Requiem the Mirror (complete)

(Please excuse me and the mild insanity I am going through. THIS is the story that nearly got lost and forgotten. Enjoy!)

I haven’t been back to the old house since I was little before I lost my eyes. The old house, well, it was a mansion really, had been in the family for generations. My grandmother grew up there, my great-grandfather grew up there. It was a place as old as the

town it was built in and carried the most stories with it. 

As a little girl, I spent many summers there. My eyes had just started failing, and I would become lost in the endless hallways and rooms. Not that I minded it much, I actually enjoyed getting lost in the old house.

Although, my grandmother forbid me from going into the basement. She was adamant about it and got confrontational whenever I brought it up. She was always down there though, going up and down the stairs at strange times. She would take vases full of flowers downstairs

and come the next day, she’d bring them up, dead and wilted. 

My father talked about how his grandfather, my great-grandfather, would do the same thing. He would take guests down there in the evening, but no one would leave until the next morning. And usually, after that, those people never returned to the house again.

The last time I was in the house, I was sixteen. My grandmother was throwing me a birthday party, something she said was just like the old days. By then, my eyesight was pretty much gone. I could see vague shapes and colors, but beyond that, I was technically blind.

Of course, the birthday party my grandmother threw for me was mainly full of old people. Her friends, wealthy associates, blue bloods from wherever. Basically, my grandmother was trying to get me married off to a rich, appropriate suitor. Those who weren’t put off

by my eyes were ones after my money. They were after the old house, my inheritance, my family’s name and everything they worked for. I wasn’t into it. Even if looks weren’t a factor for me, I wasn’t into sniveling, two-faced, pasty fancy boys, who would sooner

shoot school children than give up their father’s gun collection or whatever.

Needless to say, my patience was as thin as tissue paper. I snuck away, able to slip out shockingly easy. I went inside and to the kitchen where the chef and staff were happy to have me. The chef had known me since I was a baby and used to prepare my blended baby food.

She gave me a tray of hors-d'oeuvres and let me be.

As I was stuffing my face with some sort of shrimp tempura magic, I noticed a bright, painful glow in the corner of my eye. I rubbed my eyes, and to my shock, when I opened them again, I could see as clear as day. I had never, in my entire life, seen so clearly as

this. I was in awe, I stared at my hands, the plates of food, all around the kitchen. I then saw the bright light again. It flickered and flashed from the stairwell, calling for my attention.

I went to it, following the light down the stairs and into the basement. It was a solid, cold room. Nothing but a concrete floor, cement blocks, and a forest of support beams. I walked across the room and saw that the entire south wall was nothing but a gigantic mirror.

It was framed in pure silver, which was intricate and jagged. From far away, it looked like a mess of vines and thorns. But upon close inspection, the details of the frame were striking. There were ghastly faces behind the thorny vines. They looked pained and in

anguish, their mouths open in ghoulish screams, and their eyes gouged, hollow sockets.

All around the mirror were vases filled with dead, wilted flowers. Flowers I had heard were delivered that very morning. Sure, the basement was cold and dark, but that shouldn’t have signed the end for these blossoms for at least a few days.

I then heard breathing. It was soft and whispering, a sigh here and there, a low gasp. I looked around, feeling as if the sound was coming from everywhere and nowhere. I then turned and looked at the mirror, seeing my reflection. It waved at me.

Horrified, I waved back.

The reflection spun around, posing in the pastel pink and white party dress my grandmother had forced me into. The reflection smiled and then shook her head. She grabbed at the bodice of the dress, ripping it away, shredding it in half and dropping it. Underneath

was the dress I really wanted. The length was short, and the hem was adorned with satin ribbon. The sleeves were long and billowed out starting at the elbows. Along the chest, ribbon cut back and forth like a cage, making a star shape. The reflection spun again

and then smiled at me, nodding.

