The Round Mirror

If anyone, a year ago, had asked me if I believed in ghosts my answer would have been a firm and definite no. But that would have had to have been before my wife, Carol, and myself moved into The Laurels, a small cottage we bought on the outskirts of Ripon, in Yorkshire. It was offered at a remarkably low price but it was not just that alone that tempted us to buy. Ripon, besides being a horse racing town, is one of sublime beauty set in the picturesque Yorkshire Dales. Never before had I found myself so completely captivated by any other part of the country. But then I had never been in that part of the country before.The Laurels was a marvellous compliment to the surrounding landscape. I use the word compliment because the cottage had the appearance of being built with the countryside instead of being added as an afterthought by some obscure architect. So well did it fit in and blend with its surroundings, with the character of the rolling hills, that it was a living part of the Dales. It had a front garden with a thick overgrown laurel hedge to shield it from the road that ran between Ripon and West Tanfield. There was a long garden to the rear equally as wild with the same laurel hedge marking its boundary. A few yards beyond where the garden terminated ran the River Ure. The back garden had once been a thriving orchard with apple, pear, plum and cherry trees in abundance. These of course were terribly neglected.We were told by the estate agent that no-one had lived in the house for quite some time but could not be tied down to a specific answer, avoiding our question by going into his patter about the various interesting and original features it contained. We had both fallen for the place and on asking the price realised that we could afford it outright if we sold our new car and bought second-hand. The interior was simple with a walk-in lounge or parlour, a small kitchen at the rear with a small room leading off it that we decided would make a snug dining room. Upstairs was a large bedroom and two smaller bedrooms. There was no bathroom but we decided that in time we would convert the smallest bedroom. For all this, the cottage was a great improvement on the two room flat we rented at the time.Moving in went well but the first sign of trouble showed itself that first night. Carol noticed that there was a small area on the upper landing where it was freezing cold, and this despite it being a warm summer evening. The rest of the cottage was pleasantly warm except for that one spot. We checked for draughts but could find no reason for the drop in temperature. In the parlour, when we first moved in, was an assortment of old furniture which we sold to an antique dealer from York. There was nothing special about them but the cash we got for them would easily pay for the bathroom conversion. There was, however, one piece of old furniture that we would have been glad to get rid of but the dealer showed no interest at all. It was an old round mirror set into the wall of the chimney breast above the fireplace. Ugly is no exaggeration. I have never in my life seen such an awful piece of work. The frame was of some dark, almost black, wood that was intricately carved yet was still an abomination. Perhaps it was because it did not fit in with the general tone of the cottage; it belonged somewhere else. When you looked into it you were gripped by an acute nausea. It was horrible. We determined to have it taken out just as soon as we could afford it.We'd had a long day and at eight-thirty I called a halt and talked Carol into exploring the local drinking hole. She took some convincing that a break was needed because it was virtually impossible to stop her working at feathering our nest. The locals, in variance with the old adage of coolness to outsiders, were very friendly and wanted to know all about the cottage."I can't understand why some young couple in the village hasn't taken it," Carol said, causing more than one pair of eyebrows to rise. An old man coughed nervously and eyed the others before he spoke."Happen you'll know afore long. There's queer things as happened in The Laurels in the past. You ask young Bert there if you don't believe me."We all looked at Bert to see if he was forthcoming but he was hesitant and it took a few drinks before he opened up."An old couple bought The Laurels and they didn't like that old mirror over the fireplace so they asked me to take it out for 'em. Well I tried and I tell you. That mirror just don't want to move. No matter what I tried it attacked me.""What do you mean? The mirror attacked you?" Carol asked."I ain't kidding you Missus. An' I weren't drunk neither. That mirror don't want to be moved.""So what happened to the old couple?" I asked, my instincts telling me that we were becoming the butt of a village joke."They left. Only spent the one night in the place. Upped and 'opped it. Next we know the place is up for sale again.""Aye, an' don't forget them young vandals who broke in that night. They'd been camping and the wind had ripped their tent so they broke into The Laurels to take shelter. They tried to break the frame of the mirror to burn to keep warm. Police found 'em wandering down the road in a right state. All beat up they was."I could see that this conversation was frightening Carol