As the raging storm battered the coast, whipping up a frenzy of rain and sea water, the currents ripped up a wreck buried deep beneath the bay’s surface. The force of the waves tore away parts of the decaying vessel, hurling them towards land. Pieces of rusted steel and broken cargo littered the shore as the storm raged on past sunset. However, most of the debris remained unnoticed amid the chaos and destruction of the Nor’easter. Only a few foolish souls braved the elements to witness nature’s spectacle. The remaining residents of the coastal town had already left or remained inside their homes and apartments to ride out the tempest.

Amid the storm, a dutiful lady continued her duties inside the lobby of The Neptune, a converted hotel turned into an apartment complex. The building was past its prime, but it was her home and office. The howling wind buffeted the windows and rattled the bronze front door, but Chastity paid little attention. Her focus remained on her smartphone. The historic building weathered many Nor’easters over the years, so the woman worried more about the steady drain on her phone battery. The power went down several hours before, leaving the residents of the city in the dark and Chastity stuck behind the desk.

Normally, she was the landlord and leasing agent. However, the storm warnings sent many of the older residents to disperse inland to weather out the storm in hotels. Chastity hunkered down to ride out the fury with the few remaining residents. She had little choice but to remain at the lobby desk since her night clerk failed to show up. Not that she was angry at the man’s choice. After all, it would take a heartless person to complain about an employee unwilling to put their life in jeopardy over a part-time job.

Over the course of the evening, several of the residents made their way down to the lobby. They wanted company after the power dropped. Amid the awkward discussions that centered on the storm, they invariably asked for updates on when the power would come back. Chastity smiled despite wanting to tell them to check their cellphones or call the power company.

One man kept showing up in front of the counter that night. Ben Truedell, who had an apartment overlooking the bay, was an ex-sailor. The jovial older man with thick gray hair and a scar along his cheek appeared worried despite his attempts to joke with Chastity. It was his habit. The man almost always came down from his apartment during the storms to chat with the people on duty. Sometimes he would stagger down before telling the staff wild tales of his adventure across the globe on nights like this. However, Ben would grow serious after a while. He once told Chastity to never sail during a Nor’easter. When she asked the reason, he only shook his head.

“These eyes have seen too many things. Remember that every vow you break will always come back to you. That’s why I stay on land now,” Ben said with an air of resignation.

A sudden gust of wind and rain struck the outside glass while she thought about the conversation. It gave her a chill for no reason. Chastity sighed. Out of habit, she looked up at the round metal wall clock, yellowed from the years of smoking inside the building. Below it sat the old switchboard, which became a display piece behind the marble front counter. Since the clock ran on electricity, it still showed the same time, seven forty-two. While she realized the chances that the power would come back soon were slim, the woman stayed in the lobby during the bulk of the storm.

She got out of the chair and stretched, tired of losing to the online game. Chastity let out another sigh as she checked the time on her wrist phone. It was almost one o’clock, and she debated going to her apartment. Except for her, the lobby remained deserted.

As she lifted her arms over her head to stretch, she frowned. Watching the cold wind-driven rain, blown in from the open sea as it beat steadily against the glass, the woman realized her predicament. She was reluctant to leave, knowing as soon as she did, one of the residents would call her or come by her apartment. The thought of running through the swirling gusts of water cascading among the buildings along Front Street to get to her car suddenly had an appeal. She smiled to herself at the insane thought.

If the lights come on, it won’t matter now!

With a yawn, the woman stepped away from the counter and went into a small nook where the coffee station rested on a tiny refrigerator. She grabbed a clay mug with the building’s name printed on it, then poured water from the coffee station tap. Fortunately, the water remained hot enough for tea. Dipping a tea bag into the mug, she debated staying in the building against the idea of going home that night. So absorbed in her thoughts, she did not look up when someone pushed open the front door of the hotel.

A gust of cool and damp air blowing into the lobby and sending marketing brochures across the counter and to the floor suddenly pulled her from her thoughts. Chastity looked up, surprised she saw no one by the front door. Annoyed, she left her mug on the table and hurriedly walked across the marble floor to close the door.

After she shut it, she turned, nearly slipping to the floor. Looking down at the watery, muddy tracks leading from outside into the lobby. Confused, since she had seen no one enter, the building landlord looked around curiously. For a moment, she didn’t see anyone in the lobby at all. Then she spotted someone standing near the elevator at the other end of the room.

The tall figure was leaning against the wall, appearing to wait for the elevator to come down, and the person seemed to struggle to stand upright. The figure wore a shapeless black raincoat that hung heavily on their body, so long that it nearly touched the floor. With sleeves too long for their arms, the appearance immediately warned Chastity.

A vagrant!

Her thoughts went to the homeless encampment a few blocks away. She drove by it earlier that day, but the woman assumed the police had already forced them to a shelter before the storm. Staring at the figure, Chastity hesitated, unsure how to proceed. The mental illness of such people left her worried for her safety despite her belief in helping such a person. Worse for her, if something happened, the storm outside would delay any police response.

The weight of the situation settled heavily on her shoulders as she watched the person in the black raincoat turn to look at the stairwell. She guessed it was a man given his height, which made her even more worried. Her job was on the line if he went upstairs and started knocking on doors, but something inside her hesitated. It was a gut feeling, an indescribable reluctance to confront this stranger who seemed to hold power over her. The lobby around her felt suffocatingly still and silent, like the calm before a storm. Just behind her, Chastity heard the steady shower of rain pattering on the large window behind her, mocking her hesitation. With trembling hands, she pulled her keychain from her pants pocket, which contained a small bottle of pepper spray. Then she took a step forward, determined to do her job.

With a flash, the electricity suddenly restarted inside the building, causing her to jump. As she stood there, the elevator door suddenly opened. The old-fashioned wrought iron elevator door opened and the man leaning against the adjacent wall limped inside. As the door closed behind him, he didn’t turn around. Chastity finally spoke up.

“Hey, you! Wait a minute!”

Frustrated concern filled her face as she hurried across the floor, nearly slipping again on the muck leading to the elevator. When she got to the elevator shaft, the open iron design allowed her to see the swaying steel cables. The sound of the elevator motor down in the basement hummed. She stepped back, considering her options.

“He knows they’re waiting,” a hollow, guttural voice escaped from the elevator.

While it bothered her that the stranger walked through the lobby without being seen, Chastity was more worried about leaving her station. For her boss, rule number one for the late shift was to remain in the lobby area.

The elevator motor suddenly stopped, and she looked up to see the arrow on the dial pointed to the third floor. Chastity heard the steel doors far above her opening. Almost immediately, she heard a scream. A heart stopping wail that came through the elevator shaft sent shivers down Chastity’s neck. She immediately headed to the stairs.

Winded from the climb to the third floor, Chastity looked around as she got closer to the elevator. The doors were already closed, and the occupant continued his journey to the top floor. The woman hurriedly scanned the area and finally noticed movement by a large pot holding a fake plant. Chastity wanted to sigh in relief when she saw the pair of tennis shoes slowly moving, and she hurried over. She found a young, terrified woman in a fetal position behind the plant. She recognized the tenant, who was wearing a green jumpsuit.

“Miss Wallace, what happened? Did you see a man inside the elevator?”

The distraught woman stared at the landlord with wide eyes before she started rambling incoherently.

“I — was coming down to the lobby. When the elevator door — opened.” She suddenly looked over at the elevator.

“But — it — wasn’t a man. It — didn’t have any face!”

Chastity crinkled her face at the scared tenant. Sympathy quickly displaced the instant urge to laugh at her and she held her tongue.

