It was in a dusty antique store where I found the mirrorbox. I had never heard of such a thing. But that is undeniably what it was. The mirrorbox was rectangular, about twenty centimetres long and ten centimetres wide. Its outside was smooth, dark wood. The lid had a flimsy brass clasp that barely held it closed. When opened, the entire inside of the box was littered with mirrors of various sizes. It reminded me of a disco ball. The longest mirror was fixed at the back of box and showed my own shadowed face, staring down.
My eyebrow arched as I inspected the box. I was puzzling over what practical use it could provide? Curious, I took it to the counter where an old man sat reading his phone and asked him about it. He laughed, “No idea what it is. Maybe a weird jewellery box? People keep the oddest stuff.” I thanked and paid him.
Days went by and I almost forgot about the mirrorbox. I had stored it at the top of my cupboard but had rearranged some things recently while cleaning, so I moved it under my bed. I was still trying to figure out what it was and ultimately what to do with it. I was lying awake in bed late one night when I heard a soft scratching sound coming from under my bed. At first, I feared it was mice. But then it grew louder and more – rhythmic. It was like someone was scratching on the floor. Trying to get my attention.
Scratch, scratch, scratch.
I tried to swallow, but my throat was dry. I slowly got out of bed and kneeled. It was dark and the floor was cold on my knees. The mirrorbox sat under my bed. Then the scratching sound started again. I jumped. Now I was certain it was coming from the box. Trembling, I reached forward. But as I touched it, the lid sprang open. I yelled and fell onto my back, my legs kicking. Once I caught my breath, I sat up. The mirrorbox’s lid was wide open. As I moved to close it, I caught a glimpse of the inside. Immediately, I felt myself descend into hundreds of pools made from my own reflection; it was like falling into a dream. Suddenly, I was awake again; floating above my own body! I saw my physical body kneeling on the ground. My eyes were white and cloudy. But I was floating in the air? Was this my spirit? Am I dead? I looked down and saw translucent limbs below me!
The whole world looked completely different; everything was colourful and when anything moved, long kaleidoscopic trails flowed behind. Also, it was purely silent. I heard nothing. Not the rustle of leaves, not the sound of cars or even my own breathing. Moving around as a spirit was challenging. At first, I could not go anywhere I intended to. I floated so slowly; it was like trying to swim through molasses. I drifted through the walls. Later, I was excited to discover I could move objects, but only with great effort; everything was much heavier and more slippery in this state. Even lifting a pencil was like trying to hold up an oily dumbbell with two fingers. I floated through the walls, from room to room, and eventually went outside.
When I floated past strangers no one noticed me. Then, I felt a strange warmth and the light from the sun began to rise. I felt as if I was falling, and with a painful groan, I was back in my body. I felt cold and stiff. Breathing heavily, I reached forward. My own small reflections stared up at me.
My knees clicked as I stood up. What had I just experienced? I didn’t believe in any spiritual stuff but this had been undeniably real. I had somehow projected my spirit. I stroked my chin as I thought. So, this is what the box does? Why? What use is this thing? Even though I was exhausted, I knew sleep was impossible. So, I took the box to my study. In the bright light of my desk lamp, I inspected it thoroughly. I checked for any false bottoms or secret compartments but. found none. However, within the box, tucked behind the largest mirror, was a small piece of yellowed paper. And once unfolded, it revealed in red ink:
USE ONLY IN GREAT NEED
- from midnight until dawn
Rules (to be ignored at your own peril):
I felt my pulse rise. I looked at the rules again, trying to make sense of them. I spent the rest of that Sunday at home, thinking about the box. It could be used as an excellent spying device. But I didn’t have enough interest in spying on my anyone.
I waited with great impatience for midnight to arrive. Then, with my heart thumping in my ears, I opened the box and used it for the second time. Just like before, my body went limp. Everything around me grew colourful and psychedelic. I found it easier to move around this time and I floated around the house doing my best to move small objects. Then, when I grew braver, I ventured outside.
I floated in a silent, cool, homogenous void. It was near two in the morning when I was floating through a part of town I had not yet explored. When I turned the corner, I saw them. I screamed, but it rang out muffled and unheard in the ghostly realm. They were spirits of the dead. I knew at once. They were silent and grimaced in pain. Pointing at me. They had gaunt, decaying faces and hollow eyes. I was breathing faster and faster, and I knew my heart should be racing but all I felt was that cool nothingness in my chest. I floated over to the ghosts. I was more sad than afraid now and I started to get angry. Who had done this?