I looked down, seeing I was in the dress I wanted. I gasped and glanced back up, seeing the reflection was gone. Instead, the mirror started to drip and pour from the frame. I stepped back, watching as it formed a pool on the concrete floor. It grew outward and bubbled

like it was boiling. A figure slowly started to rise from it. The head tilted up, and a mouth gaped open as it sighed. Long, spindly arms stretched out and used the floor as leverage. It pulled itself up, rising from the pool that grew with it. The pool rose, forming

a gown around the feet of the strange shape. The shape of it looked like a human draped in a sheet. I could see the features as the cloth pulled tight around it, but I knew it was neither those things.

I swallowed hard as I watched the mirror come towards me. It touched me with its freezing cold hands, rubbing their thumbs along my eyes. “I have been waiting for you,” they whispered. “Sarabeth,” it sighed. “Happy birthday.”

“Sarabeth!” I heard my name shouted from the top of the stairs.

The mirror put their finger on my lips. “Stay quiet,” they said. “They’ll move on.”

“Sarabeth!” I heard my father call again, but just like the mirror said, he moved on.

The mirror touched my hair, running their fingers through the curls my grandmother put in place. They sighed looking at me, tilting their head back and forth. I was not sure what to do. I didn't know what to say or even how to move.

“I am not going to harm you,” the mirror said. “No.”

“Who are you?” I whispered.

“I was named Requiem a long time ago,” they said. "A memory wished to be forgotten and yet I am still here.”

I touched Requiem, and they felt as hard as glass and as cold as ice. I pulled my aching fingers back. “Did you fix my eyes?” I asked.

“For the moment,” Requiem whispered. “It won’t last, I’m afraid.”

“Oh,” my breath came out as a white puff. The room began to grow unbearably cold. Outside, I heard thunder and the screams of the party guests. The staff in the kitchen were laughing and giggling.

“If you return to me,” Requiem started, “I will be able to help you see,” they whispered. “I will give you something better than eyesight. You will have me, and I will give myself willingly to you.”

I heard my grandmother screaming about the sudden storm in the kitchen.

“Why me?” I asked, breathless and in disbelief.

“Because you are the memory I cannot forget,” Requiem said, placing a cold, deep kiss on my lips. I moaned softly, tasting the cold on my tongue as I held onto Requiem. It was my first kiss, and I was happy to believe it would be my last.

To this day, I still feel the cold press of Requiem’s lips on my own. I can taste their cold and feel the shudder of their breath. Even now as I return to the house, I ache to feel that precious, frozen kiss once again.

My grandmother died falling down the stairs to the basement. The coroner said she suffered a massive heart attack, but the fall was what killed her. When she died, and my father went into the house, strange things started happening. Not just inside the house, but

outside. People started coming to the house at night and vandalizing it. Several times, people tried to burn it down. That is why my father had a new fence installed all around the property. People still came, vandalizing the fence, posting signs. Several

pastors came and preached outside the house, claiming to be near it was to feel the presence of the devil.

My father was having none of it, he left the house to be sold, but it never did. It was almost forgotten, barely a faint memory for my parents. But for me, it was my ultimate goal. I spent many years in the hospital. My parents tried everything in their power

to save my eyesight, but it was for naught. Eventually, cancer took hold, and for my own safety and health, both eyes had to be removed. 

 To be honest, I didn’t mind. Aside from that afternoon with Requiem, my eyes always hurt and I had been suffering agonizing migraines since I was nine. Having them removed and replaced with the best glass eyes on the market, it made me feel like the haunted bisque doll that I always wanted to be.

When my father died, I returned to the house, taking it as my own. I moved in with the help of my caregiver, Moira. She’s been with me since I had my eyes removed after the cancer. She’s been the grandparent I always wanted, much like my grandmother’s old chef.

“Oh, my,” Moira coughs as we walk into the house. 

“Is it bad?” I ask, gripping onto my cane.

“No,” she coughs again. “Dust is an issue, spider webs are aplenty, but it’s just-” she hesitated. “Boy, is it spooky.”

I smile, Moira sounds like a mom in an old cartoon. “I wish I could see it.”