“It’s alright, it’s just a homeless man who got past me. Let me get you back to your apartment.”

Chastity helped the woman to her feet. They went to the tenant’s apartment as the landlord told her she had police coming to help. The sounds of the elevator stopped when they reached Wallace’s door. Both women looked back at the wrought iron elevator shaft, where the cable wobbled.

“There’s no need to be frightened,” Chastity continued. “Something was wrong with him when I saw him in the lobby. I’ll make sure he doesn’t scare anymore of our tenants.”

After doing her best to reassure the woman, Chastity went back to the elevator. While she looked at the dial over the door as it showed the lift on the next floor, the owner debated. Finally, she pulled out her cell phone and called 911.

Chastity headed to the stairwell again, while the digital voice told her to hold. Then she stopped and returned to the elevator doors. The cell signal dropped when people went to the stairs because of the old thick walls. The woman did not want to meet the strange man in the black coat while stuck in a dead zone.

While the woman waited on hold, her thoughts went back to the man in the black raincoat. She remained unclear if he was walking on the next floor, since she never heard the doors above her open. However, Chastity had a good idea of the incident, which frightened Wallace. She decided that the stranger, probably drunk or high, must have fallen back against the elevator wall. When Miss Wallace entered the dimly lit area and the man’s hood must have fooled her into believing the homeless man had no face.

It’s the only explanation!

She pushed the elevator button, and almost immediately, the power inside the building suddenly dropped. Chastity let out a startled cry, turning red from embarrassment, when the emergency light suddenly turned on.

That explains why I didn’t see the homeless guy in the lobby, she reasoned. The long power outage drained the batteries of the emergency lights, so she didn’t get a good view of the stranger after the door in the lobby opened.

The woman stood nervously waiting and listening for sounds above her. She knew that many of the residents left before the storm, so she decided the residents who remained would stay inside their apartments.

Chastity tapped her foot, swore lightly under her breath while hearing the same loop of a song coming from the 911 hold music. Squinting up between the open iron decorations, she saw the outline of the elevator car in the dusky light coming from the next floor emergency light.

Muttering to herself, she went back to the stairs. The lights by the entrance felt more comfortable and she could see if the stranger had come back from the next floor.

As she waited in the middle of the building, she felt a suffocating quiet aura envelope across the area. Even the lashing winds outside didn’t reach her ears. The urge to go upstairs remained, but Chastity kept listening to the voice recording for 911, convinced not to walk into danger. She looked at the phone in disgust as the time showed her it was nearly one o’clock.

Suddenly, the woman heard a heavy knock on a door which was distant, yet the echoes reached her. Chastity wandered over toward the elevator, picking up the noise of voices, indistinct.

“No, I’m not ready!”

The woman recognized Mr. Truedell’s fearful voice.

“It doesn’t matter!”

The same hollow tone she heard earlier came down the open elevator shaft. A faint clash of metal followed as the doors above her slammed shut. Suddenly, the elevator motor started, and she saw the cable loop moving.

Impossible!

Her heart pounding in her chest, Chastity frantically scanned the dark building, looking for signs that the building power came back. She couldn’t understand how the electric motor of the elevator came to life. But as she took a step forward, a piercing shriek shattered the silence, echoing through the empty hall with ferocious intensity. The hair on the back of her neck stood on end as the howl grew louder and more intense, a primal cry of pain and terror that seemed to envelop every inch of her being.

And then, without warning, the elevator car plummeted down the shaft. A gut-wrenching scream joined with the sound of cables snapping. The noise filled the air with a deafening roar and left Chastity frozen in fear at the sheer horror of it all. The echoes of the terrible scream faded into a gut-retching moan from deep within the building. Chastity could only stand there, paralyzed by an overwhelming sense of dread.

A stifling silence filled the building, leaving the woman holding her breath. After a long moment, Chastity stepped over to the elevator shaft. A door opened, and she saw Miss Wallace timidly sticking her head out of the apartment. Chastity waved her back inside, then she slowly stepped by the wrought iron cage, which protected people from entering the open shaft.

For a full minute or more, the landlord remained weakly leaning against the elevator door, staring down into the darkness below. Finally, she heard a female calling out to her. She looked down at her hand and realized the 911 operator’s voice was coming through the speaker on her phone.

“Yes, I need to report an accident in my building,” Chastity’s monotone voice replied.

It took over an hour for the police and an ambulance to arrive. As she waited in the lobby, Chastity kept going over the events of the last few hours. After hearing the police would make their way to The Neptune, Chastity went to tell Miss Wallace about the elevator. She explained it as an accident, not revealing anything more.

As she made her way downstairs, Chastity’s conscious tugged at her to go check in the elevator. However, the woman couldn’t overcome her fright. The sounds continued to replay in her mind and her hands shook so much she could barely drink the fresh tea she made.

The electrical power still had not returned to the building, but the wind and rain gradually decreased. While Chastity paced back and forth near the front entrance, none of the tenants in the building came down, even after all the noise. She assumed they remained comfortable in their beds, asleep and oblivious to what she witnessed.

When the emergency services arrived in front of the building, it was a fire truck that led the way. Sheets of rain still beat against the pavements outside. When the two wet firemen in their heavy coats hurried inside, she quickly explained the situation as well as she could. Chastity avoided mentioning the unholy screams she heard. She only stated that the stranger appeared to be a homeless person.

“There might be two people inside. I thought I heard Ben Truedell’s voice. He’s one tenant still around today.”

The leader of the truck narrowed his eyes at her statement.

“You say the power inside the building was out, but someone tried to use the elevator anyway. Did you check to see if anyone is hurt?”

The woman’s eyes avoided them when she said no.

“It fell from the fifth floor,” she said.

The men glanced at each other after she went silent. They assumed she didn’t want to see the carnage. The firemen recognized an unpleasant task awaited them and one of them sighed.

“We’ll go look. The emergency brakes probably failed on that old elevator. Still, someone might survive.” He reassured her with a half-smile, then turned to his partner.

“Jim, pull our extraction equipment and have the others come down as well. We might need the manpower.”

Because of her reluctance to go into the basement, Chastity pointed them to the stairs. After shw watched them hurry away, she took a deep breath.

I need to understand what happened!

She was about to follow them when a policewoman in her rain gear entered the lobby.

“Are you the woman who called 911?”

Chastity retold her story to the policewoman as the woman went over to the elevator shaft. Her radio squealed, then the voice of one fireman who was in the basement came across the cop’s radio.

“Cable snapped but the elevator brakes slowed it down. No sounds, but we might have injuries. The car hit the bottom of the shaft just below the basement level.”

Shocked at the news, Chastity hurried to the stairs. Using her cellphone light, she went down into the darkness. The woman found the partially crumbled elevator car where two men attempted to pry open the door using something they called a hooligan. After several tries, the firefighter leader called for additional tools.

“We need an E3 Connect spreader,” he spoke into the mike attached to his coat.

Chastity repositioned herself to watch the ongoing work with the policewoman, who stood next to her. She looked over at the cop, who attempted to reassure Chastity. The landlord half listened as she hoped they would discover something rational to explain all the strange events.

The dim light from the fireman’s flashlights showed the metal box leaning to the side while several cables twisted around the top of the car. As she stared at the work, Chastity suddenly remembered a time when she spoke with Ben during a storm. He looked worried that night and had been drinking. She recalled the ex-captain leaning across the counter with the smell of whiskey on his breath.

“Like I told you about taking your ship out in a Nor’easter, don’t do it, even if you’ve got the blessings of a holy man. Only tragedy will come, and the crew never forgives.”

