(Hor) The mirror's curse (M)

Hello. I'm known at the Misc. Writing section for my poetry thread entitled Imperfect Sonnets but I also write short stories every now and then. The reason why I never posted one of them is because I'm portuguese and I write them in my own language. Although I have a fairly good knowledge of the english language, translating a story can be a very morose and tedious process... this one, however, was written from scratch in English and I now submit it to you all. It's probably not suited for younger readers because of the nature of some of the topics involved (such as witchcraft...) and hence the Mature Rating.
Any constructive criticism is appreciated as well as any suggestions of how this story can be improved. I fyou find any grammar mistakes or typos I might have missed pelase let me know so I can fix them. I've already spell-checked the story the couple of times but it's very easy to miss out something and since I'm kind of a perfectionist, I don't like mistakes one bit...

And now, on to the story...


The mirror’s curse


It was, without a doubt, the best day in Matthew Malloy’s life, ever since he had looked at journalism as the only truly satisfactory line of work. His article on the scandal at PatCorp, the highly egotistical name of multi-millionaire Patricia Campbell’s Perfume Company was the first real scoop in his career, and a major boost to the fulfilment of his dreams of fame. The staggering news had reached first page and the printers were already working on a third edition – everyone was interested in the story that could bring down America’s most recent business sweetheart…

His boss – Dan Roberts – was as happy as he was, mainly because, for the first time in twenty-years of history, the newspaper’s sales were skyrocketing and leaving the competition behind. In the presence of such an exciting turning point, one could already hear whispers in the corridors about a well deserved promotion.

“You did one hell of a job, Matthew!” that was the sentence he heard most. He was still hearing it in his head as he drove to his modest house in the suburbs. The sun had already sunken in the horizon and there were threads of dying hazy light outlining the buildings. Little did he know of what was to happen next…

Ten minutes after turning the lights on, he was crossing the living-room, semi-dressed with a glass of red wine dancing in his fingers. The TV was on and as he waited for the broadcast of the Knicks game, he catched the latest news presented by a middle-aged man with a stern look upon his face.

The events described were utterly uninsteresting with the exception of one that made his heart gallop all of sudden.
There had been an accident on the Interstate a couple of hours ago, of which had resulted a single victim, positively identified as being one Hideo Nakata, an employee at PatCorp, and precisely the man who had provided him with the necessary evidences to reveal his greatest story to the world. The circumstances regarding the accident were still confusing, but an eye-witness who had seen the car start skidding away in the road, claimed the driver was in turmoil, waving his arms as if trying to battle an invisible foe… it was the witness opinion that he was probably under the effect of some heavy drugs…

Matthew found it very hard to believe that explanation. He had talked to Nakata several times before publishing the story and on every occasion, the Asian man had appeared as a very distinguished person, a man imbued with that oriental charisma and profound sense of honour that made very hard for anyone to doubt his good intentions. The shocking discovery of the real products used in the creation of some of the world’s most famous fragrances had been too much for its integrity and, as he confided once, “he would never feel like a real man, if he didn’t do anything to expose the situation…” To think that a man capable of such a daring action would inject himself with illicit substances on the very same day he had the chance to see the truth exposed was preposterous indeed… if the police came to find drugs in his system, someone else was clearly behind it…

As he dwelled in his thoughts of hidden conspiracies, he heard something by the door… the sound of heavy footsteps interwoven with what appeared to be static coming in from a walkie-talkie.

Through the peephole, he saw two muscled men in black suits securing the hallway and another one getting ready to knock on the door. Matthew ran back into the bedroom to fetch a clean shirt and his miniature recorder, which he immediately concealed in the left pocket of his pants. His guts were telling him that a new story was about to enter his life.

When he opened the door, the recorder was already running and there was no man in sight: only a very elegant light brown-haired woman with an interesting, yet surgically created, silhouette. A body like that could make a lot of heads spin, whether tucked in a sophisticated dress or a rather masculine, striped suit, like the one she was wearing.
Her eyes lay hidden behind a pair of very dark lenses, but her pink, collagen lips were plainly visible. They were partly open, already forming a question:

“Mr. Malloy? I would like to have a word with you… May I come in?”

“Since you had the trouble of coming all the way here… please do, Miss Campbell!”

