Remi loved the city, and had been living the bohemian lifestyle of a successful metropolitan theatre actress long before we first met. I, on the other hand, longed for the suburban stylings of my childhood. Far, but not too far, away from the hustle of the city.

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With a bit of persuasion, I won out in the end. Though, the credit for my success actually goes to the house we were soon to be calling home. A gorgeous modernized Queen Anne revival, less than thirty minutes from the heart of downtown. Almost exactly the kind of house I used to dream about as a little girl.

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Remi loved it just as much as I did, if not more. The mismatched steeped and gabled roof, the veranda with the twisted wrought-iron balustrade, the twinned turrets at odd ends – all of this, and more, resonated with that brazen eccentricity that burned so brightly within her. I watched in delight as her eyes sized-up each room as the Realtor guided us through, her head already filled to burst with ideas regarding interior design.

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We didn’t even look at any other houses, and I knew I wouldn’t be able to sell Remi on any other.

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Surprising enough, the first figure the Realtor dropped on me was considerably lower than what I had lined up for my opening offer. A house this big, this uniquely beautiful, at a price low enough they might as well be giving it away. Obvious red flag, right?

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Instinct honed over years of pouring over hundreds, if not thousands, of contractual agreements told me this was a mistake. There was a catch buried beneath the rabid excitement that the Realtor struggled to contain as Remi voiced her continued adoration of the house. Before things spiraled entirely out of hand, I explained to both of them that nothing was final until I was certain there weren’t any snags waiting for us a few months after moving in.

​

I should’ve just trusted my gut, and resigned myself to a cramped life in the city.

​

A proper inspection was arranged, and the report came back clean. While that was handled, I did what I could to look into the life of the previous owner. The bank I worked for had handled the mortgage, and with a few favors called in, it wasn’t difficult to ascertain some facts about the property’s past and only slightly shady owner.

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Really, it wasn’t all that interesting beyond a venture that failed spectacularly after his business partner passed on from a shockingly sudden heart attack. I presumed that’s what caused the guy to up and vanish, abandoning his home and defaulting on his loan. The bank had been sitting on the property since, despite every effort to unload it.

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When we next met with the Realtor, I asked him about any other interest in the house. Sure, there had been a few potential buyers, though most pulled out of the deal at the eleventh hour. At this point the bank was just looking to wash their hands of it without too much of a loss, hence the low asking price.

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One that I was more than willing to pay, seeing how excited my wife still was about the whole prospect.

 

And that was that, at least for a little while. We moved in, Remi went berserk on the decor, and eventually we grew accustomed to our new schedules with the increased commute. It started turning sour the night of the cast party.

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As I mentioned, my wife was a theatre actress. The theatre company she worked for had just concluded a long and arduous run of Twelfth Night, with Remi leading up the cast as Viola. The production’s director had inserted his own vision into the classic quite successfully, according to the reviews, leading to a much larger number of performances.

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When the final curtain fell, Remi volunteered our home for the last of their cast parties. They needed somewhere a bit more out of the way, as it were. While the production had largely been a roaring success, the toll for such an achievement came by a new strained relationship between the director and his troupe. We can leave the details of that at inflated egos and shouting matches aplenty.

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When said Director discovered he was not invited to this little soiree, he made his feelings about that matter known. If only it had been a strongly worded text or email, perhaps everything would have been fine. No, instead, he had to show up at our house, more than slightly drunk, looking to start a fight with anyone that so much as looked at him funny.

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A scuffle did break out, where his blundering attempt at a row put his fist cleanly through a wall in the foyer. Luckily, Victor, one of the larger and more athletic members of the troupe, was able to subdue him until the police arrived. The evening’s festivities ultimately fell apart then and there, and the party disbanded before Remi and I had even finished squaring things with the patrol officer.

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Exhausted, we let cleaning up fall to our future selves, and headed for bed. I awoke the next morning shortly before noon, not much more refreshed than the night prior, to find myself alone. Curious, as Remi was more apt to nurse a hangover beneath the covers than anywhere else. I glanced to the mirror through the bathroom’s open door to find it just as empty.

