Mirror

There is something wrong with the mirror in the attic. We completed the sale of this old manor home months ago, and it has taken this long just to make it up to the top.

There are actually a half dozen mirrors up here, all of which seem normal, but the big gilded antique mirror seems off. I can’t see my reflection.

I can see my reflections in all of the other mirrors, but when I stand before the large mirror it is gone. I reached up to touch its surface, but it wasn’t solid. My hand passed through.

I could feel my eyes light up! I’ve heard of fantastic portals before, in literature and lore. But to find something real, sounds impossible.

I stepped through all excited, expecting a coruscating change in light or sound, something miraculous to happen.

I was a little disappointed. It is the same attic as the one I left. The only difference is that I had a terrible foreboding. I went to the small window and looked down.

My face grew pale at the sight below. It was was a scene that gave hideous allusions to the French Revolution. There was a river of blood in the street, and piles of slumped bodies on the lawn.  

I rushed back to the large mirror only to see my reflection pick up a wooden chair and smash the frame to pieces.

I was never going home.