She wasn’t at all surprised with his recognition. In the end, she was a public figure, always appearing in the social magazines and television ads. She had the habit of participating in the campaign of all her products, which were always extravagant and eye-catching. More than a businesswoman one could say she was a real celebrity…

Matthew closed the door after she entered the house and opened the conversation with a rather idiotic joke:

“Have you come to congratulate me on my story, Miss Campbell?”

“No. Actually, I came to give you an opportunity of writing an even better one: an article where you retract yourself and apologise to me and the whole world for the atrocious lies you published about my company…”

“Atrocious lies? The fact that you use dangerous chemical agents in your perfumes, compounds that increase in almost fifty percent the risk of developing cancer? That’s no lie. If it were, you wouldn’t have come here today.”

“What you wrote is pure gibberish. Unfortunately, gibberish is what people tend to believe most. In just a couple of hours, your article cost me a great deal of money, Mr. Malloy. I really don’t like that… it makes me lose my temper.”

“Too bad about that… My investigation gave me the necessary evidences to write down the story. Whether you like it or not it’s the truth and the public has the right to be properly informed. So you lost money… big deal when compared to the many lives your products may have doomed already!”

“Does that mean you are not willing to write down the article I have just proposed?”

“That’s exactly what it means. And the fact that you’re asking me that only proves that everything I wrote is true. Sue me if you want. This is a battle you can’t win…”

“I wouldn’t feel so sure, if I were you… There are many ways to win a battle, Mr. Malloy. Some are quite obvious, while others work in the shadows…”

“That can be considered a threat, you know?”

“I’m not the kind of woman to make threats… I consider them a waste of time especially when it comes to business. The best way to get the results is simply strive to get them. That has always been my philosophy.”

“It’s rather optimistic for me…”

“To tell you the truth… for me too, but I’m sure it will look good on the story you’re going to write after I’m gone.”

“I’ve told you already, Miss Campbell: I’m not going to write anything…”

“Is that so? Not even the description of my little visit, so you can give your newspaper an extra reason to maintain the sales ratio? I know you have a recorder hidden somewhere in this room, close enough to capture my every words… and don’t look so shocked! You’re not the first journalist that crosses my way… but I sure hope you’re the last.”

“With the way you handle your empire I doubt your wish will be granted… Especially after the news I’ve just heard about the death of one of your employees in the Interstate. Tell me, Miss Campbell, is muder a part of your business techniques as well?"

“Now you’re being a jokester, again.”

“Telling the truth is no joke.”

“Truth is merely a point of view…”

“I’m afraid I disagree.”

“You’re in your right to do so… for the time being… I have to go now, but before that, there’s something else I want to tell you…”

Patricia Campbell approached him very softly and a faint whisper slipped out of her lips. She uttered a mysterious sentence in an equally mysterious language, one he couldn’t at all recognize. The sounds were confusing, and the words apparently meaningless. He wasn’t sure of what he had heard, but in written form, it was bound to be something like this: “Dhay teb xiir roos ers myr mnu, Matthew Malloy!”

“Excuse me? What did you just say?” he asked as soon as she finished talking.

“Nothing… nothing at all… Like I said, I have to go. We’ll talk again.” She handed him a small card with printed gothic letters. “Call me when you’re feeling… a bit more cooperative.”

“Forget it!” he said abruptly. The woman’s ego was getting on his nerves. It was a good thing she was on her way out, or he would be forced to resort to rudeness, something that he didn’t like but knew it was necessary from time to time.
He watched her move towards the door, swinging her overconfident ass. She looked back one last time before leaving, giving him a most enigmatic expression. It was the look of someone deeply amused by some private, secret knowledge. Matthew had the feeling that she was mocking him and the feeling was strong enough to make him shiver. He thought of throwing her card right into the wastebasket, but he wasn’t brave enough in the end and so he left it by the crystal ashtray, right in the middle of the room.

Alone again, he rewinded the tape. He wanted to listen to the whole conversation one more time before deciding what to do with it. As soon as he hit the “play” button all he heard was static; then, there was an extremely high pitch sound and the tape, instead of running, simply snapped, leaving him with no other alternative than to swear, even if only in his mind.

“Damn it! That’s all I needed! There goes my only evidence that she was actually here… Now, I really need a drink. Where did I put that glass of wine?”