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Down through the house, I eventually caught sight of her peering at the assaulted wall in the foyer. Perplexed, she gazed at the empty abyss just beyond broken plaster with a frown. When I joined her, she simply commented that she thought the kitchen pantry was just opposite this wall. Quite certain of that myself, I went off down the hall to see if I could see through to the foyer, when she stopped me and explained she had already tried.

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Shrugging, assuming it was just a gap between walls, I muttered my complaints about trying to find a contractor to restore it when Remi’s unbound curiosity took hold. Unable to do much beyond gawking as she reached her hand into the hole, my protests began shortly thereafter as she began tearing away the loosened plaster. She continued to ignore any and all complaints, not stopping until she had successfully revealed a doorframe where the wall had once been.

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A creeping chill overtook me as I dared to look. Bared concrete walls scarcely revealed by the day’s light awaited. Further within, I could make out the faintest outlines of uncarpeted stairs descending downward into the dark.

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My gripes swiftly changed from Remi’s impromptu renovations to not remember seeing anything like this on the floor plans. We had a basement, one that we used quite regularly. Half of it containing a lounge and bar, while the other was dedicated to a home gym that doubled as rehearsal space for Remi during productions. My thoroughness in prying even the smallest detail from this house before we bought it would not have permitted me to overlook something as big as an unfinished section.

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Again, my wife ignored my moaning complaints. Fascination had gripped her tightly, indeed, as she began her descent into the unknown; the modest light from her phone blazing the path ahead. Not about to allow her to head down all by herself, I quickly followed.

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Each step below was just as sturdy as the last, bearing our weight without so much as a creak of the wood. It led us down to a cramped space, not more than shoulder width. Shallow, barely a nook tucked away in casket of concrete. All in all, a claustrophobe’s nightmare.

We couldn’t miss what this strange little space kept secret. It sat leaned against the wall opposite, covered in a dusty sheet of white. Attached by a small streak of blue masking tape was a piece of folded paper.

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It was my curiosity that got the better us of this time, as I reached forth and easily pulled the paper free. Waving away the disturbed dust, I unfolded the crisp sheet, eager to see what forgotten words could be inscribed on the inside. I was surprised, and sure as hell not pleasantly so.

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Two simple words, written in heavy block text. Strong strokes of the pen that demanded your attention. There was no misunderstanding that they sought to infer grave caution.

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PLEASE DON’T     

 

Remi gasped ever so slightly when I showed it to her. Gooseflesh was already prickling up and down my neck and arms. We both took a step back and tried to make sense of it. If only our intense desire to know hadn’t blinded us from the fact that these words were telling us to go back the way we came, seal up the hole once and for all, and forget any of this had ever happened.

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No. Instead, I reached for the sheet. I had to know.

 

Whatever was beneath was flat. Heavy, too. My thoughts immediately turned to a framed picture, and was half expecting to find some highly unflattering portrait, perhaps of the prior owner and his family. When my fingers brushed the metal frame, ice-cold even beneath the sheet, my cheery expectations vanished.

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Carefully I began removing the sheet. Remi didn’t stop me. She was just as invested in what was beneath.

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Revealed was a mirror, and a beautiful one, at that. Probably an antique, given the elaborate frame of tarnished silver. One you would expect to find in some ritzy salon going for more money than glass and metal ought to cost.

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Cooing excitedly, Remi was eager to have a proper look at it. I stepped out of the way as best I could, given the narrow space. When the reflection opened up to less of me, and more of the passage behind us, I seized as my heart leapt clear into my throat.

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In the reflection, just over her shoulder, a figure lurked in the gloom behind my wife. I couldn’t make out much of them, but I was certain that someone was there, watching us intently.

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Shouting to Remi, we both turned to face the stranger, when I tugged a bit too hard on the sheet. Pinned as it was between the heavy frame and the floor, the exertion forced the mirror to spill forward, crashing into the ground with a piercing shatter.

