Little Shop of Mirrors

hen I was a small boy and until I was in my late teens, I was troubled by a series of strange dreams. They were surreal in nature, unusual but not actually evil. I would wake up with a sense of malaise, but soon return to sleep. These dreams lead me to an interest in the meaning of dreams and the Supernatural in general. During the course of my investigations I found much to lead me to believe that there was more to them than the wanderings of the tired mind. An incident that happened a short while after I started my investigation confirmed this suspicion.

To begin with I limited my investigations to reading other peoples accounts of their investigations. Not only did I read about dreams but also related subjects such as U.F.O.s, the Bermuda Triangle and various other unexplained phenomena. Although much of this seemed individually convincing, the various authors tended to contradict each other as a whole. I order to compensate for this, I decided to do some research of my own.

On one occasion I set out from my home in order to interview a man who had answered a classified advertisement I had placed in a local paper. I will not name the man, (as indeed I have not named myself) even though he is now dead. What he told me was to be in the strictest of confidence and it is only at this late stage that I am committing this account to paper.

On arriving at the public house which he had instructed me to go to, I found him sitting in a secluded corner. There was no empty glass in front of him, and he was still wearing his overcoat which was of good quality but worn.

As I attempted to sit down, he gestured me to stay standing, and he himself rose and walked towards the side door. I followed his lead and soon we were walking into the older part of town with the cool evening breeze at our backs.

With little more than a gesture and the occasional grunt he lead me into a road containing middle class Victorian houses in an obvious state of disrepair. We entered one, and I followed him up the stairs.

Once on the landing, he turned and looked at me with a troubled look. He obviously had difficulty in persuading himself to go on, glancing all the time at a closed door that was in front of us. At last he spoke to me, suggesting that perhaps we should go back as he was probably wasting my time. At the time I was both annoyed and intrigued. Perhaps whatever it was he had to show me frightened him a great deal. Yet on the other hand maybe he was just a clever con man trying to part a fool, like me with his money.

Pulling a five pound note from my pocket, I paid him part of the fee he was owed and he opened the door. Inside was a darkened box room filled with all manner of rubbish. Without actually entering he pointed me towards an upright mirror standing in the corner. It had a drape over it.

I asked him what it was but he would not say. Also I could not persuade him to come any further than just inside the door. His look of malaise had not left him and I too began to feel a distinct unease come over me.

However, a job once started must be finished, if at all possible, and besides I had already parted with my money.

With some trepidation I walked over to the mirror and lifted the drape from its front. Underneath was an old, Victorian oval mirror. It had a frame of rotten plaster. In length it was about four feet and was attached to a base at an angle so as to facilitate full length viewing. Its silvered front was speckled with age and in the dim light coming through the doorway I could see little in it.

I put my hand out to touch it, and found to my astonishment that my fingers passed straight through it. The sensation was strange. A slight tingling around the part of the arm level with the frame, but nothing else. My fear had not left me but my curiosity had beaten it. I advanced forward.

And what was this land of 'behind the mirror' like, I hear you ask? Well I would be glad to surprise and astound you with its horrors, but alas it was much like the one I left. It took me many years to find the mirror back, as the one I entered through was but one way. Still it stands before me now, still wrapped in the paper it was bought in, and when I finish this sentence I will put down my pen and leave my Little Shop of Mirrors for the last time.

(This is a transcript of the account (exhibit A) found on the counter of the victims shop. The mirror detailed has not yet been found although several mirrors have been taken away for forensic examination).

Detective Inspector McDirk