He found it waiting for him by the bed, just like the silent young lover he often dreamed of and drank it all, feeling nothing but delight. It was so easy to forget all his worries with just a small amount of that sweet beverage sliding down his throat that it didn’t take him long to see things from a different angle. So that chance was gone, but there would be others: she had said so. It was obvious Patricia Campbell wasn’t going to give up so easily – that just wasn’t her modus operandi. All he had to do was sit back and wait patiently - sooner or later the universe would find a way to restore the lost balance…

Of course, that wasn’t going to happen that night because he was already feeling a bit hazy. The wine could hardly be considered strong for someone with an average resistance to alcohol, but Matthew was always above or below the average in all aspects of his life. When it came to the noble art of flavouring one of mankind’s most exquisite discoveries, he just couldn’t take it and a single glass would suffice to grant him a quiet, dreamless, night.
It had happened before. That night, history repeated itself.

He woke up with a powerful sunbeam rampaging through his bedroom. Sunbeams are quite silent as you all know, but to him, who felt drowsy in a sunken world, that particular flash of light brought along the awkward sound of more than one hundred African drums playing simultaneously in his head. As a result, he got himself a consistent and irritating migraine before he could even think of getting up.

When the sunlight receeded into a corner allowing him to realize the abnormal quantity of wrinkles that made all of his clothes look no better than a handful of dried plums, the drums faded, and he could hear his consciousness urging him to go to work.

It was a hard struggle but eventually his brain managed to send the necessary electric impulses in order for him to drag his legs into the bathroom. Upon reaching the sink, the first thing he did was to confront the mirror. His face looked exactly the same ever since he had left puberty and the fact that the third decade of his existence was now closing in really had no effect whatsoever in the smoothness of his complexion that so often produced good results with the ladies.

Though his vision was still a bit clouded by the leftovers of the alcoholic slumber, he could clearly see his angular traits, the dark-brown rebel hair (that wiggled every morning as if it was suffering from a severe case of demonic possession…) and the small speckles of beard bursting a way through his chin. He also noticed something that was too weird to be real.

His lips on the reflected image weren’t his at all. They were rosy and feminine; a living replica of Patricia Campbell’s money-generated anatomy somehow overlapping his world. The image was disconcerting and it gave him goose bumps when he realized that the lips were moving and he could actually hear a voice in his head, constantly hammering the same freaky words that would turn his world upside down: “Dhay teb xiir roos ers myr mnu, Matthew Malloy!”
Almost instantly, before he was given the opportunity to understand the reorganizations that were occurring in his brain, his left hand gained a life of his own, moving towards his own neck as if trying to choke him. The right one went haywire soon afterwards, reaching for the razor that stood next by the sink and swinging it very close to his cheek. A thin line of blood emerged from it as the cutting object, now metamorphosed into a real weapon, threatened his life.
Confused, Matthew moved away from the mirror until he could no longer see the otherworldly distorted reflections colliding against the polished surface. His furious hands immediately ceased their abnormal behaviour and everything went back to normal.

The contrastive lips had disappeared from the mirror and he was in a pool of sweat. Making an effort to rationalize the whole situation, he immediately concluded that what he had seen was some form of hallucination caused by the few molecules of alcohol that were still participating in wild races within his veins. As for the savage riot in his anatomy, he simply repeated to himself that it was one of those moments of stress that only happened once in a lifetime… no more worries… he had to go to work.

He got changed, put on his darkest sunglasses so that the morning light wouldn’t make his head throb anymore and came out into the open for a minute or so, as he tried to remember where he had parked the car.
It was right around the corner, a black Pontiac with worn out seats. He was saving the money to have them replaced, or at least he was trying to save the money, which is something completely different. It was hard not to be a big spender when his body could no longer function without two packs of cigarettes, three black coffees and half a dozen cherry donuts a day…

Just before entering his vehicle he looked at the left rear view mirror. He couldn’t see his face very well in it, but his vision was good enough to notice the strange distortion in his anatomy appearing once more. When the voice was about to invade his head again he stopped looking at his reflection and took the driver’s seat. He immediately perceived that all of his fingers were twitching and that a great number of his hormones (it was impossible for him to know for sure how many…) were experiencing a little turmoil, bringing out the most aggressive instincts in him. He paused to regroup his thoughts, came to the very same conclusions as before and hit the road. Time was running out on him: he didn’t want to be late…

The journey was hard and bumpy. Every time he glanced at the polished glass surface, his hands simply refused to stay still and moved on the lookout for the pulsating veins of his body, as if they were possessed and the need of inflicting pain was the only possible course of action to appease the devilish instincts that governed them.
“What the hell is going on with me?” he kept thinking out loud. He was prone to daydream from time to time but that day he felt like being stuck in a horrible nightmare. His driving was feeble and a bit schizophrenic. There were times when he was a perfect, model driver, abiding all rules; unfortunately, whenever his impulses went berserk, rules seemed unimportant and he would simply end up letting go of the steering wheel. The description of Nakata’s struggle before his fatal crash immediately came to mind. Could he have been suffering from the same strange instincts at the time?