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There was no one behind Remi. The short passage was empty, and there had been no footfalls on the stairs leading up and out. Frantic, I checked every inch of the walls down there, pressing at the roughly set concrete all around us, finding not even the slightest crack anything, let alone a person, could slip into.

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It didn’t stop there, either. With the sudden shock of the shadowy presence, combined with the rattling crash of glass, I tore through the whole house. I dragged Remi right behind me, dazed and confused as she was about the whole ordeal, ensuring she wasn’t out of sight while I confirmed we were alone in the house.

​

We were and, after I explained what was going on to her, Remi did her best to assure me it couldn’t have been anything more than just a trick of the light. I honestly believed her at the time. Knowing what I know now, I would’ve told her we weren’t going to spend another moment in that house. Though, I really doubt that would have changed anything significantly.

​

The rest of that day was spent doing nothing. Everything and anything could wait, as the jolt of the whole happenstance had thrown me through quite the loop. I hardly touched any of the wine Remi poured for me, and while we tried to watch some TV, my focus ever drifted elsewhere. Every so often, I would catch just the faintest shifting of movement out of the corner of my eye. Though, every time I looked, nothing was there.

​

Eventually I wore down, and fell asleep as we took in an episode of MASH near midnight. That seemed to be the end of it for a while. The next day, we cleaned up the broken glass without incident and passed the twisted remains of the mirror’s frame to a salvage company. I then set about hiring a contractor to properly fill the gap. Before long, our life was back in order.

​

At least for a few weeks. After that, I found myself most days waking up in the middle of the night, tense and restless. It wasn’t nightmares or the like, at least none that I can remember. I would just suddenly bolt awake, sweating profusely and struggling for breath. Our bedroom felt far too small on those nights. Far too small and far too strange, as if I had awakened in a different place and time altogether.

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One night, it was simply too much. I felt feverish and stifled, hard to breathe properly from the heat bearing down upon me. Careful not to wake Remi, I headed down into the kitchen for a cool splash of water and maybe some ibuprofen. Even after a long gulp straight from the facet, the air in the house still felt far too stuffy, so I reached for the small window up above the sink.

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The latch on it was acting up again. I had been meaning to replace it for some time. It just need a bit of fussing to open, something I was struggling to do then in the dark. Flicking the nearby switch turned on the small light in the alcove above the sink, radiating that orangey glow you can only really get in the dead of night.

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Eventually, I was able to pull the window free, letting in some much needed cool autumn air. With eyes closed I took in a few deep breaths, enjoying liberation from the oppressive heat that had been following me through the house.

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I then heard the familiar creak of the floorboards at the kitchen’s entry from the main hall. Figuring Remi had roused and found me missing, I apologized. An apology stopped short as I opened my eyes.

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The reflection on the partially opened window tried to convince me it was Remi behind me; what I saw looking back at me was anyone but.

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Eyes opened wide, crazed and unblinking. Teeth grit fiercely beneath twisting lips. Something in her hand glinted viciously in the meager light. She crept closer and closer, the light now cast upon her. A blur of white knuckles streaked red as she clenched at something like a shard of broken glass, now rising with horrific purpose.

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I whipped around quickly, and found my wife looming in the hall beyond the archway. No morbid expression, eyes were barely open, with emptied hand trying to rub the sleep from them. She mumbled, asking if everything was all right, and I dismissed her concerns with a few shaky complaints about the unseasonal temperature.

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She sympathized sweetly enough, with a promise to turn on the fan in our room.  Promising, in turn, to be up shortly, I watched anxiously as she slowly vanished into the gloom of the darkened hall. I held my breath all up until I heard her soft tread on the stairs.

There was no explanation for what I had seen, nor for the dread now creeping up through me. Undeniably, it was her that I saw in the window’s reflection, never had I not been able to recall her likeness in perfect detail. All the same, never had I seen it so strikingly menacing at the same time.

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Taking a moment longer to hopefully make sense of things, I tried and failed to convince myself it had been nothing but my imagination cranked up to a new level of nightmarish paranoia. I couldn’t even force myself to glance back to the window’s reflection, in fear that whatever I had seen still waited to torment me.