and to tell the truth I was unnerved myself. We drank up and returned to the cottage. The wind had got up and, as we entered the front garden, I heard the sound of glass breaking. The pieces cascaded down onto the doorstep. Looking up I saw that the bedroom windows were intact so was mystified as to where the glass came from. Just one more puzzle in the mystery of The Laurels.The next morning I awoke to find that Carol was already up and about. I was just getting dressed when I heard her on the landing and went to see what she was up to."There's a staircase here somewhere," she said in a very matter of fact tone."What makes you think that?""Come with me. I've found out where that broken glass came from last night." She raced down the stairs and out into the front garden with me following. "Look! Up there near the gable under the ivy."Looking up I caught the glint of the sun on a part of a small window on a level above the bedrooms."You're right. It looks like we've got an attic.""I wonder why the stairs were blocked up?" Carol looked at me as though I would have the answer."Beats me," I answered but bad thoughts were cramming my mind. "In fact there's a whole lot of things I'd like to know about our little nest."Over breakfast we discussed the little we knew, trying to laugh off what we had been told in the pub. We agreed that a cottage as old as The Laurels must appear somewhere in local history so I agreed to go in search of a local historian. There was bound to be one."Right," she said. "You do that while I carry on getting some of our things unpacked. There's no point in both of us skiving off."So after breakfast I set off on my search and was surprised to be told at the local shop of a retired school teacher who had written a number of articles for The Dalesman on the history of the area.David Goldsmith was more than pleased to have someone interested enough in local history to go out of their way to find him. At the mention of the cottage he led me into a richly furnished study where he took from one of the numerous bookshelves a thick volume. He turned the pages until he came to what he had remembered. In the days of the French Revolution a French aristocrat who had fled the threat of the guillotine, and, together with his wife and family, had settled into The Laurels. The cottage was occupied by each generation of the family until 1877, the last being a woman and her daughter. The daughter was totally devoted to her mother who was terminally ill. Shortly before her mother died the girl got involved with a young nobleman who was married and they had a secret affair. His wife was ill and died within a week of the girl's mother. The nobleman was tried for murder and hung while the girl was cleared of all guilt. It was later established that he too was innocent and his body was taken from the prison cemetery and buried in the family vault and his honour publicly restored. The girl pined away in the cottage and died on the fourteenth of June 1877. I asked if he knew of the round mirror or why the attic should have been sealed up. He couldn't help me so when I left him I was not much wiser for my visit.When I entered the cottage I was met by a sight that set my hair bristling and my heart pounding in my chest. Carol lay on the floor in front of the fire with a deep scratch running down the side of her face. At first I thought that she was dead but as I crossed to her she began to moan and murmur my name. Her face was ashen and her eyes rolled wildly. I picked her up and lay her on the sofa while I went for some water to bathe the wound."What have you been doing?" I asked as I sponged at the wound. She turned her head to the mirror and a frown darkened her face."I was trying to get that damned mirror down. Something knocked me off the stool that I was standing on.""But what? You was on your own." I tried to keep my voice casual but it sounded false even to me. I looked over to where I had found her. There was no stool. I tried to recollect if I had picked it up without thinking but I could not be sure. The stool was in its place by the telephone."I don't like it." There was a childlike petulance in her voice that I had never known before. "There's something odd about this place. There's something in the talk we've heard in the village.""Nonsense darling, it's just village talk," I soothed."That mirror is haunted!" She was as near to hysterics as I have ever seen her."But that's ridiculous. How can a mirror be haunted?" Even as I spoke her eyes turned to the mirror and widened in horror."Look!" I looked but saw nothing."It's just an old ugly mirror," I found myself saying but Carol continued to search the offending mirror with her eyes, reminding me of a child who, having awoken from a nightmare and while being soothed by a parent, still searches the room for the bogeyman. I had to make a choice. Either to tell her what little I had gleaned from David Goldsmith or find some way of ridding the cottage of that hideous mirror. I decided on the latter but swore to myself not to leave her alone in the cottage again.When Carol had made herself more presentable we went in search of a builder to do the job and to open up the stairway to the attic. We knew that it was useless to ask in the village so we enquired further afield but no-one was prepared to take on