She wasn’t sure why that memory suddenly came to her. The woman shook her head, convinced she was overthinking the events she had witnessed. She looked down at her feet and quietly gasped. Next to her feet was a muddy footprint on the dusty floor. As her eyes followed the direction of the print, another fireman arrived with more equipment. His entrance into the basement forced her and the policewoman to move out of the way.

Soon, the men got the elevator door partially opened. One firefighter pointed a flashlight through the collapsed door. From her angle, she noticed something black and shapeless inside. They saw the rubber raincoat, still glistening and soaked with water, lying over something on the floor. The fireman entered the elevator car and pulled back the raincoat, and a beam from a flashlight landed on a familiar face. Chastity went rigid with shock and horror.

“That’s Ben!”

The dead man’s open eyes sockets were hollow, black spots without the eyes. Bloody trickles of a dark substance ran down his cheeks. Chastity forced the swelling nausea back down and she felt the policewoman turn her away from the scene. She leaned against a cement footer with her hand to keep from falling over. Trying not to cry, she barely heard the radio communication going on between the rescue crew and the ambulance. Her mind continued to replay Ben’s death cry as the elevator descended to the basement. Then, the rescuer announced something about the raincoat.

“Hey, what’s up with this coat? It’s filled with mud and it’s falling apart.”

Chastity was about to turn back when she noticed another footprint in the dim light on the dust covered floor. She followed it.

“Where are you going?” the policewoman asked.

The landlord pointed at the print.

“Someone got out,” she said flatly.

“No way!” The cop pulled out her flashlight and lit up the area. Her eyes widened in surprise at seeing the trail of irregularly shaped mud prints which went off into the darkness.

“I saw those prints when the man in that black raincoat came into the lobby earlier. He’s the one I called you about,” Chastity explained.

They followed the trial to the other end of the building’s basement. The footprints led to a door which Chastity knew the maintenance crew kept locked on the outside. However, they found the door open to the alley behind the building. The landlady gave up going further at this point. She recognized the alley led either to the bay or back to the homeless encampment. Deep down, Chastity knew the answer. However, she had no intention of telling her belief to the policewoman, who returned after looking around in the falling rain.

“I’ll call this in to the station,” she told Chastity before getting on the mike.

The landlord nodded absently and walked back through the basement to find Ben’s body now rested on a gurney. Looking at Ben’s body, covered with a black bag, the woman heard his voice. It suddenly reminded her of something else the old sailor said during another storm which felt like a lifetime ago to Chastity.

“You can never escape the curse that comes from a man who has no face!”

FINIS

On a certain Thursday morning in October, I discovered something unusual as I was standing at the sink. A swift, unaccountable motion caught my attention in the mirror as I was shaving. More specifically, the movement came from something reflected behind me. Although I was alone in my apartment, I paused and leaned forward. I noticed the vintage mirror in the reflection, which was at the foot of the large bed. The slightly upward angle showed the overhead light in my bedroom. I turned around, staring at the old mirror, then shrugged, deciding that the movement effect must be a pure illusion.

Maybe the light flickered.

When I finished shaving, I stepped into the bedroom. Passing by the mirror, I felt the hairs on my neck rise and I stopped again. A closer inspection showed me the big bathroom mirror through the doorways. Yet, the effect caught me off-guard. It looked exactly like staring at an endless, though diminishing, corridor.

Interesting infinity mirror effect!

As I gazed at the vintage piece, I chuckled to myself for getting the heebie-jeebies from a mirror made in the 50s. Angie found the piece covered with dust in an outbuilding at a dusty shop called Ganna’s. The vintage glass had a sticker on the back from a company we never heard of. My girlfriend claimed her research on the Internet found nothing about the odd style of mirror or the company.

I guess that’s why she got it for a song.

Still, I didn’t like the mirror’s location, still half covered in dust and abandoned at the foot of our bed. You could say Angie’s attention span didn’t last long after her initial impulsive purchases. She told me about her big plans for the mirror as I helped haul it out to her Mercedes. Of course, I smiled like an idiot since keeping her happy kept my life comfortable.

After getting out my clothing from the walk-in closet where I had a tiny corner for my storage, I looked over at her curves, barely hidden under the silk sheets. Angie had her back to me, peacefully sleeping even after all the noise I made. My morning routine seldom bothered her since she liked to stay up late for her show. A frown came to my face, but I shrugged and quickly got dressed. Then, as quietly as possible, I picked up the mirror and hauled it to the hallway.

Angie finally decided last night after her show, and she wanted the mirror near her desk. I thought the idea was dumb since her huge, but messy, desk was an old Victorian piece made of dark walnut. On the other hand, the oval mirror I sat down on the gray tile floor looked from the 50s. I think they called it mid-century modern. Looking into the reflection, I could see Angie’s leather couch next to the hallway off to one side. Her HD camera stood on a stand, connected to her gamer PC with the HDMI cable. I knew this since I worked with the camera, at times, and Angie complained about better shots coming from one of her rival’s shows.

It took little to figure out what she was doing. She wanted to show off her backside to the camera. The soft pink devices laying on the couch explained the purpose of her show. It was one reason we had the money to live in an expensive townhouse overlooking Boulder was her soft porn routine. Every night, Angie acted out her sex fantasies on a livestream with several thousand idiots paying to watch.

It wasn’t like I cared much. She got off on it for a couple of reasons. First, it pissed off her wealthy family. Not that they could do much. Angie’s a trust fund kid, so as long as I played the adorable beta male, I got regular sex while dressing in the best clothes and driving an expensive car. Second, her show gave her occasional hookups with porn stars she’s met. Hell, I didn’t care about that if I didn’t get a disease from it. After all, it left me time for my other girlfriends. Life is sweet among the wealthy, bored brats once you get inside their clique.

When I returned in the late afternoon, Angie was out of bed. Dressed in her sweats and tight t-shirt, she sat on her couch in the middle of the messy living room. The woman just finished working out with her dumbbell set. That’s why she looked hot, even with her blond bed-hair still showing along with a dash of sweat. I walked over and kissed her cheek.

“Thank you for moving my mirror,” she said before gulping down water from her bottle.

“That’s going to be a perfect spot.”

A smile came to her face as she walked over to her desk. Her cellphone was ringing with some rap song. She used the tune for her theme song on her show. I walked into the kitchen and listened to her brief conversation while getting a bottle of sparkling water from the fridge. Her sudden muffled voice told me one of her boyfriends was looking for some time.

Seriously girl, I don’t really care!

I got into her clique with my looks and the fact I could sell ice to an Eskimo. But it was a means to an end. Certainly nothing about love. I heard Angie say goodbye, and I started for the stairs.

“Rob, come in here. Hurry!”

With a scowl, I turned back to the living room, where I found her staring at the mirror.

“Something moved in there,” she said, pointing at the reflection.

The bad vibe I got earlier came back when I walked by that thing as I stepped next to her. Looking into the mirror, I saw us staring at our reflections. We both had a spooked expression, but I expected it. As I stood there, nothing moved.

“I swear, I thought I saw something right here,” she went to the silvered glass and pointed at a spot.

Angie crouched down to inspect the glass closer. From my angle, the spot showed the door leading to the basement. The door was closed, and I frowned. Certainly nothing appeared wrong about a closed door in the reflection. Turning to look over at the door by the stairs, I saw nothing out of order. I came over to look at the spot closer and felt my skin crawl.

Obviously, I’m spooking myself, I thought as I shook my head.

“You know, I think it’s something inside the backing. I thought I noticed an infinity mirror when I walked past it this morning.”

“What’s that?” She stood up.