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Eventually I returned to our bedroom, all but sprinting my way there. As I moved through the hall connecting the kitchen and foyer, I kept catching glimpse of quick movements from behind me in the glass of the picture frames hung there. There was no desire to stop and check, and I didn’t even chance a glance over my shoulder, as my feet simply carried me faster, and faster.

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Really shouldn’t be surprising to know I didn’t sleep that night. Every time I started to nod off, in that hazy moment as my eyes drooped ever so slowly closed, the ever so subtle shifting of the gloom would jolt me back awake like a slap in the face. At the height of my exhaustion, I could have sworn someone else was looking back at me every time I dared look toward the bathroom’s mirror.

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I took the next day off from work when Remi caught me twice dozing off at breakfast, nearly planting my face into my oatmeal each time. With all those years at law school under my belt, I was no stranger to all-nighters, but the sleep-starved state that gripped me so tight that morning was something entirely. Every part of me ached, begging for rest, as if the last day and a half had been ceaseless dedicated to running for my life.

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With a bit of help from Remi, I laid myself down on the couch in our living room. She wanted to stay and enjoy the lazy morning with me, but a meeting with the theatre company regarding their next production required her attention. She promised to be back as soon as she could, so long as I promised to stay right where I was at least until she returned.

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Hazily, I can remember the kiss goodbye she gave me. A gentle and calming thing that helped ease my eyes closed, and allowed the darkness to settle evenly. The sweet and intimate scent of her perfume swirling about me, softly telling me it was okay to let go. So I did, for a few hours.

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My parched throat eventually dragged me up and out from sleep’s embrace. A few hard swallows, followed a dry cough, and then I felt it. Just like the night before, that same squirming heat.

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It paired all too well with the sudden restlessness in my arms and legs. Pins and needles all up and down my body as my skin crawled in dread anticipation. The strong feeling of someone’s presence nearby, just barely out of reach.

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Slowly lifting myself upward, I was mustering the courage just to take a single look over the back of the couch, when my gaze fell upon the TV. It hung on the wall across the room, just barely overhead. Muted light seeped in from beyond the curtains, handily revealing a reflection in the darkened glass.

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Frozen in place, my eyes given the last of my liberties. Stricken by unknowable terror, I watched the murky shadow in the wide archway to the foyer slowly focus into familiar shapes. My entirety began to tremble when I recognized the lurking specter.

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It was Remi again, now drifting closer. Silent as a passing shadow, her figure and form failed to even shift in the slightest as she came to loom just behind the couch. She stopped there, baring teeth beneath sloppily painted lips. Her mascara ran in chaotic streaks down her cheeks.

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In staggered, jerking motion, she lifted her hand as if doing so for the very first time. A faint shimmer of jagged and silvery light outlined the sharpness of the glass shard she clenched. Higher, it rose, impatiently enduring until that moment in which it could be murderously lodged into my flesh.

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I threw myself from the couch in a flurry. I remember someone shouting, but not if it was me, or whatever it was that wore my wife’s face. Landing hard on the floor below, just shy of bashing my head into the coffee table, I shuffled backwards, trying to put as much distance between myself and it as quickly as possible.

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Snatching it off the nearby table, I held a sturdy statuette, poised ready to hurl the sculpture at the first sign of movement. As the moments slowly scrapped by, in time I realized I was gawking dumbfounded at an emptied room. I was utterly alone without even the slightest indication that someone else had been there.

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Honestly, I don’t really know what happened next. My mind blanked, and I just went numb. I didn’t even notice when Remi, the real one, returned home sometime after sunset. She found me half-sprawled against the wall below the TV, still clenching tightly at the snatched statuette.

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That look of concern she wore when she first found me turned to pungent unease when I tried to explain it all to her. How something lurked in this house, something that readily wore her face and wanted to hurt me. With a smile that shook too much, she tried to dismiss it all as just stress from work, and perhaps I was still adjusting to our new living arrangement.

