The Mirror

© 1999 Edward M. Turner
All rights reserved.

The plaintive cry of a loon echoed across Toddy Pond. After a while, conversation within the camp resumed.
"I really got to go now."
(Do you have to?)
"Yes, yes I do. It's getting dark. I gotta go."
(Why can't you stay?)
"My car might break down. It's getting dark."
(You always worry.)
"The car's old, Victoria. I told you that. I gotta go."
(Stay, Vicki.)
"I'll miss you this winter."
(Oh yes, Vicki. Of course you will.)
"I will. See you in the spring, Victoria." Vicki Bartlett stood in front of the mirror, hand up to wave good-bye. She wished her mousy hair was blond like her friend's. Victoria—who looked like her in a way, though less fatty—had a hand raised also. Her lavender dress looked freshly washed.
The room behind Victoria with its white frilly curtains and Persian carpets appeared warm and cozy and inviting. The far door seen by Vicki was open about a foot as always. Out of Victoria's door leaked soft silent rainbow colors: violets, blues, greens, yellows, reds. But to stay at the camp 'til after dark. . . .
Vicki turned away, breaking a spell cast by her friend's eyes. Those eyes huge and wanting and eager stirred Vicki deep in her groin and made her legs tremble. She shut the outside door to the camp and locked the padlock.
Her old Volkswagen bug started on the third crank, its sewing-machine engine loud and alien in the stillness that hovered around the pond. Backing onto the rutted dirt road, Vicki paused before she shifted into first gear for one last glance over her shoulder at the camp.
Its foundation squatted on rocks by the edge of Toddy Pond. The roof sagged, brown and green shingles blinkered the sides. A black shale chimney climbed skyward like the broken stem of a tobacco pipe. Its dirty windows squinted at the last dying rays of the setting sun. The camp looked haunted.
There was a light inside, however, coming from the mirror that her friend used as a place to play. Vicki thought the light lonely and noticed shadows flickering outward against the window panes but not out of the camp itself.
"It's almost dark," she remembered, and spun out of there.

The yellow school bus dropped off Vicki in front of her house in North Lars Hill. Younger kids screamed old insults: *Good-bye, Mrs. Toad, Don't forget to write us, Fat-arse!*
The last swear word brought a mild rebuke from the bus driver. The kids laughed.
Vicki ignored the words. She heard the laughter, though.
Her mother opened the front door of the house and yelled, "Vicki, you didn't make your bed again!"
Vicki scooted by her mother, who slammed the door. "Mama, I guess I forgot—"
"Shut up! And when you're done, peel some potatoes. If you just helped me with a few chores around here like your sister, Debbi, instead of laying around daydreaming --"
"Mama, I thought—"
Mother turned on her, "Don't think."
"I need money for gas," Vicki insisted. She stood in the doorway to her room. "The manager of the 'Five & Dime' in Bucksport said I needed transportation."
"For what?"
"A job behind the counter. If I had a job, I could pay for gas, I could pay you back the money you lent me, I could. . . ."
"Buy your own school-clothes," her mother finished. "Money don't grow on trees, you know."
Vicki smiled, "Seven dollars would get me to payday. Across the street at Rosen's there's a back-to-school special on—"
Mother handed over a ten dollar bill and hissed, "If those potatoes aren't peeled by supper-time, your car is going to sit there and—"
"Thanks, Mama!" Vicki snatched the bill and slammed her bedroom door. She couldn't believe her good fortune.
Jack Gracie, the boy with the big muscles, also worked at the Five & Dime. He'd recently broken up with his girlfriend. How sad.

"Vicki Bartlett, you are a marvel," Mr. Greene complimented her. As manager of the Five & Dime, he'd worried Vicki might be too young for the responsibility of dealing with the public behind the main counter. His other part-time employees always seem to miscount change, insult the customers, or gossip constantly—on company time. High school kids usually were the pits. Yet Vicki was sharp as a tack. Never a mistake and courteous with the customers. And she was fast.
"Thanks, Mr. Greene." Vicki peeped at Jack Gracie to see if he'd witnessed the compliment. Jack, his black hair hanging in his face, was busy stacking coloring books on shelves and apparently didn't hear Mr. Greene's words.
"Keep up the good work, young lady. I could increase your hours?"
Vicki blushed, "Sure! I can use the money. Thanks again, sir."
Mr. Greene nodded and walked off, pleased. He paid her minimum wage by law, yet he would save money by increasing her hours . . . and cutting those of the regulars. Adults earned more, of course. Much more.
After he left, Jack sauntered up and leaned his elbows on the counter. The sleeves on his white shirt were rolled up, exposing his muscled forearms.
"Hey, Vicki, did you get your check cashed?"
Vicki's eyes became dreamy. "Yes, Jack." She reached beneath the counter and brought out her pocketbook. "You needed—?"
"Fifty-five dollars."
A lady customer waited behind Jack. Vicki waved her forward and rang up her purchase. Then she leaned toward Jack and whispered, "I have only thirty-five. Let me ask Sandy for a loan."
Jack sighed, "She won't lend you the money. I thought you liked me. What did you, spend the rest?" He made as if to leave.
"No, Jack, it's my whole paycheck. Wait, let me ask her. Please? Watch the counter for me?"
"Well," he noticed the cash drawer was still open, "if you hurry. I haven't finished stacking those damn books yet."
"Thank you, Jack." She looked into his eyes, "I'll pay you next week if I have to; you know I will."
He returned her stare, his hand on hers. "I know you will, Vicki. You're okay." Jack couldn't help a quick glance at the open cash drawer.
He smiled.