It’s a real mystery how Matthew managed to reach the newspaper’s underground parking lot without wrecking the car or hitting someone, but the truth is he did. Almost starting to believe he was losing it for good, he threw his head against the dashboard and stood quiet, with his eyes closed, for what seemed to be a long time.

He was brought back into the world of the living by the irritating falsetto voice of forty-two year old Jim Ferguson. Jim was one of the newspaper’s oldest collaborators (God knows the reason why!), a cynic, self-centred pseudo-intellectual with rather dubious tastes concerning the arts. He wrote dull and amorphous critics on books and movies and, although he claimed to like everybody, the truths is he only liked his belly, and trust me - it was quite a prominent one.

“Is that you, Malloy? What exactly are you doing in there?” he asked. “Taking a nap before work?!”

“Leave me alone, Jim! I’m not in the mood for your crap today!”

“Oh… you’re touchy! How much did you drink last night to wake up like this?”

“Don’t talk about what you don’t know. If you don’t want me to smack you in the face, do me a favour and bugger off, okay?”

“Very well… it’s obvious I can’t dialog with you in such a deranged state. Take my advice, though and drink a couple of coffees before going upstairs. I don’t think Dan will be very pleased if you show up with that kind of attitude.”

Matthew gave him the finger and heard the sound of footsteps growing weaker and weaker. When he was all alone again, he got out of the car and proceeded to the elevator. He was still holding on to the foolish belief that wine and stress had produced such upheaval in his mind. If he could only calm down, his strange needs would surely subside…

He entered the elevator and was about to press the button to close the doors when Laura Davis appeared in his line of sight begging him to let her take the ride. Though he was obviously disturbed, he couldn’t find the required strengths to say “no” to her femininity. Laura was the newest intern, a lovely blonde nymphet always ready to show her magnificent legs and her perfectly smooth round ass in-between small amounts of fabric well-known as mini-skirts. Her outfits were always a bit provocative and it was hard for any man to maintain his focus on the work in hands whenever she happened to be near. Matthew had his eyes on her for quite some time; she knew that and enjoyed teasing him, as she waited for the day when he would finally ask her out on a date.

She wore black and blue that day – the two colours Matthew enjoyed most in women’s clothing. Her laced top was a naughty one due to the way it let the light pass through, thus revealing the natural firmness of her young breasts.
“Thank you for waiting, Matt. You’re a real darling.” Laura said as she entered the elevator. She leaned towards him and gave him a small, apparently innocent kiss in the right cheek. The truth is she was way beyond innocence and even a simple gesture like that could turn out to be an ingenious way of flirting. When he reached for the button that made the old machine go up, he couldn’t help a small glance at the insidious outlines revealed by her tight skirt. He felt himself blushing just like a young boy dealing with his first crush, but luckily she didn’t seem to notice.

The elevator began its slow ascent. Unlike the majority of the more sophisticated devices, this unstable piece of machinery had no sound system incorporated, except for the natural metallic tune of rusty doors and dying cables. The eerie mixture of sounds one could hear from inside it wasn’t at all reassuring as it undoubtedly gave the impression that the whole contraption could break apart and collapse at any moment. Nevertheless, to the narrow and lazy minds of twenty-first century men, the risk involved in the ride was far more bearable than the tiresome alternative of taking the stairs all the way to the top floor.

He kept glancing at her more often than usual, as he found her slender body to be heavenly soothing, to say the least. For a few moments, it was if he had fallen into a hazy limbo, where his mind could roam freely, forever and ever… but soon, this self-imposed liberating state faded into the grey lines of a desperate reality: his hands were on the move once again, his fingers stretching like wobbling tentacles of darkness… and all because of a small reflection in a compact mirror that had just been released from the confines of her purse.