“Oh, it’s one of those optical effect mirrors that has lights in it which seem to sink into the back, making it look like it’s going on forever. Kind of like looking into the abyss, I suppose.”

Angie frowned.

“That’s not what I saw. It was more like a movement.”

“OOOWOOO, we have ghosts,” I said in a spooky voice while raising my arms dramatically.

She glared at me, and I smirked while dropping my act.

“Listen, babe. It’s just an optical effect. Kind of like seeing something out of the corner of your eye. Spirits aren’t real, so there’s nothing to be afraid of. Hell, you’ve got a new house, so no creepy vibes here unless we imagine it.”

I felt a buzz coming from my cell phone and pulled it from my pocket. Glancing down at a familiar number showing on the screen, I continued.

“Anyway, you need to shower, and I need to get dinner for you if you’re doing your show tonight. As a bonus, I’ll get your camera ready.”

Her face brightened when I reminded her about her pastime, which she considered a career. Angie came close and grabbed my belt.

“Why don’t you join me? We have plenty of time.”

Despite my need to follow up on the missed call on my phone, I agreed. Keeping my sugar momma happy is always my priority.

~~~

Over the next week, Angie told me about a few strange occurrences when she worked out in front of the mirror. Nothing frightening, she insisted, just strange. Just to double-check, I promised to look at several days of her streaming and I noticed nothing in the video.

A review of the chats coming from those idiots wasting their money to watch her revealed nothing either. Well, it’s not like they were looking at the mirror’s reflection. When I told Angie of my investigation, she frowned, then shrugged.

“Must be my imagination,” she replied uncertainly.

A couple of days later, I arrived home. Angie didn’t respond when I called out, which I thought odd since her car was in the driveway. But I figured someone dropped by and picked her up. That was until I passed her desk. Her cell phone was sitting on top of her desk.

She never leaves without that thing!

Calling out to the next floor, I waited, but there was no reply. I went up, but there was no one around. With a frown, I went down to the main level and opened the basement door.

“Angie, are you down there?”

After finding the area empty, I got nervous. Then it came to me.

A boyfriend showed up!

Sure, she just took off without her phone, I thought. When I got back upstairs, curiosity struck me, and I pulled out my tablet. Our house had a video on the front door and the living room as part of the security system.

Well, let’s see who your latest Romeo is.

Seriously, I’m not jealous. However, I have to protect my interests here, can’t have a rival push me out of the way. I pulled up the app and ran back the video feed from the front door. Then I cocked my head when I saw nobody coming to the front door after I left that morning.

Strange! Maybe a neighbor from the backyard?

Well, you can’t get past the living room, I decided with a grin. So, I brought up the video log from inside the house.

The tablet display showed me leaving the house, and about an hour later, Angie came down the stairs. She went to her desk while tapping away on her phone before setting the phone down where I found it. After checking the PC on the desk for a few minutes, she got up and did a few stretches in front of the mirror.

Angie turned away and picked up her dumbbells, then started her exercise routine. I watched it for a while, trying to figure out how to fast forward the video in the app. Then, I looked up, and she was gone from the screen.

“Crap, did I miss it?” I mumbled while using the cursor to move the bar back.

When I replayed the video, my eyes homed in on Angie. Unconsciously, I leaned forward. My girlfriend did a couple of curls, then she turned around like she heard something behind her. There’s no audio, so I couldn’t be sure. Still, her reaction showed me something caught her attention.

In the video, Angie initially backed up, while dropping the dumbbell. She glanced around, then sat the other weight down on the floor. I watched with growing interest as she appeared to call out to someone, looking upstairs. A moment later, she slowly took a step toward the mirror. Angie leaned sideways, getting another angle of the mirror before carefully lifting her hand and reaching out to touch the glass.

Then she disappeared.

“What the fuck!” My voice croaked out while hitting an octave higher.

Several rewinds later and slowing down as much as the software allowed, I saw Angie jerked inside the mirror. Well, nobody’s going to believe it, but my view definitely showed something coming out just as she vanished.

The chills going down my back weren’t coming from the air conditioning. Disbelief turned into shock, and eventually, I got up from the chair. Stepping over closer to the mirror, I carefully moved around side-to-side until I noticed something strange in the reflection.

In one particular spot, intricate patterns in the glass seemed to converge like a bundle of strings held together and stretching outwards. Gradually, I got up enough never to move closer. But the angle changed. I could no longer see the strange spot. It only appeared at certain angles.

Then, I discovered a part of the mirror didn’t even reflect anything at all. I continued staring as my brain scrambled for a logical explanation. As I glanced away, I saw some sort of movement. I twisted my neck back and finally, at a specific angle, the pattern thing once again caught my eye. The subtle motion was now clear and certain — like a spiral or a whirlwind, just on a smaller scale. With a little imagination, it looked like a tiny tornado or a cluster of fall leaves twirling in an eddy of wind on a flat lawn. While I stared, I realized the movements combined — one rotating around and around, while the other spiraled inward towards a point inside the glass.

“Holy crap!”

The words escaped, and I stepped back while taking deep breaths. Alarm bells rang out in my mind as I considered my options. I’m in a bind. Angie controls everything. I have access to some things like my credit card, but she’s the breadwinner. Worse, if I put in a missing person report on her, I’m the immediate prime suspect. Who the hell’s going to believe she disappeared in a mirror? I’ve seen the shows. Any freaking DA can get a grand jury to string me up on charges, even without a body. Don’t even get me started on justice. That’s only for those with money and connections in the USA. I’ve got nothing like that.

I’m so screwed!

My initial urge to look for plane tickets to Mexico immediately stopped when I knew I couldn’t survive long on a credit card. Stumbling back to the chair, I slid my fingers through my hair over and over until a desperate thought came to me.

Can I get her back?

Despite the ridiculous notion, I’m thinking logically here. If I accept the premise she went into the mirror, then it’s probably haunted, or cursed, or something along those lines. That doesn’t mean it’s one way. Yeah, it’s freaking crazy, but I’m out of options here. I can’t wait around in the hope she comes back or I’m just seeing things.

Going into the kitchen, I pulled out a bottle of beer. I flipped the lid on the counter after opening it and downed half the bottle in a couple of gulps. Walking back into the room, I made a wide arc around the mirror and moved the desk chair to the spot where I found the strange anomaly.

I sat there, adjusting my position until I found the intricate patterns again. Then I considered various plans to find out more about this cursed glass in front of me. By the time I finished the bottle, the vague outline of my next steps came together. I stared at the spot for another twenty minutes, but nothing appeared beyond the spiderweb effect as I called it.

Obviously, I didn’t sleep well overnight. I tried calling the shop where Angie discovered the mirror, but they were closed. I was up late researching anything related to mirrors and curses. All I got were a couple of vague creepypasta possibilities. I’m pretty sure I can discount those.

However, I crawled out of bed and checked the house for Angie, just to make sure she didn’t show up. Her car was still in the driveway and her phone had plenty of text messages. I replied to them, saying she was out, and left her phone at the house. That should buy me another day or two, but the pressure is on.

Arriving at the building right as they opened, I instantly remembered the old place. A large, hand-painted sign, Ganna’s Stuff, sat above the weathered awning. When I stepped inside, I encountered an unfamiliar woman sitting behind the counter. Her mesmerizing eyes looked up, and I stopped, unable to think for a few seconds. She stood and extended her hand. As she introduced herself, I shook her hand, finally coming out of my trance. The woman wore a black blouse along with tight tan slacks which revealed a body that made Angie’s look pedestrian. Her raven-like hair and pale complexion gave her a natural vamp look.

