Hell Theater
Mirror

They say mirrors have the ability to reflect part of the soul. Some have suggested that why vampires cannot see their reflection in the mirror; because they do not have a soul to reflect. 

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That's what I was thinking, when two burly men hauled a long new mirror into my room. "New" became a subjective term, as mirrors were actually said to have been created in the late 1800s, and the bedroom was made a little strange after that. A mirror was found in the dusty attic when we moved in. It was shaped with an intricate gold skeletal design and a slight distortion that only an ancient mirror would have such a shape. I want Mom to take that mirror, but my parents actually already had a mirror in their room.

We were originally from Australia, but we moved to England because of dad's job. More specifically, we live somewhere in the Yorkshire Dales countryside. I hate change. And something about this house feels awkward to me. My room was too big for my taste.It was too cold at night, and the wooden floor under the feet was rattling. But my parents don't care. In fact, they love this place.

"Is this a good place for that?" One of the moving officers asked, finally the mirror was positioned somewhere in the spacious bedroom, which was more fitting for the place was my bedroom.

"Yes that's good" I replied without glancing. I was reading Bram Stoker Dracula in my antique bed, yeah maybe this is why I started thinking about vampires and mirrors.

That night, my parents and I had us dinner with the help of candlelight. Electricity has not been set up in this house, because we are in a quiet location. My parents didn't seem bothered by this however, they thought it was fun.

"It's like we're camping!" Mom cheers.

"This is how people used to live you know, India, back before electricity was even invented. Tell me who invented electricity, "my father challenged. He took a talk to my education. He usually looks for any reason to educate me.

"Thomas Edison, father," I immediately replied.

"Very good, now let's eat."

That night, I decided to explore this place a bit. There was a small lake right next to our backyard. I sat on the black edge of the water, with the stick I had found and I stared at the moon. It was a full moon night; I could hear the wolves in the distant forest, and pretend like they were the ones whose bodies were being torn apart because they turned into evil werewolves.

The night air is getting a little cold. I was about to go back inside when something in the water moved. It might be a frog or a fish or something I think it is. But because of curiosity. I peered into the water, whose bright surface reflected the moonlight. At first nothing I saw.

Then something round and large slowly rose to the surface. I used a stick to poke it, and it turned out. I screamed and gasped away from the lake, running back inside the house as fast as my feet could carry.

"Indian! What's wrong? You look deathly pale! "Mother exclaimed as I came through the back door.

"No mom, I'm just tired. I'm going to sleep now, "my word is expressionless.I need some alone time.

It was the first night in our new home when it started raining a few hours ago, and it didn't seem like it was going to budge any time soon. I can never sleep when it rains.

I lay in bed for hours, eyes wide open, staring at the dusty ceiling, thinking about what I saw in the lake ...

At that moment I felt like something was moving in the room. I flinched straight and looked around, half mad by the lack of sleep. My eyes wandered for a while until they stopped in the mirror. I stared at my shadow for a while, visible to the moonlight from the open window.

I was about to lie back down again, when I saw something in the mirror reflection. There was a small picture frame hanging on the wall that I hadn't noticed before. I immediately turned to look at the wall behind me, but there was no such picture . Starting to panic, I looked back into the mirror and once again looked at the photo. It was a little boy holding what it looked like. Surprised, I looked back once more, but again I saw a photo on the wall.

That's all I remember from that night.

That morning I woke up from the sunlight on my face. Confused, I sat on the bed and stretched the muscles. That's when I remembered the picture from last night and quickly looked in the mirror. There are no pictures on the wall. It must be a dream, while getting out of bed.

"Today will be a history lesson. I thought it would be interesting to teach about the origins of our home now. Dad has done some research on the topic and I think you'll find some interesting things, "he started.

"In 1894, a woman named Charlotte Wentworth moved here with her 7-year-old son. He was a seamstress who did most of the work at home. Her husband had died a year earlier, but there was no record of the cause of death. There are, however, records of the deaths of young people. Not long after they moved in, his son was allegedly drowned in a lake outside the house. Some townspeople in the village on the street spread malicious rumors about the mother killing her own child. People say? Well, she seems to have a psychologically unstable, considering she committed suicide after the death of her son. No more records of how he killed himself.is that natural, India? I thought you might be interested in it, seeing how you love the Gothic novel "Dad concluded, with a grin.

"Yes dad, I'm very attracted" I replied shortly afterwards.

