The following short story was a project for a creative writing course I took in 1999. Reading it five years later, I see how it may have been interesting to add more of a psychological twist to the story. Rather than have the mirror be evil what if Carroll's wife left him and the mirror was all in his mind, a way of coping with the loss? Do you like this ending or would you rather have seen a more psychological twist? Let me know.

I also welcome your comments and constructive criticism. Thank you!

“Please sit down, Mr. Carroll.” Dr. Paul Morrison gestured towards the cushioned chair sitting before his desk.

Mr. Carroll appeared edgy, as a cat waiting for the appropriate moment to pounce on its prey. Dark smudges of fatigue, like black ink circled his eyes, his unkempt, dirty hair sprawled out in all directions. Carroll’s face shone a sickly pallor and he peered about nervously with haunted, brown eyes. Mr. Carroll sat down, tightly clenching his hands together, as if trying to hide a small object within them.

Morrison keenly observed his patient, like an artist surveying the landscape before setting down to paint. This was Mr. Carroll’s first visit and his manner on the phone the day before matched his physical appearance. Morrison knew he would have to treat Carroll in small steps, like teaching an illiterate person to read. He appeared to be on the borderline of a breakdown, moving too quickly could cause a violent outburst, like the howling winds at the eye of a hurricane.

“Are you ready to begin, Mr. Carroll?” Morrison asked. He disliked addressing the patient using his surname, but Carroll was adamant his first name not be used.

Mr. Carroll nodded that he was ready, but didn’t look directly at Morrison. Instead, he stared off like someone caught within an inescapable daydream.

“Why don’t you begin by telling me why you’re here and we can work from there.”

Carroll shifted his gaze, drifting from his dream-like state. Morrison couldn’t look directly at his patient, as he would’ve liked. He couldn’t bear the apparent suffering that glowed in Carroll’s haunted eyes. Morrison thought he’d seen every type of pain and loss come and go from this office, now he didn’t know. Somewhere deep in his mind a warning signal flashed, like a blinking traffic light hanging above the deserted intersection of a ghost town. Carroll might reveal something quite different and far worse than anything he heard from other patients.

“I’ve come because of an—incident that happened to me a couple weeks ago,” Carroll began. His words gave voice to the suffering that shone in his eyes. He spoke slowly and with pain, like someone befallen by a horrifying tragedy. “There’s a mirror in my apartment that’s been in the family for many years. The mirror isn’t anything fancy, it has a polished wooden frame handcrafted by my great grandfather, but basically it appears to be something you might see in anyone’s home . . .” Carroll paused, as if trying to calm himself before continuing. Morrison waited patiently; wondering what this would lead up to.

“It hangs in the bathroom and I’ve used it for quite some time. Two weeks ago on a Wednesday, I was getting ready for work when a terrible thing happened. I was shaving and for a moment I looked down to adjust the water temperature. When I looked back up, I couldn’t see my reflection. Everything behind me was reflected, though—” Carroll paused again.

Morrison didn’t know what to make of Carroll’s story, but to his surprise he believed every word. Normally, he would have suggested more serious treatment in a situation like this, but Carroll hadn’t flown off the edge. He was a normal human being with an abnormal problem. For most of his patients it seemed the other way around.

“Go on if you can, Mr. Carroll,” Morrison said, not wanting Carroll to lose the courage he’d mustered to come here.

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to keep pausing it’s just hard to talk about this.”

“I understand,” Morrison wrote a couple of notes down on the pad in front of him and Carroll continued.

“I panicked and ran into the kitchen to tell my wife, Susan. She looked up from her crossword puzzle and my appearance must’ve been terrible, because I didn’t even have to say anything. Susan came right over to me, asking if I was all right. I began blabbering about the mirror and she laughed at me. I understood that my story sounded absurd to her, but Susan’s laughter stung me. She led me up to the bathroom, like a child who thinks monsters are hiding in the closet and stood right in front of the mirror, proving me wrong. From where I stood, I could see her reflection—then the mirror changed.

The glass began to swirl, as if made of thick sliver liquid. Susan didn’t see this as far as I could tell and I told her to get away from the mirror. A lump oozed out of the mirror and quickly transformed into a hand and part of an arm. I cried out, but it was too late. The hand grabbed Susan and pulled her back into the mirror with it. Suddenly, the mirror was just that again as if nothing had happened.