thejob - the fame of the cottage was well known for miles."Maybe we should ask Mark," Carol suggested as we returned to the cottage. "He's good at that sort of thing and there's little that will scare him." Mark is Carol's brother and if anyone could cope with this situation he could. He was no braver than any other man but he could never be convinced of the place being haunted, and especially a by mirror. Carol phoned him and he readily agreed to drive up the next day. That evening was spent in pregnant silence with Carol unable to take her eyes off the mirror. I too found myself arrested by it in a morbid fashion. I did my best to keep my vow about leaving her alone but when nature called I had to. I couldn't have been gone more than a minute when she took the opportunity to attack it with the poker. Her entire personality seemed to have undergone a change since her first encounter with the mirror. She had been secretive about what she had seen on that occasion and no amount of coaxing could draw the details from her. Now, when I was out of the room, she flew in a rage at the source of her fear. She screamed hysterically as she swung the poker with all her strength delivering blow after blow against the unyielding glass. Then her screams turned from rage to terror, then a choking sound that resembled my name. My blood ran cold as I leapt down the stairs and charged into the parlour. I was momentarily mesmerised by the scene before me; the hair rose on the nape of my neck.Carol stood before the mirror and I watched, as in a nightmare, as she wrestled with the spectre reaching out from the glass. Slowly her body was raised up by the neck until a part of her was drawn into the mirror as though there was no glass. The two black-gloved arms with their claw-like hands held her throat in a grip of steel. I heard myself beginning to scream, far, distant and unreal like in a nightmare.It was a nightmare and we were living it!The hands appeared to extend from the mirror which was clouded with a vague outline of a face, old with that ugliness that comes from ill health and holding an expression of hate or jealousy. These things I recalled later but at that moment I had to save Carol from being dragged into the mirror. As I closed in one hand released its hold on Carol and snatched the heavy iron poker from her failing grasp. The ghostly arm swung a vicious blow which glanced off my head. Instead of falling away my momentum carried me on and I grabbed at the arm wielding the poker. The face in the mirror grinned and laughed at my futile attempts to wrench the poker from its murderous grip. At that point it released its hold on Carol and I watched my wife fall to the ground. I thought she was dead but I could not move to help her because of the ghost's supernatural hold on me. And all the time it laughed in that heinous way. It seemed like we struggled for hours but it was only a few minutes before it loosened its hold on me and I was able to fall away from it, but not before it caught me another blow across the head which left me stunned. Then it threw the poker with such force that it was embedded in the wall at the other side of the room. The face remained in the swirling mist of the mirror for a few minutes, laughing like a mischievous child.Sleep that night was impossible. Carol listened intently as I told her about my fact finding visit to David Goldsmith. When I had finished she was silent for a while, with no expression on her bruised and swollen face. At first I put her silence down to the injuries she had received to her neck and then she spoke."If that in the mirror is this French girl then why is she so violent toward us?"I thought about this for some time but could only guess at the answer; we had nothing to go on. Was it pure malice from behind the grave? And why us? Because we had come to live in the cottage that had once been hers? Or was it to defend the mirror itself? And if so why did the mirror mean so much to her? I posed these questions to Carol so that we could kick the idea around between us."I read somewhere that spirits need some object that is their doorway from the other side, a sort of link. That's why spiritualists ask you for a personal item of anyone you want to contact. Maybe that mirror was her most personal possession."I looked at her with concern. Her eyes were red-rimmed and sunk into the puffy and contused face. The worst were the marks left on her neck by those ghostly hands. She was lucky to be alive. We spent the whole of the night sitting at the table in the dining room drinking copious cups of coffee and wishing the night away.At eight o'clock I spotted the postman coming up the path and went out to talk to him. If anyone had the measure of village gossip it would be him. I invited him in but he declined on the excuse that he had too much to do. It was evident to my mindat he was afraid to enter the cottage so I asked him about the mirror."I can't say for sure. I only know the stories from my grandfather.""What stories? That's what we want to know.""'bout the mirror. It seems that some young woman died. Her what was having it off with some nob. The mirror just appeared on the wall.""How did it appear?""Nobody knows. But there it was on the wall when they found her. And it weren't there afore she died." he spread his hands