“What can I do for you?”

Her words made me grin, but then I remembered my predicament. After I explained Angie’s purchase, she nodded as I finished. When I questioned her about the mirror, she lifted her hand for me to stop. When she smiled, I felt a strange sense of relief. It made no sense.

“Wait, I have something for you.” She turned away and stepped past several boxes filled with items. My eyes followed her figure going into the darkness in the back.

“Yes, I was out that day,” she called out from the back of the room. “But we found something for you which was attached to the mirror.”

She came back to the counter holding a yellowed envelope. The woman handed it to me.

“Someone stapled this letter to the back of the mirror. We found it on the floor after you left that day.”

I took the letter, then gave her a confused expression. She smiled.

“Your girlfriend paid with cash, so we didn’t have an address. You can see the staples still embedded in the paper. It just rusted away over the years and fell off when my men moved it. It’s from the manufacturer since they shipped it directly. Kind of unusual for the time. I’m guessing you wanted provenance about your item.”

“Oh, I get it. Thanks.” I replied as I quickly tore open the envelope.

Inside, I found the original bill of sale.

“Say, do you know anything about this Sheol Company?” I showed her the paper.

The woman leaned over and I caught the whiff of musk. The scent made me want to get closer.

“Oh, yes. They only manufactured that mirror for a few months in the 50s. The 1953 North Sea flood destroyed the company offices in Denmark.” Her eyes met mine, and I noticed a twinkle as she told me more about the company.

A few minutes later, she answered my questions. Her macabre description of the disaster left me uneasy since I wasn’t wanting that information. However, the answers didn’t lead me to the reasons for my girlfriend’s disappearance. As I thought about it, I guess I was hoping against hope.

“Interesting. I wonder why Angie didn’t find that on the Internet?” I frowned as I mumbled out the question.

“Well, Rob, we have information about the past that isn’t available there,” she reached over and patted my forearm. “Sometimes, it’s difficult to find information about small companies. That mirror is quite unique. Your girlfriend got it for a song. Personally, I’m glad you came back. You should always keep the documentation with your mirror. That said, did something happen?”

I almost gasped at the question. When I caught her mischievous look, my brain froze.

“N — no, it’s just a spot — on the mirror that Angie… Well, she said something appeared to move,” I stammered out.

“Oh, I see,” the woman replied and leaned forward.

“Don’t worry, it’s not haunted!” She smiled. “You really shouldn’t cover it.”

“Yeah — um — I’ll remember,” I raised my eyebrows at the comment.

As I turned away after thanking her, she reached over and caught my sleeve.

“Rob, when you get back, I highly recommend you put that envelope back in the same place. And here’s my card. I’m sure you’ll want to call me soon.”

Taking her card, I looked it over. It had her name only. I flipped the card over, but nothing else was on the cardstock. Obviously, she knew nothing about marketing.

Katen Ganna

Without thinking about it, I walked away and placed it in the old envelope. While I caught the suggestive nature of her message, I wasn’t in a place to think about it. Angie was still gone, and I was running out of time.

When I returned to the house, I found more messages on Angie’s cell. My worries wrapped around me like lead weights, and I sat on the couch by the mirror. Looking at the envelope in my hand, Katen’s words came back to me.

Like I care about the provenance of the damn thing!

With a sigh, I pulled out the paper inside and looked over the bill. The language appeared to be Dutch, but I figured out the mirror sold for fifty bucks in 1953. Getting up, I walked to the mirror while stuffing the billing paper back into the envelope when I noticed something in the reflection.

The letter contained a red symbol on the back. Confused, I turned over the paper and found nothing. When I turned it back and lifted the paper to the mirror, the red symbol appeared again. I flipped the letter over again, shocked by the fact I couldn’t see it when I directly looked at the back of the paper. Curiosity got me and stepped forward while holding the back of the paper out toward the mirror.

The symbol reminded me of an old German flag I saw once in a museum. A two-headed eagle with wings spread, if I recall correctly. However, the red emblem I saw in the reflection looked far more sinister, with two-demonic human heads on the body of a winged serpent. As I stood there close to the mirror, I noticed what looked like blood flowing from the red emblem.

Shocked, I twisted over the letter but, again; I saw nothing on the paper. A sound coming from the mirror caught my attention, and I looked up. There, standing in the reflection, was a bleeding, naked woman. Her desperation filled her swollen face as she clawed at the glass.

Angie!

I reached for the reflection and a freezing pair of hands grabbed me. Instantly, I’m on the floor, fighting for my life, trying to hold off a snarling creature. I know it’s Angie, but it’s not. The thing I’m desperately trying to push away has a mouth with only four needle-like fangs trying to get to my neck. One of my hands grips her greasy hair while the other is holding on to the wrist that grabbed me.

The stench of the body odor struck me, and the face of my insane girlfriend pushed closer.

What the fuck happened to you? My mind screamed when I fully realized she wanted to kill me. I’m losing the battle as my arms shook from her strength. The drool coming from her teeth felt cold when it struck my neck. Just as Angie’s mouth closed in on my throat, I heard an enraged voice in the background.

“Verlassen Ihm!”

Instantly, Angie jumped away from me, retreating into the shadows.

As I lay there, trying to catch my breath while I stared at the partly hidden Angie. Her hungry gaze shook me. I suddenly realized I’m not in the living room. Instead, I’m lying on a cold black floor. The space around me is dark and I’m unable to see any walls. The only light comes from behind me. Glancing back, I see a long window showing the living room.

“Is that the mirror — what the fuck?” I struggled to sit up.

“As I expected, you discovered the gateway key,” a vaguely familiar voice came from the shadows.

As I turned my head, I noticed a woman’s figure step into the light coming from behind me. My focus on the four elongated fangs sticking out from the woman’s upper and lower lips made me almost not recognize her. But I couldn’t remember her name at the moment.

“Wh — the lady from the store?” I stammered out loud while backing away.

The creature continued to come closer, and I suddenly felt the cold glass as I pressed my back against the mirror.

“For a mortal, it’s a one-way trip inside my realm,” she smirked.

Those ugly teeth, looking razor sharp, made the chill on my back fill me inside.

“Are you a demon? What’s have you done to Angie?”

The woman sighed slightly as her eyes held mine.

“The woman is now mine, a pet to feed me. You’ll soon become like her soon enough.” She kneeled in front of me. “Although I’m not fond of having two pets. They’re troublesome when they continue to want blood. It’s such a waste of my time.”

The demon looked over at Angie.

“I suppose I could let you feed upon this man with me,” her tone sounded like a person speaking to a dog. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

Watching in shock, Angie growled happily and came into the light on all fours. The fear keeping me quiet rose a notch more when I saw my girlfriend’s excited expression as he looked at me like a fancy dinner. I looked into the creature’s eyes and saw the stony stare of a hunter as her mouth opened. Desperation filled me as the reaper loomed over me when a trickle of an idea came through.

“I — I believe this pet can help you. Maybe we should chat before you bite into me. What’s your true name, master?” My best salesman’s voice finally came to me.

Leaning my head back against the glass of the mirror behind me, I gave her a tired smile, as I suspected my charisma wasn’t enough.

She’ll never go for it!

Her eyes widened slightly at my changed attitude, and she cocked her head slightly.

“Seriously, you’re unbelievably great and powerful.” I let out a forced exhale with my statement. “But I can give you more than a couple of pets.”

The woman gave me an odd look, then a sneer came to her contorted lips.

“Katen gives you a minute to speak.”

~~~

A few weeks later, a couple entered the front door of Ganna’s Stuff, I stepped out of the shadows, stepping to the counter.

