Wrote this late last night, with an idea I had some time ago for a story. Hope you all enjoy! This is part 1 of 2 parts.
THE MIRROR
Part One
The old house creaked and groaned as I slowly moved about. It had been empty for as long as I could remember. I was always curious about this decaying old Victorian home. It sat apart from many of the homes in the nearby community. It was reminiscent of a bygone era. One could smell history in the air, or was it just the musty smell, of being closed up for so many years?
What little I knew of this house was from a couple of elderly locals who still lived in the area. It had belonged to a wealthy family named O'Sullivan, who attained their wealth, in the hotel industry. As with most affluent families, they had a cook, housekeeper, groundskeeper, and a nanny for their only child, a son, named Henry. Unlike most Irish families, the O'Sullivan's, only had one child. Due to a medical condition, Mrs O'Sullivan could not bare anymore children. The O'Sullivan's came to the United States, as Irish immigrants, in the early 1900's with hopes, dreams, and determination. And to make this country their new home.
They worked hard, and rose in the social ladder. Soon they became successful, and life was good. It was time to move from the ghetto like neighborhood, that most immigrants were bound too, and live as most of their social status did. But unlike many of their counterparts, they were still humble and never forgot their roots. A mansion in all its glory, would not be reflective of their humbleness, however a large home, would still be in fitting with their status. This old home was then built.
As a youth, I was always intrigued with the house, but my parents warned me to stay away. I was never really told why, except that it had a bad history. Of course as a youngster that only made me more curious, and one day, I rode my bike near the long driveway that lead to the house. My mother happened to be driving by, coming back from a store, and caught me. I got a tongue lashing soon afterwards. "Kara if I catch you trying to sneak over there one more time, you will be grounded for a week!" I never tried that again.
Some years later,now as an adult, I had the opportunity to find out, a few things, when speaking with one of the elderly residents, of our community. I asked her what my parents, now deceased, might have meant. She relayed bits and pieces. Some of which I knew, and others I didn't. "Apparently even riches, could not shelter anyone from the pain that life can sometimes bring," she began. And sometimes those riches, can change a humble person. She then started to recite from her memory as a young woman. She didn't recall all the details, but remembered the trial of the nanny, who was accused, of killing their son. The nanny was found guilty, and went to prison where sometime later, she committed suicide. She proclaimed her innocence up to that day. And never said more. Mrs O'Sullivan took the child's death the hardest it seemed. Mr O'Sullivan spent most of his time either submerged in his work, or in his office behind locked doors, rarely talking to anyone. Because Mrs O'Sullivan never got over losing her son, she soon became depressed, and despondent. Household staff and grounds keepers were let go. Everything began to deteriorate. And with it so did the lives of it occupants. Mrs O'Sullivan as the story goes, jumped out a second story window. Her neck was broken, as her sprits. Sometime afterwards the house was boarded up. Mr O'Sullivan left and was never heard from again. Some say he ended up in a mental ward, others say he went off to kill himself out of guilt. There are some who even say that her ghost still haunts the grounds. I thought about what the elderly woman had said and still couldn't understand my parents reasoning. Then I surmised maybe it wasn't really the history of the house, but the thought of my getting hurt in it. Either way I was still intrigued, with the old place. In some way even drawn to it.
I continued to walk around the house, with a flashlight by my side and what light streamed in from some of the now missing and cracked boards. Through the cobwebs, I could see where pictures must have hung. Carved moldings all around the living room. What were proberly beautiful wooden floors, were now laden with dust, and rotting in places. On the far side I could see a huge brick fireplace, with ashes still strewn about in its pit, from the last fire. As I walked about, I could imagine the house stood in some glory at one time. I peered into other rooms in the lower half of the house, and could see that for the time period, it was good living. I then carefully climbed the stairs to the upper half of the house, brushing cobwebs, along the way. Some stairs didn't look as though they would hold me, even though I was of small stature. So I held on to the banister, that too seemed wobbly, and carefully skipped steps, till I had made it to the top.
At the top of the stairs I could see a long hallway that stretched in both directions. I made a right turn, and was led to what I believed was a bedroom. Another room nearby, much larger than the last appeared as though it too may have been a bedroom. I surmised the smaller one might have been their son's. On down the other end, there was a room with two large doors that swung in opposite directions. The lever handles on the door, appeared to be made of gold, long since tarnished. It was a very large room, with big windows. This most likely was Mr O'Sullivan's office. Further down the hall, led me to another room. Small, with flowered wallpaper, that was now faded and hanging. I know Nannies lived with their charges back then, and figured that this might had been her room. Off to the corner, my eye caught, what looked like something covered, in a sheet, now gray with dust.
So far this was the only thing I had found in the house, and with curiosity, I stepped over and slowly pulled the sheet off. After choking from the dust, I looked up to see what removing the sheet had revealed. Before me was, a standing wooden framed mirror. It cast no reflection, as the glass was as gray as the dust that clung to the sheet that covered it. I stared at it for a few moments, then proceeded to walk away, when something started to change in the mirror.
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Comments: 35
I noticed on one of the photos that Dee submitted of you, that she called you Reba. Do you ever go by Becca? I had a friend named Rebecca and she went by Becca a lot and Rebe or Reba as well.
I like Reba better than Rebecca, Becky, or Becca. Just like dee said, my mother calls me all three and I hate it. My mother is a control freak and likes to start trouble, always. But, I love Reba and it suits me. lol
With a name like "Connie" you don't get called a lot of nicknames. However my last name was "Lake" before marriage. I got teased a lot with that name.
I love to see people geting out of situations and raising up the financial ladder.
ON to part Two
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Ah you be of Irish decent too me lass! The Irish blood runs a bit within me veins as well. And if my tight lip grandmother would give me more info, I could garner much more of my roots. All I know is that my biological grandfather (whom I have never known) was of Irish decent. As the story goes within the family she had his drunken behind shipped back somehow. Sounds like my grandmother. Shes pretty well up there age wise now. So I don't know that I will ever find out more. Maybe its best. Seems I've learn of enough skeletons in the family closet lol!
I chose that name as it for some reason came to me right off the bat. I didn't even think on it a moment. I thought it was a good old fashion Irish name and fit the timeline. The only thing was I made it a rareity, that this particular family only had one child. Maybe that was another oops a daisy I don't know lol!
The Irish rarely stopped at ONE.
You read my poem "Eleanor" correct, that was my mum.
I didn't read your poem before Robert, and I am glad you pointed it out. As with all your works, it is extremely well written. You truly have a literary mind and words are your humble servants.
In your second paragraph you say What little I knew of this house was from a couple of elderly locals who still lived in the area. I would like to know who those elderly locals were and how you came to be talking to them. They show up again in paragraph five when you say "when speaking with one of the elderly residents". Again I would like to know how you came to be talking to this elderly resident.
There are good ideas here, there just needs to be more explanations for the events that occur.
I am not a published author, but merely someone who used to like to write. This story is the first in many years that I have even written. I had hoped when I wrote this to get back in the swing of it so to speak. But alas time is limited, and apparently my ability to write anymore is not as up to par as it use to be. Just the same I still enjoyed writing it, and perhaps one day, I may try to refine this, into something of a better read. Thank you for taking the time to read this, and for pointing out a few things.
I think your story just needs more detail.