As I floated past them I saw that each one was rooted to the ground. I reckoned that each was bound to their bones. If that was the case then this area was littered with evidence for the police. I carefully inspected the area. It was a large walled off garden full of birch trees belonging to some older man called Joseph Hanger. It was a small town and everyone knew everyone around here. I had seen Joseph around town, but I didn’t know him beyond that. He was bald, tall and thin; reminded me of an old willow tree. He’d held the door for me once or twice at the grocery store. Could he really have something to do with these poor souls? I racked my brains. I looked back up at the ghosts. Most of them were young women. Of course. It’s always young women. They were dressed in clothes popular during the early 2000s. I noticed one ghost with red hair holding an old-school iPod. They all stared at me intensely. They knew I could see them. They pointed up at the house and horrible, angry, soundless words poured from their mouths. A second later, I heard a sound; it shattered the absolute silence around me and I jumped from fright. It was a loud tweet and my eyes swivelled up. In the branches of a birch tree above the ghosts sat a small bird. A single whippoorwill. It looked down at me with an eerie stillness. I shuddered. When the whippoorwill cocked its head, I noticed that, unlike everything around me, it didn’t sparkle with those odd colours. No, this bird looked regular. Suddenly, another one landed on a nearby branch. It also stared down at me. Then another came out of nowhere and landed on another branch. Then another. Soon, a dozen of them were sitting silently in the branches.
Each was looking down at me. I was now extremely uneasy, the words of the third rule blazing in my mind: do not bother the birds! Immediately I was floating back to my house. When I turned and looked behind me the birds had not moved. But they did stare at me, their gaze followed me as I moved away. Once home, I reached down and used my spirit-hands to close the lid of the mirrorbox. It was not easy and the lid kept slipping. But eventually I closed it. Like I had expected, as soon as the lid closed, I felt myself pulled back into my body. I fell forward, my extremities once again cold and stiff.
I slept restlessly and I did my best that next morning not to be too distracted. I spent the day doing research on Joseph Hanger and his house. The only thing I could find was that he moved into that house more than two decades ago. Then I did some digging into the possible victims. After another hour of research, I sat and stared down with horror at a picture of the red-haired lady I’d seen with the iPod. Her name had been Samantha Parker. Her parents had reported her missing back in 2006. She had been just sixteen years old. I felt my heart race and my stomach churn. All of this was swirling though my mind as I watched the sun descend.
It was only after true darkness had settled on the town that I snuck over Joseph’s wall with a spade. Anyone reading this may ask: Why not call the police? Well, because I knew them. I had gone to high school with them, and they’re morons. I needed to make sure that hard evidence fell right into their laps or they would be useless. So, I climbed over the low stone wall and began digging. It took me a few tries but I managed to find the right spot eventually. It took over two hours, was long after midnight, and I had to dig at least a meter until I found the first bones. At the sight of this, I was both horrified and vindicated. It was cold and I was tired, but I felt this discovery feed me new strength. I dug more. I was so busy digging I almost didn’t notice a light go on in the house behind me. I froze. For a long moment there was nothing. Then I saw a shadow pass by one of the ground-floor windows. I snatched my spade, and scrambled out of the hole. Just as I did, a fluorescent light burst out from an open door. “Oi!” I heard a raspy yell. I turned on my heels and ran. “Get back here!” I heard heavy footfalls chase after me. I leapt at the wall and scrambled over faster than I could believe. As I made it to the pavement, I sprinted. My mind raced. Had he seen me? He’ll recognize me if he did. Stupid! Should have worn a mask. After running for a minute, I slowed down and turned. No one was behind me. I panted heavily and quickly hid around the next corner. I panted more. Then, I stuck my head out and looked carefully down the road. No one was there.