“Let me know if you have questions on our items. This week we have a sale going on for our mirrors over on the north wall!”

The couple nodded appreciatively and started to look through the items on the shelves.

I stepped back into the shadows and closed my eyes while standing there. My sensitive hearing listened in on their conversation as I forced myself to remain calm. Katen was correct. The smell of their blood made my mouth water.

However, the couple is lucky today for I’m full, as is my master. Obviously, I made a deal with Katen, who rests inside the mirror that stands next to me. And I have big plans after learning the extent of her powers.

Katen Ganna was once called Aurinia the Seeress. Venerated by the ancient Germanic tribes as a seer who carried powers of foresight and prophecy. Her need for blood sacrifice could not stand against the increasing power of the Church, and they hunted her. The holy hypocrites called her a demon or a vampire. They were incorrect. In truth, Aurinia is a powerful witch. To escape her pursuers, she entered the demon realm through the reflections of an antique mirror. Katen Ganna only returned during the flood of 1953 in Denmark.

I learned the day she took my blood why demons and vampires can’t show their reflection in a mirror. It’s not what you think. A mirror is a one-way door into another realm. You can’t see your reflection in a door only you can open. My master discovered a way to use a cursed mirror salvaged from a tragic flood to re-enter our world.

With such knowledge, how could I not make a deal with her?

Over the years, the people who purchased the mirror would disappear just like Angie. They became substance pets for Katen, who would enter the world to buy the mirror back from the family of the missing people.

After realizing my master hung onto such a haphazard method to maintain her precarious existence in our world, I convinced her of a better way. When I invited several of Angie’s friends to our place, my master discovered my planning was pretty solid. Watching her rip out the throats of Angie’s sex partners provided me with entertainment, and it helped win over Katen to my plans.

Over the past week, I discovered my lovers provided prime sacrificial benefits for my master. Of course, I’ve gained from it as well since I’ve become like her. Our trade gave me power along with a paler complexion. That’s the reason I run the shop now. A master should remain happy and content without the worries of a business.

I’m such a wonderful boyfriend!

Angie’s appearance is back to normal with the proper spells and blood. She still does her streaming channel. But she remains a pet to provide nourishment any time for my master. She’s also a bed companion since Katen enjoyed Angie’s shows as she watched from behind the shadows.

Who knew that playing a beta character to a created the perfect setup for me? I have a few more ideas to really kick this thing off. My goal to support the greatest witch in history is to expand our supply of pets and increase our subordinates. After all, I intend to create more of my kind and have a choice of fine ladies with an interest in design and antiques. Our shop now has a wall filled with mirrors. Each mirror contains a spell from my master.

I find cursed mirrors a great opportunity.

As for the future, you might remember that mirrors are inside nearly every building in the world. Using my master’s abilities, you’ll see an increase in the number of missing people. It’s like giving a serial killer to key to your entire house.

Do you think a sorcerer might take advantage of that situation?

I certainly do.

FINIS

“It’s a fascinating juxtaposition about the world. The picture says so much. What do you think?”

The female voice behind me made me turn my head. She was obviously looking at the same picture. A large photographic print of a urinal with a rose pot placed in the drain hung on the wall as part of a gallery display. The woman was in her forties, trying to hold on to her college years. I could tell given her tight facial features from cosmetic surgery. She wore an expensive dress and held a nearly empty wineglass in her hand. The woman reminded me of the other creatures inhabiting the gallery that night, full of wealth and even fuller of themselves.

Pathetic bourgeoisie witch!

“I think it’s crap,” I replied with a sigh. “It signifies the photographer has minor talent and copies other artists due to his insecurities.”

The woman’s puzzled expression turned to a bemused grin.

“I don’t think that’s a good interpretation. He might strike you for saying such things. I’ve heard he’s intense.”

Turning back to the picture, I nodded my head.

“Yeah, I’ve been called much worse. I’m a real bastard around entitled Karens.”

Her gasp and retreating footsteps brought a grin to my face. It was the only bit of fun I had at this boring exposition of my recent work. A necessary evil for keeping an apartment and food in the fridge while cutting into the time to actually create. Still, I wasn’t lying to the woman. Passion and intensity were the hallmarks of my art. I manipulated anything that stood in my way in order to create the perfect shots. The witch probably talked to the models who hated me.

Calvin used to bring my models into the gallery during my exhibitions. At least until the models talked about me. Any pretty face who signed up to work for me as a model were not different from a whore. I would use them as I wanted, even if it felt like torture during my shooting sessions. An injury here or there was a small sacrifice for art. That’s what clauses in a contract are for.

However, my reputation for putting models into hazardous conditions has created issues for me recently. The last fool fell onto the subway tracks, nearly getting himself killed by an oncoming train. While the shot came out solid, the model threw a lawsuit at Holt and me. It also forced me to change direction. Still, without the right type of subject to show the emotions of the moment, my latest work suffered from a clear lack of imagination. I knew it and so did the gallery owner.

When I walked into Calvin Holt’s office the next day. He was on his cell phone, and he waved me to a chair beside his desk.

“Well, what’s the verdict?” I asked when he finally finished his conversation.

“Bad,” he replied without looking at me.

That meant the gallery show sucked worse than I imagined when I left.

“You sold a couple of pictures, that’s all. I can’t have another showcase like that.”

I’ll said one thing for Calvin, he told it like he saw it.

“Alright, what went wrong?”

His blue eyes widened in surprise when he looked at me.

“If you don’t know, that’s bad! Your photos were just average. Hell, a first-year student could do better. But I let it slide, thinking maybe I wasn’t seeing something. The two that sold came because of your reputation. You understand what that means, right?”

I sighed, knowing the answer, but I didn’t want to face it.

“No inspiration and tired as a gray night.”

Calvin chuckled.

“Maybe you should write if you can’t get your camera eye back. I need you back to where you were when you came through that door a couple of years ago. Here’s some free advice. Get out of that damn condo and look for inspiration outside. Also, get away from torturing your models. Neither of us can afford that crap.”

“They sign a fucking contract!” I glared at him.

He knew I hated dealing with people. I like to call it one of my quirks. Most people think artists have at least one peculiarity and it was something I ran with to remove myself from the masses. Calvin gave me a bitter grin.

“Yeah, don’t play that game with me. We both know you’re a son of a bitch at heart. Hell, I don’t think you have a heart. No other galleries will touch your work because everyone knows about the sick things you’ve done to get your vision.”

He leaned forward.

“But you’ve got talent and I make money off of you so beggars can’t be choosers. Now, I will spell it out for you. You have to stay on top if you want to survive. You can’t do jack with static displays or sets. So, get back to people watching and their expressions. I’ve seen you pull out great stuff with the right subject. We both know you’re strongest with fear and darkness.

He leaned back and sighed loudly.

“Here’s my suggestion. Find someone who can handle your bullshit long enough to get some shots. Just don’t kill them. You have a couple of weeks before I call in Piper. She’ll have something for my next show.”

“Fucker!” I growled as I got up and left the room.

By the time I got to my car, I was still fuming. Calvin knew how to manipulate me. He just used my contempt for Piper to push me forward. The woman considered herself my rival after receiving an award from the arts commission. I saw it differently.

Someone must have talent to become a rival.

When I pulled into the parking lot of my condo, no new ideas came to me about fixing my problem. Stopping the car, I listened to the end of a Killer’s song I liked about a murder. Still, with the improved mindset, I realized trying to find someone who would work with me with my reputation would not happen. The only thing that came to me was the idea of thinking outside the box.