I stood in front of the mirror and I could see my reflection again. I was hoping—hoping the mirror would take me too, but nothing happened. I’ve tried everything, but the mirror won’t change and now I’m wondering if any of it happened at all. I try to convince myself that Susan left me, that it was all just a nightmare.”

Morrison hoped Carroll’s wife had left him, instead of getting sucked into a mirror, as easily as a vacuum cleaner picks up a penny. He still believed the entire story, but would rather have a logical solution, even though one probably didn’t exist. In fact the only solution he could think of was to dispose of the mirror. Mr. Carroll wouldn’t do that, though. He was praying his wife would be returned to him or that she would escape wherever she’d been taken.

“Did your wife have a reason to leave you?”

Carroll shook his head. “No, we were happy,” he covered his face with his hands, as if he were going to cry, but didn’t.

“Mr. Carroll, do you want some water?”

“You don’t believe me do you?” Carroll asked, looking up at Morrison.

“I do believe you, but I was looking for a logical solution.”

Carroll sighed deeply. “I know, so was I. I had to talk to someone, though. I’ve never believed in the supernatural, and it does sound crazy, but I just don’t know what to do. I’m close to losing my job and can’t let myself go anymore than I have. I want Susan back, but . . . I know she’s gone.” Carroll’s voice cracked with grief as he spoke this last part.

“Can you get rid of the mirror?”

“I don’t know,” Carroll shook his head.

“That’s the only advice I can give you, Mr. Carroll,” Morrison said sympathetically, wishing he could offer more than that. “You’ll have to get yourself together and move on. You’re welcome to come talk with me as often as you need too.”

Carroll stood up, he seemed a little better than before, but Morrison doubted that haunted look would leave his eyes any time soon, if at all. “Thank you, Doctor, for listening to me and for believing. I’m going to try to do as you’ve suggested.”

Morrison looked up at Carroll, unable to think of anything else to say. Carroll walked to the door and opened it.

“Mr. Carroll.”

Carroll turned his head as he was closing the door behind him.

“I’m sorry about your wife.”

Carroll nodded sadly and left the office. Morrison had a feeling this would go down as one of the strangest days in his life. He thought about Carroll’s story all week and the more he puzzled over it, the more he wanted to see this mirror. Yet the warning signal, which still buzzed insistently, made him stay away until he read Tuesday’s paper. Andrew Carroll had committed suicide. Police discovered his body lying among broken shards of mirror glass, with his wrists cut. Morrison wondered if Carroll committed suicide or if the mirror killed him.

Maybe Carroll smashed the mirror in anger or to destroy it, and one of the broken pieces flew up from the floor cutting his wrists. After hearing a story like Mr. Carroll’s, Morrison figured anything was possible. It still shocked him that he suddenly changed his views. Before meeting Carroll, he thought all that supernatural business to be hogwash, now, Morrison found himself seriously doubting his previous beliefs.

The next day Morrison walked to Carroll’s apartment building. He took the elevator up to the tenth floor and found apartment 10B. There was a notice to keep out posted on the door and a line of police tape. Morrison ignored this, he opened the door and ducking under the tape entered the apartment. As he walked around in search of the bathroom, he saw a lot of very nice antique furniture. Everything was neat and in its place. Morrison found this rather eerie considering Carroll’s appearance in his office. He’d expected to find the apartment a mess, if not in shambles.

He found the bathroom where pieces of the broken mirror still littered the floor and the wooden frame hung askew on the wall. Looking down at the shards of glass, Morrison could see a different section of his face in each one, like an unsolved jigsaw puzzle. Suddenly, to his surprise the shards began to change as Carroll had explained. Within each piece liquid swirled about like melted silver. He looked more closely and saw shadows floating about within the liquid. Were they the souls of those captured by the mirror, floating for eternity thought a surreal metallic world?

It was horrifying to think of people forever trapped in such a way with no hope of escape. Where did Carroll’s great grandfather get this mirror glass? It must have been far older than the wooden frame. Morrison heard a scraping noise and saw that the mirror was slowly putting itself back together. Pieces were sliding across the tiled floor and it looked something like the trick done with magnets, except this wasn’t a trick.

Morrison fled from the room, slamming the door behind him, knowing what would happen if he stayed. The mirror came completely together, looking as if it had never been broken. An arm shot up out of the mirror with the spirits of those lost roaming within it. The shimmering silver hand grabbed at the air. Realizing it had missed its prey this time, the arm vanished back into the mirror and waited for the next unsuspecting victim.

Copyright © 1999, Nick Payne. All rights reserved.