Moira snorts. “I know you do, pumpkin.” She walks over to me and puts her hand on the small of my back. “I’ll get a cleaning crew out here, hopefully by tomorrow. For now, let's look around, and I’ll pick us out a room to sleep in tonight, and I’ll get it nice and

clean.”

“If we can just get the mattress in, we can sleep in the living room,” I suggest. “Then we’ll have the fireplace if we need it.”

“It’s the middle of summer, why would we need the fireplace?” Moira chuckles.

“If I told you, Moira, you wouldn’t think it’s just spooky,” I grin.

“Oh,” Moira gasps.

Over the next few days, we get the house cleaned and in shape. Moira calls a cleaning crew over, but by the end of the day, they refer us to another crew. When Moira tried to question them, they just insisted they didn’t want to come back. The next cleaning crew

lasted two more days, but then they never showed up again. Poor Moira had to search high and low for people willing to come to the house and clean. Eventually, she had to offer top dollar to a maid service who came in, finished all the cleaning, and left without

a word. 

“How very odd,” Moira huffs. “I mean, this place is old and spooky, but so is any old mansion built on slavery and shit,” she clicks her tongue.

“The dead certainly don’t like the living,” I chuckle. “What are you cooking?” I ask her.

“I found some old recipes in this hidden cabinet today! I wanted to surprise you.” She says.

“Hidden cabinet?” I ask.

She sets something down before me and places a spoon in my hand. “Try it, tell me what you think.”

I dip the spoon into the bowl, and when I taste it, I am brought back to when I was little. My grandmother’s old chef, Kara, is grinning at me and petting my hair, undoing it from the unbearably tight braids my grandmother did.

“Oh my god,” I whisper.

“Is it too hot?” Moira asks.

“No!” I gasp. “This is...this is the bisque I used to eat when I was little,” I whisper. “Oh my god. I feel like I’m six again!”

Moira pats my shoulders. “If it puts that big a smile on your face, then I’ll go through all these old recipes.” She says. “Did you know someone named Kara Adrieux?”

“You have got to be kidding me,” I chuckle. “She was my grandmother’s old chef! She left here right before my grandmother died.”

“She must have forgotten this then,” Moira chuckles.

That evening as Moira goes to sleep, I sneak away. I use my memory to get through the house and find my way down the stairs to the basement. It’s freezing cold down there, and all my joints begin to ache. I walk forward until I touch the cold, smooth glass of Requiem.

“Are you here?” I whisper.

A hand grabs mine and squeezes it, lacing their fingers with mine. “I’ve been waiting,” they sigh.

“I’m sorry, it took me longer than I wanted to, trust me.” I pull their hand up and kiss it. “I’m here now,” I murmur.

“I’m so tired,” Requiem moans. “I’m starving, Sarabeth.”

“I ordered flowers,” I tell them. “They should be here tomorrow.”

“I don’t want flowers,” Requiem whines. “As I am now, they won’t do me any good.” Their fingers slip from mine. “If those damn cleaning people had stayed longer, I might have gotten what I needed.”

“We have carpenters coming,” I tell them. “And someone to clean the chimneys.”

“Ah-” Requiem sighs. “What about that lady with you?”

“No,” I scold them. “Moira is off limits to you."

Requiem chuckles. “I won’t hurt her.”

“Still, I don’t want to scare her away, and you’ve been working overtime on scaring people.” I find a chair and sit down.

Requiem chuckles. “Forgive me.”

“You claim to be weak and starving, but you’re able to scare people,” I huff. 

“They made me angry,” Requiem snarls. “The things they said, you should have heard their awful bile.”

“I don’t blame them, honestly,” I scoff. “My family isn’t exactly good people. Not only that, they live in a house of Satan.”

“Oh, you heard the pastor too?” Requiem giggles.

I turn my head towards them. “Oh god, what did you do to the pastor?”

“Nothing that would hurt him,” they assure me. “I just had a tree fall on him.”

“If I could glare at you right now, I would.” I place my palm on the cold glass and Requiem squeezes my hand again. “That’s not why I’m here.”