While I hate metaphors, it made me look around at old warehouses along the street. Most were now converted to lofts, and I took in the architecture for inspiration. With an influx of Gen Z types with money, the neighborhood no longer looked or felt like a war zone. There were a few homeless still hanging around, but, mostly, you didn’t feel like your life hung in the balance by walking from your car to your condo at night.

Movement along the alley next to my building caught my eye. I noticed a young kid wearing his school uniform being pushed into the alley by some older kids. Curiosity got to me, and I quickly got out of my car and hurried over to the building. By the time I got to the corner of the building, I heard crying along with threats. When I rounded the corner, I saw a pack of young thugs beating the younger kid. The leader stood off to the side, rummaging through the kid’s backpack while the others beat him. Instinctively, I pulled out my iPhone and started taking snapshots. I knew the pictures were gold. Humans brutalizing humans is the essence of our world. Then I realized I couldn’t use them.

Damn, the bastards are too young. No parent will sign a consent form.

One young thug suddenly realized I was taking photos, and he warned the others. The leader dropped the backpack while holding their victim’s wallet. He glared at me.

“You got a problem?”

I almost smirked at the high-pitched voice, giving me the threat. But I’m an artist, not a fighter, and a coward by nature. They might turn on me as a gang.

“I’m just a bystander,” I replied calmly. “But the pictures are already in the cloud, so the police will have the evidence. I suggest you leave before they get here.”

The young punk’s eyes widened at the news. He quickly pulled out the money before throwing the wallet back at their victim, who remained in a fetal position.

“I’ll be coming for you if you talk to the cops,” the leader snarled at the young kid.

A moment later, the gang disappeared. The beaten victim lifted himself from the ground and looked over at me. But I turned away and went to the entrance of the building with a spring to my step. The incident gave me a profound inspiration. I could see it in my upcoming photos, a look at the instinctual ugliness of people. As I got on the elevator, a silly grin came to my face as a grand vision came to me. In a world of hostility, my camera would bring out reality.

Two days later, I drove my car to a tavern several blocks from my place. A line of Harleys parked near the entrance told me I found the right place. An old-timer who handled my condo’s maintenance told me about this dive bar. It appeared there were regular occurrences of violence. He also told me about a regular patron of the place named Joey.

After hearing about this place, I stopped over at the tavern that night and found Joey sitting at the bar. I glimpsed his face in the mirror behind the counter and froze. He had tattoos covering his lower face, which looked like a mask from a distance. Beyond his skin decorations, Joey had the features of an orc with biceps bigger than my thighs. He wore a sleeveless denim vest with a large death’s head logo stitched on the back of his vest.

Yeah, the old-timer warned me about Joey’s affiliation with a biker gang. Only later did I find out he was the headman.

Gulping down my initial fear when I saw him, I approached. Luckily, he said he was in a good mood that night. I’m sure it helped when I laid down a couple of hundreds to set up my session for the next night. The orc gave me an icy stare but nodded understanding when I explained my plan was an act of revenge. I left the tavern still in one piece and made a phone call to a special person’s secretary the next day. A man who once laughed at my work during my first exhibition.

It’s funny how you never forget certain things!

The night of the main event, I drove through the tavern parking lot and found a well-lit spot across from the building. Backing my car into a stall, I pulled out my digital camera and preset the lens and electronic exposures for the night. The camera was small but powerful for just such occasions. No need for a flash with the outside light, giving me plenty to see as I reviewed my test shots. Then, I waited for the star of the show to arrive.

A red Corvette pulled in about fifteen minutes late and, to my surprise, a couple got out of the car. Of course, I recognized Bruno Lip. He fashioned himself a connoisseur of everything fashionable in the city. Dressed in an expensive suit, he waited for the woman who stumbled as she got out of the car. Bruno’s date was an exotic Asian blond wearing a tight red dress that carried plenty of sexiness. However, the pair looked so out of place that rubbed my forefinger and thumb on the bridge of my nose, then let out a sigh.

Will they even go inside?

My brain went into overdrive, thinking about all the things I might have missed. For a moment, I considered the idea Bruno might get back in his car when I saw his face. A worried expression caused his date to ask about the tavern. I couldn’t hear the conversation, but I noticed him looking around.

Come on! Take the bait! Your secretary promised you a surprise.

After another look around the parking lot, Bruno entered. I rolled down my window as the couple entered the bar. A smile slowly drifted to my lips. The man had a gallery like Calvin in the fashion district. My call to Bruno’s secretary informed her a promising photographer liked to hang out at this bar and some of his work was on display inside. Of course, it was a lie. All I could do was wait at this point and hope Joey came through. The additional money I promised him should take care of my revenge and get me the pictures I needed.

I heard a small crowd roar not long after the couple entered the bar, but nothing appeared to change outside. After a while, I saw three large men wearing the same cut off denim vests over their t-shirts like their boss, Joey. They came out of the front entrance and went to their motorcycles. The loud rumble caused me to jump as the men started their motorcycles, then pulled around to the side of the building. A moment later, two other women, overweight and dressed in the same biker vests, came out of the side entrance. Bruno’s date, terrified and crying, stood between them and they pushed her to the closest motorcycle.

“Get on, bitch!” I heard someone ordered the woman in the red dress. “It’s initiation time!”

With a sneer, the rider took off while his blonde passenger screamed for help. Laughing, the female gang members climbed behind the riders of the other motorcycles. Savage cries of triumph filled the air as the gang left the parking lot. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that Bruno’s date would be busy with the gang for the night.

Well, Bruno’s got his own problems!

Immediately after the motorcycles left the lot, the side door opened again. This time a body came hurling out of the blackness and landed on the asphalt. The suit looked familiar, but someone had torn the jacket to shreds. Bruno rolled around on the pavement in agony, and I hurriedly opened my car door. Joey came into view, calmly stepping down to the parking lot.

“Please — whatever I did — I’m sorry. Just let me leave,” Bruno begged as he got on his knees.

With a sudden speed that startled me, the big orc, Joey, reached his victim and started beating him. I hurriedly got in several pictures of the damage. Then I stopped after suddenly remembering to pull my hood over my head. The delay cost me because when I framed the scene in the viewfinder, the big orc was done. He headed toward me, standing up with the hairs on the back of my neck.

“Money!” Joey growled.

Immediately, I pulled a wad of bills and handed them to the man. He flipped through the wad with blood covered fingers. When he glared at me, I thought I would pee myself. I forgot I could be a victim just as easily.

“I better not see my picture, or I’ll rip your head off.”

The thug walked toward his hog and soon drove off in the direction his gang took. I remained frozen for a moment, then got my nerve back and hurried over to Bruno. The man lay semi-unconscious, blood covering his face. To be honest, I barely recognized him. However, I started clicking off shots from various angles. Finally, he slowly came around and I backed away to my car.

A moment later, I drove off. Catching Bruno’s figure still rolling around on the asphalt in the rearview mirror, I let out my breath. Already, I focused on turning the pictures into something for my next exhibition.

A couple of days later, I picked up my pictures. Enjoyment wasn’t the correct term, maybe satisfaction better explained how I felt. The large tabloid size photographs lay sprawled across my table as I surveyed the work before getting them ready to matte and frame. The work showed the brutality of a beating, up close and personal. Bruno was unrecognizable because of his injuries and my efforts in editing.

As for my victims, I found out that Bruno somehow got himself to a hospital. According to the information I had, he had a concussion. Bruno had little recollection of the events that night. His girlfriend showed up at a clinic on the other side of town. It seemed she had no intention of reliving her experiences with the police.

