Grandmother's Mirror

One jump, a skip and a step. A silent giggle hid inside him. Alex Tremble made his way to the top stair. He stared intensely at the embroidered black and red design on the staircase carpet behind him. With one hand on the banister, he turned to face the hallway ahead. He'd always hated this place. But he was six now. Time to put silly fears to rest. He was a big boy....almost a man. Still, he was uneasy. Not because it was dark, it wasn't really. No, it was the smell. Like old lady stale powder puffs. The odor of aging flesh and the air of sanility lingered in it's profuse perfume. It was the smell of getting old. Of being crazy and helpless...of death. Three tall wooden doors lined the left wall. Two on the right. Straight ahead was the rose haze of the bathroom. It was the only door that ever stood open. Faintly from the stairway, a foggy image of the pink and gold shower curtain could be seen. As he fixed his eyes on the door frame, he tried to avoid the thing that most frightened him in the hallway atop the stairs. But every time, without fail, something beckoned his gaze to it.

In the far right corner, just outside the bathroom door, stood a full length mirror. A cherry wood frame, finely etched with swirls and loops, lined it's form. The glass was tilted slightly back. Making the floor appear closer and larger. The optical illusion it displayed made it sinister somehow. But standing there, watching the quiet patience of the mirror, Alex knew it was more than that. More than it's physical appearance. He knew the whispers and soft watery laughter as he walked past it. He knew there was something about it that made it more than sinister. Not evil and not malicious....plainly just dangerous.

No one believed him, of course. They would deem him an imaginative child. A lonely, attention seeking child. One full of fantasy speckled with lies. Alex didn't care...he just didn't want to live here. He never did. One is supposed to love their grandmother. Supposed to be excited to see her. And to have the privilege of living with her, well Alex hadn't ever felt that way. It wasn't just the circumstance that landed him in his grandmother's grasp that made him dislike this arrangement. It was just her. She was quiet. Strange. Disconnected. And Alex suspected, insane. She spent all of her time in the middle room on the left side wall. A large victorian house with three floors surrounded her. Delicately embroidered rugs, finely designed furniture and tall stained glass doors that lead out to her well manicured and secluded front yard. And then there was her herself. Wearing long black old style dresses. Lace collars and well groomed hair. The smell in the hall was always on her. It exuded from her.

The days before her death, Alex felt a sick excitement. His uncle, who was halfway normal, would move in and continue to raise him. But Alex was afraid. He would recall standing in the doorway to his grandmother's room. Staring at her lying on her deathbed. Frail and waiting. She looked at him standing there just minutes before she died. And Alex saw it in her eyes. She knew he was waiting for her to die. She communicated with him at that moment on an inner level. She'd read his thoughts. She'd seen his fear and she'd known he wanted her gone.