“I know why you’re here,” Requiem whispers. “It is what I am waiting for. Once I regain my strength, I am yours for eternity.”

I stand and press my lips to the cold glass. “Hopefully it will be soon.”

I make my way back upstairs and to bed. The next day, an appraiser comes by to assess the work that needs to be done to the house. Moira is gone grocery shopping, as well as ordering a new refrigerator. So I am left alone with the appraiser.

“What about the basement?” He asks me.

I try to suppress my smile. “Yes, of course. Although I must admit, it is probably the safest place in the house compared to everything else.” I lead him to the door. “I’m afraid I’m not good with stairs,” I tell him.

“That’s fine,” he replies. “I’ll be back in a second.”

I smirk at his back as he descends the stairs. A few moments later, I hear his panicked gasps and whimpers. He starts to scream and then goes silent. Right as Moira is getting back from grocery shopping, the appraiser is making a mad dash from the house. He hops into his car and nearly slams into Moira’s car as he drives away.

“What a prick,” Moira scoffs as she walks up the front stairs. “What’d he say about the house?” She asks me.

“Oh, not much,” I smile.

That evening, I sneak back down into the basement. “How do you feel?” I ask as I set a bouquet of roses down.

“Much better,” Requiem purrs. “Although, I will need quite a bit more to get back to my old self.” I feel their fingers under my chin as they tilt my head up. I then feel the kiss I’ve been longing for this whole time. I moan softly as the cold touches me. I cling

to them, holding on to make the kiss last longer. I have been waiting years for this, and I need it like air.

“Mm,” Requiem moans as they pull back. “I thought I was hungry,” they chuckle. “Careful now. Don’t bite off more than you can chew.”

“Sorry,” I pant. “I’ve been waiting so long.”

“I know, my love,” Requiem purrs. “Not much longer.” Their fingers caress under my eyes. “I’ll be able to see myself in your eyes.”

Once word gets out that I’ve moved back into the house, I’ve been getting calls from people who want tours. Either people who enjoy old architecture and history, or those who love ghosts and horror. I decide to allow tours and even to let some people who want

a good scare to stay the night in the house.

“Pretty smart idea,” Moira tells me. “But are you sure you want strangers sleeping in your home?”

“This place is so big, I won’t even notice they’re here,” I tell her. “Besides, this will be able to pay for the repairs we need without wasting too much of our own money. I also think it’s freaking hilarious.”

Moira clicks her tongue. “You’re an oddity, Sarabeth. Whatever you think is best.”

The first tour group is a historical society. I follow them around the house, telling them stories about my family’s sordid past, and answering any and all questions they had. I take them down into the basement. Their gasps and whispers make me smile.

“What is this?” One woman asks.

I touch Requiem and smile. “This is Requiem,” I tell them. “They have been here since the construction of the house. The glass is all one piece, complete and beautiful. When it was brought here by my ancestor, he had intended for it to be placed upstairs, that

way, his wife could admire her beauty in it daily.” I turn back towards Requiem.

“The frame was made by hand, and it took over two years for the silversmith to make it. Not long after the frame was completed, he tried to break into the house. My ancestor shot him dead right in front of the mirror. His wife was so aghast by it, they had it moved down here. But still, the wife could venture down to visit the mirror and talk to it.” 

I place my palms on Requiem’s surface. “She fell in love,” I purr. “Not with the reflection she saw in it, but with what hid behind the reflection.” I kiss the cold glass, and the group behind me whispers in discomfort and shock. “Requiem holds a soul, a soul that loves, that feels, that hungers and desires.”

I turn back around towards the tour group. “Do you feel them?” I whisper as the air grows painfully cold. “Do you know what they are yet?”

I hear screams of panic and rushed scurry, but it all goes extremely quiet just as quickly. They all fall at the foot of the stairs, and I hear Requiem chuckle.

“You left out a lot,” they say, wrapping their arms around me from the glass. 

I chuckle. “Well, I didn’t want to scare them.”