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Truly, then and there, I wanted to believe her. I fought so hard to accept as reality that, after a few days, it became a battle hard won. Sleep came easier, and I spent that time free from jumping at every flitting shadow. A bit of the paranoia still remained, that whatever was haunting me was simply biding its time, but even that lessened with a week’s passing.

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What I called derangement, however, soon proved to be truth. I should’ve listened to the creeping doubt that railed against the calm. Whatever lurked in our home had been waiting for the proper moment, and that time came the night Remi had invited some of the troupe over for rehearsal.

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It is so strange that I remember waking up that morning actually excited about the day’s events. Since my scare, I had cut a deal with my boss to allow me to work from home while I sorted this nonsense out, mostly just to catch up on sleep where I could. While I love… loved my wife to death, I was a bit starved for socializing, what with my temporary isolation.

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That and they had always let me watch them run their lines, and that was never not a good time.

 

Our agenda for the evening was a simple one. We’d start with a bit of catching up before they jumped right into their work. Then, while they were rattling the walls with boisterous recitations from Woyzeck, I would be in the kitchen fixing dinner for the lot of us.

It was all going according to plan until I realized I had forgotten to grab a few choice ingredients while out shopping earlier. Stuff I was certain we had at home, but didn’t. It wasn’t all that big of a deal stepping out on our guests to hit the local supermarket, but it all started while I was gone.

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Hard to think that was the case, though. I was in and out, and pulling back into the driveway before long. Felt far too short of a time for what went wrong to have actually gone wrong. Maybe it was because everything that happened after I put the car into park felt like another whole life lived.

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I didn’t even notice anything amiss until after I had pulled the key from the ignition. There wasn’t any deep and ominous aura surrounding the house, no foreboding dread peeling off the walls like a bad paint job. It was a sudden and sharp pang of sheer terror that came with just a brief glance to the rearview mirror.

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In the dim light provided only by the garage door motor, I could see them sitting in the backseat of the car, right next to the sack of groceries. No details, at least none I could determine, just a shadow lurking there. Whirling about quickly, I found only the laden plastic bags sinking into the canvas seat.

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I was alone, even though a shadow passing by in the side mirror told me otherwise.

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Throwing open the door, I scrambled into the house, the sole cause of my errand abandoned in the car. Desperate to calm my nerves, I feverishly reminded myself it was just my imagination gone awry yet again. Convinced being the company of Remi and the others would set my mind to ease, I strained my ears to hear where they might be in the house.

​

Lifeless was the quiet that had settled over our home, and it was anything but peaceful.

 

That same sickly warmth returned, as I crept toward the living room. It was where I had last seen the troupe before leaving, but was no more relieved to find it darkened and unoccupied. I didn’t go in, and you can be certain I didn’t even look toward where the TV hung on the wall.

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Backtracking to the kitchen is when I heard the crash. Straining wood stressed to shatter. Heavy footsteps on tiled floor.

Victor, a well-familiar face from the theatre group came tearing around the corner. Running full pelt, he was panting exasperatedly, eyes full of fear that no soul should know. He didn’t see me, not at first, barreling right into me and sending the both of us sprawling to the floor.

 

Flailing viciously, our joined contact sent him into a howling fit of madness. Again and again, he cried out frantically, until I managed to put enough space between us for him to recognize me. Turns out, apparently my face was one he never wanted to see again.

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Every bit of him seized as recognition slowly crept into his eyes. He began repeatedly mouthing the word no before he actually spoke it, and when he did it came out choked, almost pleading. He kept screaming it as he crashed through the backdoor, and I still heard it persistently cried even as he faded into the darkness beyond.

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As he fled like a man possessed I could only watch. I sat there shivering, not from the cool night air, but from the realization that my imagination was simply not acting up from stress. Only when I could no longer hear his panicked shrieks and frantic footfalls slamming against distant asphalt, did I turn toward the havoc wreaked in his retreat.

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The door to the basement had been torn nearly clean off its hinges. It hung there, at an odd angle, seemingly beckoning me within and below in an unsettling manner. I could only keep asking myself what down there had sent Victor stark raving mad into the night.