to give weight to his argument."Who found her?""My grandmother. She used to come here every day and clean. The mirror hadn't been there the night before when she left. It was the same time that the staircase disappeared.""How did this young woman die then?"The postman looked at his watch and shuffled the mail in his hands."She just died from what I can gather. Folk said it was a broken heart. Who knows?"He handed me a bundle of mail and made to walk away. He turned and smiled. "Well I hope you and your wife get on all right here. It's a real shame the place should be empty. Nice old place."I watched him ride his bicycle down the hill. Perhap he might have provided us with enough to sort this thing out. The attic. Maybe there was some clue up there that would throw light on the whole situation; it must contain something relevant to the haunting or else why would it be sealed up? I walked down the path and turned at the gate to look up at the small window which was almost hidden from sight by the thick foliage of the ivy. I rushed inside the cottage and up to the bedroom where Carol was getting changed. I told her what I thought about the attic."So what?" was her indifferent answer."Well think about it. Why should the stairs disappear too and at the same time that the mirror suddenly appeared? There must be something up there." I watched her eyes for some reaction."Yes," she answered, "That's just it. We don't know what's up there, do we?""What do you mean?"She let her breath out sharply and threw her hairbrush onto the bed."Haven't you had enough with that thing in the mirror? Because I have. What if there's something else up there? Something worse?""I never thought of that," I admitted and sat on the edge of the bed and thought about it. However much I turned it over in my mind I knew that I would have to go up there and told Carol."Well don't expect me to come up with you."With her question gnawing at my mind and nerves I went out onto the landing and looked up at the oak-beamed ceiling then down at the single step that jutted from the wall. I was right in the centre of the cold area. With rising anticipation I brought ladder and some tools and was about to start when Carol held my arm."Just one more thought. If this is a part of the haunting then it is sealed for a purpose. That French bitch defends her mirror."I looked at the wall, the sledgehammer in my hands then back at Carol. I still had to know.The first blow brought a large piece of plaster down leaving a large hole. I looked at Carol who was biting her lip. Nothing happened."She would have had you by now," Carol joked. While it was good to see her sense of humour returning I was reluctant to laugh; the job wasn't over yet. Another swing let enough light through for me to see the staircase rising into the darkness."There are a lot of cobwebs," I said. "Well so long as that is all there is; the vacuum can sort them."I swung the hammer a couple more times making a hole big enough to get through and was about to start up when a loud banging downstairs stopped me dead in my tracks."It's the door," Carol laughed. "I'll get it. It's probably Mark." I went down with her."Hey, what the hell's happened to you two?""You'd never believe us."As he stepped inside he looked straight at the mirror."So that's the culprit. Ugly bugger ain't it.""That's it but I doubt if you can shift it.""What do you mean?" he laughed as though I had made some joke about his ability as a builder."Because it doesn't exist." His laugh died then returned at half strength while his eyes searched amine for the joke."It doesn't exist? Are you sure you're all right?" Again he looked at our injuries."If you mean am I off my rocker, I'm not.""I'll make us some coffee then we can fill you in," said Carol, ushering us into the dining room where she did not have to look at the mirror. When we finished talking he still had that smile tugging at his lips; he only half believed us."Christ!" he said at last. "You're both serious aren't you? Well I know nothing about these things. I don't think I even believe in them but then I know you both to be telling the truth. So what do we do?""You still want to stay?" Carol asked him. "I'd understand if you went.""What and miss all the fun? Are you writing all this down, Paul? It's good fodder for your typewriter.""I won't forget it in a hurry believe me."When mark had changed into his overalls we both set to work clearing the rest of the plaster from the landing then gingerly we all went up the stairs that had been enclosed for over a hundred years. At the top was a stout door which creaked open with the combined weight of Mark and myself behind it. We had rigged an extension lead and inspection lamp and by its light we entered the large room which covered the full expanse of the house.The floor was covered with an assortment of old trunks and packing cases. Climbing over some of them mark struggled to open the window that overlooked the front garden, and all the time I waited for something to happen. We had entered what I thought to be the centre of the mystery and expected to be punished for it. It was cold up there even though outside the sun beat down on the tiled roof. It must have taken a good ten minutes before the window opened slowly spilling in the first sunlight in over a century into the