Requiem giggles. “I suppose you wouldn’t, my love.”

“Are they ok?” I ask. “You didn’t really hurt them or anything, did you?”

“Not at all. Like the appraiser, they’ll wake up feeling fine and run screaming from the place, never to return.” Requiem brushes my hair from my face. “I never harm unless I absolutely need to,” they chuckle. “And if I am good enough, I never need to harm anyone. They all do it to themselves.”

“If you ever do start to harm people, I’ll close this house up.” I turn and kiss the glass again. “You can hurt me as much as you want,” I purr.

Requiem's breath shudders. “Don’t talk like that,” they growl. “Or I might just do it when I’m strong enough.”

I smirk and kiss the mirror again. “I look forward to the day.”

The next tour group is a horror club who tour haunted houses all around the United States. I give them the grand tour and even allow them to wander around on their own. Requiem, freshly powered by the last tour group, is able to put on a fantastic show. The old piano, once played, snaps in half. The old wires inside giving in and curling the piano in on itself. Pictures fall from the walls, windows open on their own. One poor girl who was looking in the bathroom gets attacked by an exploding pipe and comes out sobbing and soaking wet.

I set up the basement for them to spend the night in. I show them downstairs, and I hear their gasps and shocked voices.

“That mirror!” One girl says. “It’s beautiful!”

“Aren’t they?” I say proudly. I look at Requiem and touch the cold glass. “This is probably my most favorite part of the house.” I can hear them whispering behind me. “This is why you’ll be sleeping down here tonight,” I tell them. “Requiem gets so lonely, and they love having guests in the house.”

“Thu-they?” A guy stutters. “What do you mean they?”

I smile and motion back to Requiem. “Requiem,” I reply. “They’re so very happy to have you here.”

The group chuckles nervously. “Oh! So like, this is like, part of the story?” Someone chuckles.

“It is the story,” I tell them. “Everything that is this house and anything within it is all because of Requiem.” I turn back around. “It isn’t spirits that haunt this house. It is just Requiem and their whims.”

Requiem whispers to me, letting their voice travel throughout the entire basement. “They look lovely,” they reply. “All of them. I cannot wait to touch them.”

“I did NOT just hear that!” A girl whimpers.

One of the guys is laughing. “Oh my god! How did you do that? That’s so fucking cool!”

I smirk to Requiem, and they chuckle. “Smoke and mirrors,” I reply. 

“I don’t like this,” another guy says. “This has all been far too fucking weird.”

“You can leave then,” one of the girls says. “I don’t care how creepy the owner is. I’m staying the night as planned.”

“I feel sleepy, like, weird sleepy,” another one mutters.

“Go to bed then,” I suggest and make my way back to the stairs. “Sleep well.”

Of course, they don’t. All night the group is at Requiem’s mercy. Some suffer horrible nightmares. Others wake to see figures standing over them. One girl was so scared, she wet the bed. They all leave in the morning, not saying a word and racing like they’ve just

escaped the bowels of hell.

“I just think they see what they wanna see,” Moira tells me after they leave. “They want to see ghosts? Well, hell, they all saw ghosts!” She laughs and shakes her head. “Everything that happened yesterday is just old house shit. Save for the piano,” she murmurs.

“That was horrible.”

“I’m sure old pianos snap every day,” I shrug.

The last tour group’s pictures and videos went viral on the internet. It was all I could do to keep people from beating down the gate. I had so many requests for tours and night stays. I discussed things with Moira, and we decided to let in a few groups at a time for once a week. I think Requiem was having a bit too much fun with the whole thing. Eventually, I knew I had to shut the tours down. Requiem was growing too strong, and therefore they would be able to cause a lot more damage than the basic kid-stuff they

were pulling now.

“I’m glad you put a stop to those tours,” Moira scoffs. “I was actually starting to fall for all of it myself.”

“You don’t believe in ghosts?” I ask.

“I believe in evil,” she says. “But spirits and demons and hauntings?” She shakes her head. “I think people create what they want to see. All these people wanted to see something so desperately, they created their own ghosts.”