That evening, I sat at the table, looking at the finished pictures with a glass of wine in my hand. A sense of relief struck me at the ease of achieving my vision. Even though the event cost me more than simply using a model to fake the beating, the authenticity of the picture stood out in its sheer violence and immediacy. It reminded me of Browne’s great shot of a monk’s stoic self-immolation during the Vietnam War.

Beautiful!

In a sense, I felt triumph as I gazed upon the photos. The feeling turned into relief as well, since I knew I was back. As I changed my position to look at the photos from various angles, I frowned when I heard the radio in the other room. The classical music stopped to change over to the local news.

Must be nine!

My thoughts turning back to the pictures, I realized I needed another similar series of beatings to provide balance. Maybe something with women brutalizing others in a group. Of course, I needed to find another victim and work out the details with Joey, so my thoughts drifted to that detail. As I was thinking about the biker gang, a news item caught my attention.

…several bodies retrieved showed signs of torture. The police believe the men and women had ties with a gang fighting…

Intrigued by the statement, I paid more attention, then heard the name of the gang. It was Joey’s! Immediately, I walked into the living room, but the newscaster was already on the next story. Walking over to my open laptop, I sat down with a slow dread filling me. I hope he didn’t get himself killed; I thought. Luck wrapped her arms around me when I found that gang and I needed assurance they could help me with my next project.

Web searches quickly came up with the latest news, and I ran through them for specifics. The first thing that grabbed my attention was the name of the other gang, a Korean group called Seven Star. I thought it strange since I had never heard of this gang in our city. Then again, it’s not like I’m friends with the underworld. The only items I was clear about seven bodies found in a trailer just outside of town held signs of torture and execution. This happened only a couple of days after Bruno’s beating.

Leaning back in the chair, I downed the rest of my wine as I went over the events of that night. As I thought it over, I remembered the girl had Asian features and probably had ties to wealth, considering the women Bruno Lip dated.

Was it a coincidence?

A chill ran through me as I pondered the possibility of a connection. When I determined my victim, I never considered the possibility that Bruno had ties to the underworld. Even if remote, my neck was on the line if the victims had connections with this Korean gang. The news reporting the use of torture on the dead gang members gave me even more reason to be careful.

After searching a while longer and not finding more information, I racked my brain. Finally, I headed to the tavern. I needed to determine if Joey was around. He didn’t look like the type to scare, so I planned to grab some cash on the way.

When I arrived at the tavern, I waited in the car and noticed there were no motorcycles in the parking lot. As I’m waiting there, thinking about my options, I see an expensive black car pull into the lot. The dark glass windows hide people inside. It slowly drives through, then out the back of the lot. Suddenly, I let out my breath, slowing the fear screaming for me to leave. Still, I needed information, so I slid out of the car and looked around several times before going inside.

Pushing through the front door, I immediately noticed there’s nobody in Joey’s chair. I sat next to it and asked the bartender about Joey. The guy’s eyes widen and he’s looking around as his face pales. It took a minute for him to respond.

“Yeah, I heard he’s disappeared. Some guys came in asking about him last night when I was closing up. They gave me the same chills that Joey did.”

“Really? So, it’s like the news is saying. You sure they weren’t cops?”

I prayed after my question, but, of course, the angels pissed on me.

“No way,” the bartender groaned as he leaned closer. “They looked like something from a damn mobster film. Dressed in black suits, long coats and sunglasses. The guy had an oriental accent; I think from Japan or something.”

Or Korean, I thought as I quickly left the bar.

As I went home, I thought I saw a car tailing me but decided it was my imagination after taking a series of alleys and roundabouts. Still, I was more than nervous. I stayed confident about my separation from the gang if they caught Joey, because I never used my real name. Yet, the nagging suspicion remained. After a couple of glasses of wine to steady me, I decided to leave the city for a while.

Better safe than sorry.

After calling a cab and throwing a small suitcase together, along with my camera bag, I waited downstairs in the lobby. At first, I considered taking a straight shot to the airport, but then I got smart. Forcing the cabbie to stop at a subway terminal, I quickly descended to the tunnel.

The subway ride was slow as I kept looking around, but I didn’t notice anything suspicious among the passengers on the train. A couple of stops later, I got off at the main terminal. Then, I went over to the main platform which led to the airport. Pushing through the turnstile, I noticed two men in black trench coats. The fact they wore sunglasses at night inside seemed too damn obvious. Immediately, I took a quick turn and waited by the corner next to the stairs that led underground. Peering around the corner, I let out a breath when I noticed the men walking to another stairway.

I’m too jumpy!

On the platform, I moved around the groups, keeping my sights on the stairs behind me. Fortunately, the men in the trench coats did not appear. As I stood by a large pillar that smelled like piss, the sounds of the approaching train caught my attention. The crowd filling the area slowly worked their way toward the edge of the platform. I joined in behind two couples speaking in a language I didn’t recognize. Obviously tourists, since they were taking pictures of nearly everything with their cell phones.

“Chilsung-pa extends an invitation,” a choppy voice with a foreign accent whispered close to me. “Now head to the exit on your right.”

As the words came to my ears, I felt a hard object shoved into my spine and my mind scrambled, before the absolute fear overwhelmed me. I dropped one of my bags, which landed on a woman’s foot in front of me. She turned, giving me an evil glare. But when I saw her expression change when she saw the man close behind me. She actually pulled up her cell phone to take a picture of us. The insanity of her action broke me out of the gears locked inside of me. My thoughts turned to survival.

So, I go with them and die slowly, or I run and try not to die!

Nodding, I started moving toward the woman, then swung my camera case around. However, I was too close, and my bag knocked her arm as it came around. As the woman’s cellphone flew into the air, I heard a minor explosion near me. The expected pain didn’t come, well — not at first. The inertia of my case coming around forced the man in the sunglasses away. Then, my body gave out, and I went to my knees as I faced them. Screams and yelling filled the platform as people scattered. The assassin quickly lifted his pistol toward my face and fired.

Isn’t that too cliché of a look?

The immediate pain that suddenly filled my head drowned out my thought. I didn’t hear the shot, but I felt the blow and a scream filled the air. Maybe it was my voice, I’m not sure. All I felt were millions of hot pokers stabbed into my left eye. I couldn’t think and my hands refused to lift to my face. I could only wriggle around like a worm as the pain seemed to last forever.

One good eye opened and I’m staring at the subway train. I’m on my side, seeing the filthy marble floor and unable to move my head as blood trickles down my nose. Continuous flashing makes my eyeball move to scan the train windows a few feet away. The pale faces stared at me while recording my demise. I couldn’t move, even as I coughed out blood. My breathing grew shallow. The fire inside my head slowly faded, then I couldn’t feel my body any longer. All I could do was stare at the crowd on the train.

The scene made my brain scream. Vapid people standing there with their cell phones busily snapping pictures and making videos of a dying man. They resembled a herd of wildebeests standing around while a pack of lions devours one of their comrades.

Then, a single memory returned. A small kid in the alley in a fetial position while others beat him. I never knew the boy, and I didn’t care to know him. Rationally, the abuse I witnessed was nothing more than a subject for me to use as a pretentious display that held no soul.

Yet, no regrets came. I already understood there is no such thing as humanity. The term implies compassion and sympathy, and those taking the pictures have no such feelings. Otherwise, they’d be on the phone calling for help, or taking down the murderer. Like them, I’m soulless, only a voyeur in life.

Soon, the images would spread across the world to show their online friends. Their action would feed even more ugliness underlying humanity because people emulate their darkness.

Their pictures were a perfect statement next to my last piece of art I left on the table.

But I could only take the thoughts with me to the grave. As an inky black descended over me, I came up with the perfect title for my last picture.

Bystander!

FINIS