hidden room. The window was of the double kind and the second one opened with less difficulty.I sat down on a trunk and looked around at the assortment of junk, wondering where to start looking for whatever it was that would end the mirror's reign of terror at The Laurels.We all began to rummage through the jumble taking the loose items first. The clouds of dust that rose, whenever something was disturbed, hung in choking clouds in the still air. We searched until late when Carol decided we should take a break for something to eat. Just as we were about to quit when the light went dim then out went out."Damn! the bulb's gone." I cursed then gasped as something behind Carol began to glow, something that hovered above the cases and trunks; a grey light that had Carol screaming but no sound came from her lips as the light enveloped her. I stepped over and dragged her away as the ghost began to throw articles about in a wild frenzy. Mark ducked behind one of the roof supports as a large heavy trunk sailed dangerously close to his head."Hey! This thing's demented," I heard him shout as another piece flew in his direction. I was easing Carol to where light was showing up the stairs from below but she seemed to be resisting me as though she wanted to stay or because the ghost was drawing her back into the room. She broke away from my grip and stepped towards the apparition and as she did so the frenzy stopped and the light began to take on the form of a young girl. A soft cooing sound filled the air as the girl moved around putting the things back where they had originally been then began what appeared to be a deliberate search. Her movements were like a dancer as she glided between the array of trunks and old furniture with Carol following every step. The ghost stopped at one object and pulled away a large dust cover to reveal an old writing bureaux. When she turned to face us the smile on her face was almost angelic; it was as if she was appealing for our help. Her lips moved silently as she gestured towards the bureaux and a small drawer opened of its own accord. Carol seemed to be receiving instructions from her for her head nodded from time to time and her face was focused in concentration.As Carol reached for the drawer the spectre began to shimmer and divide until there were two ghosts. One was the beautiful young woman while the other was her older contemporary whose face resembled the one we had seen in the mirror. This older one made to grab something from the bureaux but the younger one restrained her, pleading with her silently but the old woman was determined. Although there was no sound it was obvious that she was admonishing the girl and was determined to have her way.Carol snatched the whole drawer from the bureaux and rushed towards me as the old woman shrieked and began to hurl things in our direction. She rushed at Carol to retrieve the drawer but Carol held it tight to her chest refusing to give it up. We were rooted to the spot but Carol ran down the stairs with an agility that defied all natural laws. As I watched she flew down the stairs as though being carried with the small drawer clutched tightly to her breast. We could not follow for the old woman began to hurl objects down the stairs in a fury. The young woman came between us and her counterpart and stove off the assault with gentle motions of her hands and we took the opportunity to make our escape.Once in the comfort of the parlour we were silent as each took in the reality of what had happened. It had been no illusion and to prove it we could still hear the battle raging in the attic. We sat there staring at each other for several minutes, each trying in their own way to come to terms with what had happened. And all the time the battle raged in the attic. In the opaque mist of the mirror I could see the struggle that was taking place. The whole cottage was shaken to its foundations as the spectral gladiators fought it out."The answer is in this diary," Carol said. She had tipped the contents of the drawer onto the floor. "She told me to read her diary." She began to flick through the pages with disgust. "I can't read this. It's all in French. How's your French, Mark?""Good enough to order a bottle of wine," he replied without taking his eyes off the scene in the mirror."I wonder how long they can keep that up?""Until they wreck the place and then some," I answered."I wonder if that David Goldsmith can help us," Carol suggested. "Shall I ring him?"David Goldsmith greeted us warmly despite the late hour and was sympathetic towards Carol who had attempted to hide her bruises beneath heavy make-up and a rollneck sweater. He led us into his study and took the diary from Carol, opened it and began to read slowly to himself, turning the delicate pages with great care."The last four days seem to be more relevant to the problem we have. She describes her agony at his execution and swears to his innocence of any crime. It is a very moving account. Her last entry says,'I am afraid that I will never see him again. I swear to God and the Holy Mother that I will wait until he comes to me even to eternity. Our love has cost him his life and I ache to be with him. He will return I pray, and take my soul to be with him for ever. I will wait for him to come for me.' So you see, she has remained at