 

In retrospect, I had to have known. As I crept down those stairs and through the lounge, part of me surely realized it. The constant questioning of it was simply a means to keep myself from spilling over the lip of the chasm of lunacy.

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A short and rather narrow corridor was all that separated me from the home gym that doubled as Remi’s rehearsal space. Each step toward it just as torturously difficult as the last. Only my own ragged breathing kept me company, as I slogged onward through the unseen mire of looming terror.

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With a hard swallow, I crossed over the threshold. I still don’t think I fully understand what I saw waiting for me there.

Serenity and chaos, layered like oil and water.

​

I saw Remi, and the others, laying upon the floor. Were it not for their expressions of intense apprehension carved into their faces, I would have assumed them merely resting. A hope quickly discarded when I noticed their chests neither rose nor fell, and their still opened eyes focused intently on nothing and everything.

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Truth was, I was only seeing half of the picture.

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A common thing, really, to see gyms with mirrors, and ours was no exception. The entire far wall was lined with them, used for both perfecting form during workouts and refining poise while delivering soliloquies. Reflected within them then was nothing less than a nightmare.

 

Blood wept and oozed from deep and jagged cuts and punctures all over their bodies. The floor was slick with it, pooling vivid crimson. Haphazardly, the walls were splashed in patterns screaming of violence.

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Rushing over to my wife, I knelt aside her to see if there was anything I could yet do. Perhaps her wounds were not yet fatal. I could help her, I could help the others.

​

A fool’s errand ensnared in impossible insanity. Her flesh was already cold, though I couldn’t understand why. While the mirrors portrayed mutilation, Remi’s skin was unmarred beneath my fingertips. Not a single cut, not a single drop of blood spilled.

 

The same for all the others.

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I don’t know how long I sat there, shifting my gaze frantically between these twinned worlds. I do remember my slipping grip on what remained of sanity as I tried to puzzle the how of it together. Desperately my rationale clung to the notion that this was all some sort of theatric trick the others were playing on me.

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At any moment, they would spring back to life, and we’d have a good laugh about it. I was so certain of this, it was relief I felt when I saw Remi began to stir. Relief that turned to horror the moment I realized only her reflection rose up from the floor.

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She stalked toward me, beyond the polished glass. Each movement a shuddering and disgusting convulsion. No small amount of effort was required to raise a deeply blood-stained hand to place against the invisible barrier that separated us.

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Shuffling backward in shock, I tried so hard to look away. I pulled my knees to my chest, and buried my face therein. To no avail, as the other began pounding so fiercely upon the mirror I feared for the world that it would break.

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Holding my gaze once more, the mirror’s specter smiled cruelly as it painstakingly brought its hand towards its neck. Stuttered spasms allowed it to collect the blood still seeping from the unsightly gash carved in the throat.

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Wet was the slap against the glass, as the hand began streaking gore into shapes that became letters that became a words. They still burn within my mind, despite the heavy fog that obscures the rest of that night.

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FOREVER YOURS

 

That was it – the final straw. The moment I realized what had been spelled out, I snapped. The last thing I can remember was the hurried sensation of falling backward into spiraling darkness. A cold embrace waiting for me as every part of me screamed.

​

I’m not sure how the fire was started, but I’m pretty sure it was me that set it. All I can remember is suddenly coming back to myself out in the street in front of the smoldering ruin that had been our house. I sat shivering, wrapped in a thick blanket, watching the fire crew douse the last of flames that yet remained.

​

The bodies of Remi and the others were found, more or less. Classified under the messy spectrum of human remains until the dental records came back. I remember hearing homicide and arson being thrown around, but not in my direction. Like I said, I’m pretty sure I started the fire, but the police were extremely reluctant to accept it as confession. Too much evidence pointed away from me, or so my lawyer kept telling me, that they’d be hard pressed to make the charges stick.

​

So here I sit, months later. I haven’t really told anyone about what really happened. Too wild for anyone to actually believe. I’ve kept my mouth shut this long, and only one thing has made me change my mind on broaching the subject.

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I smiled at myself in the mirror for the first time in months, but I didn’t want to.