The mirror was cracked, and there were scattered shards of glass littering the old wooden floor in the attic. The oldest house on the block, they called it. Tabatha Greene had been dared by her sister, Morgan, to go up and check it out. Said to be haunted, the grey-bricked house resided on the corner lot of Roadmill Street, uninhabited for years since, as legend tells, a 14-year-old girl was killed, yet no one knows how. Yet, every Halloween Eve, children that wander by in their costumes and swear that they can hear screaming, crying and moaning from inside. Some even say that they hear the clanking of chains as they pass by, but no one other than Tabatha had been brave enough to enter and check it out.
The 2-story house had a draft coming in from the east end of the roof, letting in a cool breeze that crept up Tabatha’s back and breathed sharply against her neck, raising the hairs straight up. Tabatha shivered, rubbing her arms and stared into the remaining glass in the tall mirror, gazing straight into her own glittering green eyes.
“See?” she said to herself. “This isn’t so bad.” Her teeth were chattering as she glanced around the room. “Not so bad…I can do this…not so bad…”
“Oh, no?” a voice behind her said, sending her jumping a foot into the air. She turned and saw a little girl younger than she, perhaps around 13 or 14 years old, wearing a white nightdress that hung around her mid-thighs, lace trimming it nicely. The girl’s neckline was stained with a deep scarlet red substance, and her neck hung sideways at an odd angle. The girl had an eerie glow to her, almost like she was shining. Her smile had a leering edge to it as she just stared innocently at Tabatha, perhaps with a hint of jealousy in her soft blue eyes. Her brown hair hung loosely around her shoulders, billowing in the cool air that breezed through the attic. She craned her neck and looked in the mirror behind Tabatha.
Tabatha grinned sheepishly, trying not to pay much attention to the scratch marks and bruises that decked the little girl’s arms and legs. She extended her hand as she had been taught to do to strangers and said, “I’m Tabatha.”
The girl stared awkwardly at Tabatha’s outstretched hand and whispered, “I know who you are.” She grinned at her and took a step forward. Tabatha’s grin faltered as she took a step back nervously, bumping into the mirror and stepping on a flake of glass, cutting her heel open and dripping blood onto the ground.
“Ouch,” she muttered to herself. “I’m so clumsy,” she said loudly, grasping her foot and tugging the shred out of it. She was paying so much attention to her foot that she didn’t even notice as the girl stepped closer and closer to her, still gazing at her ever-so oddly. The girl had gotten dangerously close to her when she finally got the piece of glass out of her foot, giving a gasp when she and the girl were nose-to-nose.
“What beautiful eyes you have,” the girl told her, placing her hands on her shoulders and spinning her around to look into the mirror.
“Oh, uhm, thank you,” Tabatha replied, seeing her own reflection, but oddly not seeing the other girl’s. When she looked beside her, however, the girl was still standing there. She looked back at the mirror and ran her fingers through her hair, straightening it from the mess it had become from the gusts of wind.
Then, the girl’s grip on her shoulders became firmer, more commanding. “I will have them,” the girl snarled, pushing Tabatha closer to the mirror.
Tabatha gave a strangled gasp as she felt her molecules changing, vibrating inside her body, as she pressed up against the mirror.
“They will be mine,” the girl growled, giving Tabatha one last push and trapping her inside of the mirror, looking out.