One night, I’m sitting in the kitchen, happily finishing off a tub of ice cream when I see light flashing from the corner of my eye. It takes my breath away. I haven’t seen anything in a very long time. I stand up and walk towards the stairs where I know the light

is coming from.

I walk down slowly and feel the cold wrap around me. I step towards the mirror and hear Requiem’s soft breathing. I then feel hands over my eyes.

“Guess who?” Requiem whispers.

I smile. “You can come out now.”

Their hands slip away, and to my shock, I can see. Not clearly though, I can see like I did when I was sixteen; shapes and colors but not much else.

“But not much, I am strong, but I am recovering,” Requiem murmurs.

I turn to the sound of their voice, following them about the room. “Do I need to let more tours in?” I ask.

Their frigid hand touches my cheek. “I’m growing bored with them,” they say. “For now, I just want to feel your presence in this house.”

I kiss their palm and sigh. “Not much longer, is it?” I whisper.

“No, not much,” Requiem tells me. “A few more flowers and I will be all yours again, I promise you.” They kiss my cheek, and I return upstairs.

One night as I sit by the fireplace in my bedroom, I feel the room go cold. The fire has gone out. It grows horribly cold, and I start to shiver. I make my way to the bed and crawl under the covers to get warm.

I feel a slight pressure to my eyes that starts to turn into a dull ache. I writhe and whimper, grabbing at my face as I try to find why I’m feeling this way. I open my eyes and stare up at the canopy of my bed. I gasp and sit up, looking around the room, I can

see everything. I then gaze up at the figure by my bed.

“Requiem,” I gasp.

They’re standing at the foot of the bed just like I remember them all those years ago. They chuckle and start crawling towards me. Their figure melts off the edge of the bed as they grow closer to me.

“My love,” they moan. “How long I’ve waited.”

I wrap my arms around them, kissing them hungrily. I taste the cold again, I feel the burn of their icy body.

Requiem chuckles and pulls back, sighing softly and touching their face. “How sweet it is,” they say. “But we have no need to rush.” They touch my cheek, and I rub into their palm. “We have all of time, after all.”

“How can that be possible?” I chuckle. 

Requiem wraps my face in their touch. “How you can see now, it is a mere taste of the life I can give you once your soul is free of its cage. Ages ago, I lost the chance to take this soul with me. I was held back from it. But this time, I will let nothing stop me.”

They kiss me again, and I feel like I could melt even with the cold.

“I will take you with me, beyond the reflection and into the world behind it,” they whisper into my ear. “Whatever world you choose, it shall be ours. The endlessness and the under, everything beyond your mortal touch. It shall be ours and will fill our eternity.”

“Is it heaven or hell?” I ask.

“It is neither, but it can also be both,” Requiem rubs their fingers to my lips. “With you, it will be heaven, but without you now it is my hell.”

They lay down with me in the bed, their mirror covering me like a blanket. It is both chilling and warm, and I am happy to be wrapped up in their embrace.

I reach through the mirror, finding a form and clinging to it. They wrap their arms around me and kiss my hair and temple. They don’t feel so icy anymore. Instead, they feel like a cool stream. I feel as though it is a hot summer day and I am laying in a stream, both cool and burning hot. Their body ripples around me like cool water, ever moving and flowing yet so still at the same time.

“Are you happy?” Requiem whispers. 

“Of course,” I squeeze them tight. “I’m with you. I’m with the being I love. Why do you ask such a thing when you should know?”

Requiem giggles. “I simply like to hear it. Your voice is my music.” They then sigh. “You’re shivering, what’s wrong?”

I shudder and pull them close, kissing them softly despite my hunger for more. “I am not ready to go yet,” I admit with a shaky voice. “I’m sorry but, I want to stay here just a while longer. Can you be patient with me again?”

“Do not apologize,” they murmur and stroke my cheek. “I can be infinitely patient when it comes to you.” They kiss me. “You have your youth still, and we are together here. It is not a race to be won, but a journey to be shared.”