The Bartlett family ate with a will. Father talked of the November deer-hunting season between mouthfuls of mashed potato. Mother ignored him while forking in meatloaf. Vicki's older brother, Dave, worked late at the garage.
Her older sister, Debbi, a lovely brunette and a senior in high school, watched Vicki eat with distaste. She herself had been nibbling a piece of celery.
"Have enough room, Pig?"
Vicki stopped eating and gave her sister a black look. "Working gives me an appetite, Queenie."
"I'm sure some boys like their women fat."
Father changed his subject from killing deer to John Deere tractors. Mother continued to fork in meatloaf. Both ignored the girls' bickering.
"Jack likes me."
"He doesn't like weirdoes. What are you going to do, invite him down to camp?" Debbi sneered.
"SHUT UP!" Vicki clenched her teeth. She held her butter knife in a threatening manner.
Father frowned at her. Mother dropped her fork, puzzled at the change in Vicki. Usually her youngest daughter returned Debbi's insults or appealed to her parents.
"Vicki," Debbi continued, "you've wasted more time at the camp this summer. If the snow hadn't fallen you'd still —"
"SHUT UP!" Vicki yelled.
Mother became uneasy. Vicki seemed to be more independent since she started that job.
Vicki said to her sister, "This is my one chance, bitch. Jack likes me." She tapped her plate with the butter knife, "So shut your yap."
At that moment, the phone rang. Father got up and answered it. He listened for a bit, then put a hand over the receiver.
"Vicki, it's that Mr. Greene from the Five & Dime. He sounds pretty upset. Now what have you done?"