the cottage in spirit form ever since. It is a remarkable document. She describes how her mother discovered their affair and plotted his downfall.""But what can we do? They're at it hammer and tongs in our attic," I said, trying to instil a light note on the proceedings."They?""Yes, her and we presume her mother.""Good Lord." He placed the diary on his desk and pursed his lips. "We must procure the services of a medium.""But I thought they were all phonies," I put in."Are your ghosts phonies? Who can say what lies beyond death or even try to understand it until one is there. She has waited over a century for your help but who's to say that time exists in the spirit world? These things we can only guess at.""So what do you suggest?" Carol asked. "I have already said that we need the help of a medium. There's an old woman who lives just outside the village. She's quite a character. If she had been born in the middle ages she would have been burned.However, she is good at what she does and if anyone can help it is she. Would you like me to send for her?""Will she come at this late hour?" I asked. He made the call and smiled with satisfaction when he replaced the receiver."You'll simply love Megan Bramley. Straight out of Macbeth. She'll be at The Laurels as soon as she can. You had better return home."Megan Bramley arrived shortly before midnight as she had promised and almost on cue the a peal of thunder echoed across the hills. The storm had been brewing since nightfall an had enveloped the countryside in a blackness that did nothing to alleviate our foreboding. The old woman was dressed in a shabby ankle length grey skirt and a shapeless woollen top, black shawl and and old pair of army issue boots. Her long silver hair hung matted with the rain and her body was stooped to give her a dwarf-like appearance. Her hands were long an animated. She gave us a toothless grin and when she spoke her voice was almost a shriek.She must have walked all the way from her home and was soaked to the skin, her boots were caked in mud. She refused Carol's offer of something dry with a mocking, "Soft living never led to old age." She stared at Mark. "Live soft and die young." This was followed by a bout of insane laughter as she placed herself before the mirror."Ah they are ready. They know that I am here to help them." The noise in the attic had ceased. We all looked at the mirror, at the beautiful smiling face of the young French woman."We must have a table and four chairs in here." Mark and myself obliged by moving them in from the dining room. She motioned for us all to sit round the table."No. Not me. No way." Carol backed away her eyes widening in horror."You must! We must have four!" the old woman rasped at the same time grabbing Carol by the arm and effortlessly dragging her into a chair."Now we must link hands. And be warned, no matter what happens in this room, no matter what you see or hear, do not break the circle. If you do it will all go wrong."The atmosphere was unreal. The four of us seated round the table in the dark with just the glow from the figures in the mirror."Now we must have absolute silence and complete concentration." Her eyes flitted round the table. I saw that Carol was biting her lip while Mark was shuffling uneasily in his seat. Then the old woman's voice was soothing yet I still had a chill running up and down my spine."Now the time approaches. The ether is just right and our friends on the other side are waiting to be called." She began to mumble phrases over and over in a strange language. Her voice rose and fell but never became harsh. I was aware of something crushing me gently like the atmosphere in the room was making its physical presence known to my body. The clock began to strike mid-night; lightning flashed so bright that it seemed to be in the room. In the mirror I saw the reflection of a tall dark man and he was smiling. It was a reflection for the man was stood behind me glowing blue-white and radiating a cold beyond anything I had ever felt. It was a clammy cold and smelled of damp earth. I felt dizzy, as though I was going to faint and only hung on by my will.The young woman came out of the mirror, floating and dancing like she had in the attic. She melted into the man's arms and I heard their sighs.Then ornaments and pictures began to fly across the room as the girl's mother vented her rage. Megan Bramley's drone rose in pitch but still soothing until the old ghost became faint and eventually disappeared leaving the two lovers behind. The windows and door flew wide open as the ghostly couple moved around the room still locked in each other's embrace. They moved slowly towards the door and disappeared into the night. The storm abated to exaggerate the silence. I looked up at the mirror and it was gone. Completely disappeared!The old medium went out and was swallowed up by the darkness before we had chance to thank her for the great service she had performed. Carol was sobbing, her head resting on her arms on the table. Mark was speechless. And I? I was just grateful that we now had the cottage minus the round mirror.In its place I have hung an old portrait that I found among the stuff in the attic. It depicts an old but distinguished looking French officer, and it may simply be my imagination, but I sometimes think he moves.