That night I could not sleep anymore. I stared at my own reflection in the mirror for so long my eyes felt dry from lack of blinking. A little after midnight I looked in the mirror and I could have sworn I saw the image of a blink, I got off the bed and threw the sheet over the glass to close it. Satisfied, I went back to bed.

The next morning, I woke up to something that was shining in my eyes. It is a reflection of the sun from a mirror. I groan. The nervous mind takes a moment to realize what went wrong. I got out of bed and examined the mirror. The bedsheet I had thrown over the glass that night was folded and located at the foot of my bed.

"Mom may have come here before,". I got dressed and walked downstairs. My parents are not there. After searching the spacious house for a while finally found them in their bedroom. They both are still asleep. Feeling a little confused I decided to make my own breakfast.

I finished making a piece of bread before returning to my room. I picked up Dracula's book and read the world of vampires for a while. That's where the Quincey that stabbed Dracula died and he collapsed into dust, when I heard a faint whisper. The source came from the right side of my ear. I jerked my head to the side but there was no one there. I slowly turned back to the book. When I turned the page, I heard again: I could not breathe.

I got out of bed and threw the book in the mirror. "I can't take it anymore! Who's there? Is someone there ?! "I screamed into the mirror, feeling stupid and frustrated. The door opened and my parents rushed over.

"Indian! What the hell is going on here? Is everything okay? "

"Yes, I'm sorry to wake you up," they turned away when I decided to tell them. "Are you crazy he said when I said that I had seen those things? And hear voices? "

My parents glanced at each other, so mom spoke. "Well this is an old house dear, pipes and wooden supports are bound to make noise. But what about I've seen a child? "

"Well, that night I saw a picture hanging on the wall in the mirror reflection, but there was no picture on the wall!" I exclaimed, pointing to the wall above the bed.

"Dear Indian, I know you have enough imagination. This is what happens when you don't get enough sleep. Maybe we should give you a pill. John, what do you think? "My mother turned away from me and started talking about this with my father.

I knew it was a bad idea to tell my parents. I sighed, picked up the book from where it lay in the corner of the room and began to reread.

That night was something different. The cicadas stayed outside, and there was no moonlight. I had decided to light a candle and put it in the closet next to the bed, and I could see a bright fire in the reflection of the mirror.

I just closed my eyes to try and fell asleep when I heard a heavy breath coming from across the room.it slowly turned to look and catch something in the mirror that made my heart stop.

I sat on the bed, with wide eyes and a pounding heart. This is a reflection of my room, but not my current room. The furniture looks different and there is a picture of the whole wall. But the most terrible thing of all is that I'm not in it. Instead, there was a person asleep in bed.he was breathing deeply, the kind of breathing that marked him sleeping soundly. I could see the opening of the door in a mirror reflection, even though it was in reality kept closed.

A woman dressed in a long flowy dress entered the room. He crawled up to the person sleeping on the bed and reached over as if kissing her. But instead, his hand clasped his throat, jerking him awake. Then I realized that the sleeping person was still a child, like the boy I saw in the picture. Like the child who died here in 1894. The woman, whom I saw, I could assume was her mother, the woman continued to strangle her until she stopped thrashing on the bed. He's already dead.

I screamed though myself. The woman turned her head around and looked at me through the mirror. He then stood up straight and started walking towards me.

I rushed out of bed and opened my bedroom door.I went to my parents' room and knocked on their door in a panic. No one answered, so I barged in. My parents are lying on the bed. I ran to them and started shaking. But they didn't wake up. Panicking, I rolled over at mom and screamed in fear as I looked at her face. His eyes were wide open, with a horror-like expression on his face I thought I would die of fright. My father is in the same situation.

I fell to the floor trembling in fear. I barely saw when the door started to open slowly. I barely saw as a pair of pure white feet crept towards me, making no sound from the wooden floor. I barely saw him when he touched me. The last thing I remember was how cold his hands were that they stuck to my neck.

When I opened my eyes, I was lying on the floor of the bedroom. I sat down, sighing in relief. It was all just a terrible nightmare. I stood up and turned towards the mirror. What I saw made my knees feel weak and my palms sweat. It was me, but I was lying face down on the ground. My parents were lying on both sides of me. When I turned back there were them. The mother and son, white as the dead, looked at me with a smile. The boy extended his hand to me; welcome, he whispered.