My house was dark as I ran from room to room, checking all the doors and windows were locked. Feeling less shaky, I made my way to the kitchen. I was thinking about calling the police while I fetched myself whiskey. Suddenly, my kitchen window exploded with a loud smash! My head swivelled and my eyes bulged. A long-limbed man crawled through the broken window. He was brandishing a wooden cricket bat and a large knife. I jumped back and sprinted out of the kitchen. He was behind me, right on my heels. I ran towards my bedroom, a half-plan forming in my desperate mind. As I reached my room, I dived under my bed and grabbed the mirrorbox. I heard a mocking laugh behind me. I turned. “Nowhere to go now. Stupid little pest.” He stared at me, the knife gleaming with moonlight. I moved the mirrorbox behind my back. As soon as I did, he grew curious. “What was that? A phone? Let’s have a look.” I said nothing. He walked slowly over to me. Then he lunged forward and snatched the box from my hands. He kneeled down as he pulled the box closer. “What the hell is this shit?” he said as he opened the lid. It happened immediately. The mirrors in the box glowed. Joseph’s eyes became cloudy and his hands dropped to his sides. The knife and cricket-bat clattered to the ground.
Behind Joseph I saw a swirling cloud of colour float up into the air. Slowly, this orb took the shape of a floating, translucent version of Joseph. I could see his spirit! He looked down on me and his own body; completely bewildered. For a few moments we stared at each other. Then, I stood shakily to my feet and walked into my study. As I walked away from the mirrorbox, I noticed that my ability to see Joseph’s spirit vanished; being close to the box allows spiritual perception. Quickly, I fetched a length of rope and bound his wrists and ankles. When his spirit saw what I was doing, he cursed at me, but this could hardly be heard. Then, once I was done binding him, he began to grow restless, trying to fly down toward me.
Then I looked up at my bedroom window. A bird was sitting on my windowsill. It was that same whippoorwill; looking up at Joseph’s spirit. I froze, sweat beading my forehead. Joseph saw the bird too. Angrily, he tried to shoo it away with a wave of his hand. As soon as he did about twelve more whippoorwills appeared from nowhere. They were chirping angrily; their movements excited. A second later, I saw a barn owl land next to them. Then a blue jay, a large raven, and a crow. Soon hundreds of birds were scattered throughout my room. I was frozen solid by terror. I dared not breathe. They all peered at Joseph, their cold black eyes gleaming with a singular interest. By now, Joseph was shaking from fright. Before I could think about helping him, about closing the box’s lid, the birds began to cry loudly. It was a horrible tumultuous sound. They all surged into the air, their wings flapping wildly. Joseph screamed as they began to peck at him ferociously, ripping his eyes out and tearing at bloodless ghost-flesh. Within seconds, they had enveloped him completely. Then they all flew into the air, carrying him with their assorted talons. Joseph’s mouth opened in a silent bellow as hundreds of birds heaved him through the window, carrying him into the night sky. Soon there was no trace of them. My mouth was gaping. It could not possibly be real. I looked over at Joseph’s body. He was still breathing. His eyes were empty. Then I looked at the open box. Cautiously, I closed the lid. I looked carefully at Joseph for any change, but there was none. He was gone.
A few minutes later, I carefully placed Joseph’s heavy body into my car. Then I drove over to his house. I made sure to park my car around the corner. Quickly, I moved his body to where I had dug the hole. I stood up and dusted myself off. I made doubly sure I had not left any evidence of my being there. Then I climbed over the wall, got in my car and went home. Next, I used a tarp to cover up my broken window, poured myself a massive glass of whiskey, and I called the police. I didn’t give them my name but I did tell them I’d seen some guy collapse in his garden.
Two days later, I sat wrapped in a beige blanket, a cup of steaming tea in my hands as my face was bathed in the glow of my computer screen. It was all over the news. The bodies of those girls had all been found. I felt myself smile slightly. At least all those families were finally given a modicum of closure. I sipped my tea as the news anchor went over the facts. They were able to identify all thirty-three bodies found in the garden. Everyone who knew Joseph said he was a good, pleasant man. Apparently, the paramedics say Joseph suffered a stroke and is in a permanent unresponsive state. In the meantime, the mirrorbox remains under my bed. Every night, I hear that same scratching. I use earplugs now and ignore any sounds.
I have heeded the mysterious note’s rules and refuse to use the mirrorbox’s power again before the next Winter solstice. Will I use it even after that? I don’t think so. What I witnessed with those birds, makes me shudder. Besides, I think they’ve already noticed me too much. Even to this day, birds behave strangely around me. They stare at me with some odd fascination. I really don’t like it.