"Goddammit!" Snow blew in Vicki's face as she trudged forward against the wind. Again and again the snowshoes on her feet somehow got tangled together. The camp wasn't too far away now. The camp . . . and Victoria.
North Lars Hill lay buried beneath a white blanket dumped by the latest nor'easter. The way down to the camp hadn't been difficult at first. She walked half of the three-mile distance on a tarred road plowed by County Maintenance. After that, windswept blueberry fields rose gently before the land dropped down to Toddy Pond. At the top, where a clump of evergreen firs blocked her forward view, Vicki stopped to rest and look back at where she'd walked.
Tracks led back by themselves, wavering and tiny, lost in the vast expanse of white. Interlaced thin poplar bushes lined a stone wall parallel with a faint depression she knew was the camp road. A cold east wind thrummed the high-intensity wires on the power-line poles, producing a low *oommm* sound. It was a desolate scene, like a landscape at world's end.
Vicki felt alone. The silence gave her a lucidity, a clarity in which to review the unspoken but much-thought-about wish to end it all. "Death," she finally murmured. The letters of the word seemed to form in midair, made of solid black lines, before the wind snatched them away.
Mr. Greene accused her of theft. Jack Gracie hinted that he'd seen something but couldn't be sure. Her parents openly discussed a special school for teenage delinquents. Her sister, Debbi, had laughed.
Vicki felt alone. "Victoria," she said, and turned the next bend to behold the pond. It reflected the dim rays of the dying sun, its surface free of snow and frozen solid. Picturesque islands floated in the pond, shaded now by clouds that drifted across a darkened sky.
Down at the water's edge slouched the camp. Snow covered the roof and was banked against the sides. The windows peered out like burnt holes in a filthy white blanket. The camp looked less haunted—it now looked dead. A thrill of fear hit Vicki in her gut.
She unhitched her snowshoes to run down the slope only to flounder in thigh-deep drifts. Then she tried and succeeded in sliding down on her green plastic jacket, her back on the snow, feet and arms curled like a cockroach run to ground. She came to a stop in front of the camp.
Vicki laid there for a minute looking up at the window in the door. She hoped for a glimpse of anything inside.
Something moved. The white muslin curtains slowly parted to reveal a face. Greyish-bluish skin and all eyes stared back at her. The face was bone-thin and mouthed something silently.
Vicki could see it clearly despite the approach of darkness. She glanced at the padlock still on the door's hasp. She turned back to the window and saw the curtains in place.
A groan escaped Vicki's lips. But she got to her feet and stomped up the camp's wooden steps, flung back her plaid scarf and reached under her jacket for the key. The padlock opened hard. She had to bang it to free the inner workings from rust. Coldness gripped her as she pushed at the door. It opened with a dry squeal.
And she was alone, here in the dark, for the first time since that other time when she had first met. . . .
(Is that you, Vicki?)
That small sly voice focused her thoughts at once. "Yes, it's me, Victoria." She positioned her body in front of the mirror.
(You're back, Vicki. How nice.) Victoria's eyes glowed. The door behind her stood open about a foot, as always. Rainbow colors leaked patterns on the Persian rug under her feet. Her lavender dress looked freshly washed.
"I had to come, Victoria."
(I missed you, Vicki.)
"I need help."
(You need me? I've been waiting.)
"I'm sorry."
(It's so cold here, Vicki.) Victoria's voice acquired a hard tone and her face expressed displeasure.
"Forgive me, Victoria? Please?"
(Must I, again, Vicki?)
"I've tried so hard."
(I know, I know.)
"I'm a toad."
(No, no.)
"I can't get a boy."
(You have my eyes now.)
"I can't sleep."
(We have a lot in common, Vicki, so much in common.)
Then Vicki blurted, "I want a new life!"
(Ahhh.)
"I want a new life," Vicki repeated, tears flowing down her cheeks.
Victoria came closer, to the mirror's edge. She filled all of the mirror except the area reflecting the door with its rainbow colors.
(Vicki, have you ever wondered what might be inside with me? Behind my door?)
Vicki could see the door, an old-fashioned brown paneled one with a white porcelain knob. "What?"
(There are boys inside, boys who are lonely, Vicki. You see, I'm the only girl.) Victoria spoke coyly, her eyes big and knowing.
"Really?"
(Yesss. Would you like to see?)
"I don't know." Vicki hesitated but felt drawn toward what her friend offered freely.
(Come inside Vicki. We shall have such fun.)
"How?"
(Magic.)
Vicki felt a slight tug in her mind, like a fishhook suddenly pulled free.
"Yes, okay. How?"
Victoria's smile revealed large yellow uneven teeth. (Twist the scarf that is around your neck.)
"Why . . .?"
(Do it Vicki, I want you to do it for me), she crooned in a soft carnal voice.
Vicki grasped the ends of the scarf in each hand and, mesmerized by Victoria's soft tones, twisted. And as she did the colors from the door grew brighter. She stood toe-to-toe with Victoria, who had raised her hands in straining fists.
Victoria's eyes positively bulged. Her face fattened, turned first blue, then black. She clenched her teeth in a broken clown's smile.
Vicki saw Victoria's lavender dress change into worn dungaree pants topped by a green plastic coat and a twisted plaid scarf.
But the brightness begin to fade. As Vicki fell backward, breathless, she finally realized what happened.

The plaintive honks of southbound geese seemed to bring a chill to the late afternoon air. After their cries faded away, the conversation within the camp resumed.
"I have to leave now, okay?"
(Do you have to?)
"Yes, really. My damn classes start in two days."
(You always worry.)
"It's getting dark, Vicki."
(Stay, Linda.)
Linda Lowell stood in front of the mirror, hand up to wave good-bye. She wished her breasts were as big as her friend's. Vicki—who resembled her in a way, though more fleshy on the hips—had a hand raised also. Her black spandex shorts appeared painted on.
The room behind Vicki with its turquoise lace curtains and white Angora rug appeared warm and sensual and inviting. Linda saw the far door was open about a foot, as always. Out of Vicki's door leaked soft, silent psychedelic colors: violets, blues, greens, yellows, reds.
Linda remembered that twenty years ago in the dead of winter, supposedly at this very camp on Toddy Pond, a young girl's footsteps in the snow were found leading up to the door. None led away. The girl was never heard from again. The story was deemed a romantic legend.
Yet after her family had bought the camp, Linda discovered one night that this camp could be a sanctuary from the lonely torment of her own troubled mind. The kids in North Lars Hill were a cruel lot.
The promises of her new friend Vicki were so tempting.
But to stay at the camp 'til after dark. . . .

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