“What are you doing?” he asked, alarmed, as the wild needs intensified, only this time being attracted by her… the gruesome image of choking her until her skin turned purple crossed his mind… something inside him was telling him that it was good to hurt her and make her scream…

“Oh… just freshening up my make-up…” She looked through the mirror and caught a glimpse of his restless hand trying to start a revolution, as he began moving towards her with a funny expression. Raising a curious eyebrow, she asked:

“What are you thinking right now?”

The answer was not all what she expected. Matthew’s lips formed an evil grin and he blurted:

“I’m thinking of killing you…”

The moment he said this, he repented himself. That wasn’t true! He didn’t want to kill anyone… but his fingers were crying out for blood and the madness that affected them was spreading throughout his body, infecting his central nervous system with violent thoughts of wreaking havoc as many lives as possible… starting with her… so close… ready for the taking…

“Excuse me?”

Laura was now facing him, holding the mirror in such a way that he could see his face in it, as well as the emerging outlines of another… the one of that wretched woman uttering the obnoxious phrase: “Dhay teb xiir roos ers myr mnu, Matthew Malloy!” Matthew’s expression was slowly mutating into a howling mask of anger…

She was baffled by his uprising ferociousness, wondering to herself if he was sick or something. Nevertheless, she didn’t move from her spot and kept on holding the mirror firmly in her hands. The more his eyes shifted into the surface, the more he wanted to kill her… both hands moved towards her neck…

“Are you feeling alright, Matthew?”

“No… I’m not… please, Laura… just put away that mirror…”

He looked at her like a wounded animal in a trap, and suddenly jumped in her direction, thus managing to push her against the elevator door. Laura hit her head against the chromatic buttons, as the mirror fell onto the ground and broke into a dozen little pieces. Almost instantly, the voices in Matthew’s head disappeared and all of his bodily functions returned to normal.

“What the hell is the matter with you?” yelled Laura when he tried to check her condition. “Why did you push me like that, you jerk?”

“I’m sorry… but I had to get rid of the mirror. Are you alright?”

“How do you expect me to be alright after what just happened? And what on earth is this nonsense about mirrors, anyway?”

“I wish I could tell you, but I’m only starting to figure it out for myself. I think I was bewitched or something…”

“What? You expect me to believe that?”

“I don’t know… do you?”

“Of course not! I believe in behaviour disorders of the mental kind, but witchcraft… spells? Come on, those things aren’t for real! You’re a sick man, Matt! You should go see a therapist or something…”

“I think you’re right! Look… I don’t have enough words to say how truly sorry I am… can we please pretend none of this happened? I think it’s the best thing… for both of us…”

“You don’t forget something so freaky just like that but… I like you, you know? Despite of what happened right now; I don’t want to see you get hurt in any way so I won’t tell anyone about this awkward episode of yours if you promise to do the same…”

“That’s a promise. I’m sorry about the mirror. I’ll buy you another when I get to the bottom of this.”

“Don’t worry about that. It’s just a piece of glass. How are you feeling right now?”

“Completely scared, to tell you the truth. In fact, I think it was a mistake to get out of bed this morning. I’m going back to my place. I’m pretty sure I can’t work like this.”

“What about Dan? What are you going to tell him?”

“I’ll think about it when I get home. Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to the ground floor and then walk all the way home…”

“Walk? What about your car? Are you just going to leave it in the parking lot?”

“It’s as good a place as any other. It will be better off here than with my hands holding the wheel, that’s for sure.”

Having said this, he pressed the necessary button to put the elevator back on line. He remembered the small card Patricia Campbell had given him the night before. He knew he had left it somewhere in the living-room before going to bed, but he just couldn’t remember where. Oh, well… he had to look for it a.s.a.p. – both his life and sanity depended on it.

He didn’t have too much trouble finding it. When he entered his house, the door was unlocked and the card was next by the phone. There was also a slight feminine aroma in the air: a combination of lavender, lemon and an exotic scent he couldn’t identify.

There was only a conclusion to be drawn from it all: Patricia Campbell herself had been there again to make sure he didn’t forget to call her. Was she afraid of him? It sure looked that way, considering the circumstances.

That peculiar fact made him wonder: she had conjured something against him, that was a fact, but whatever that thing was, may be it only lasted for a couple of hours… that could explain the rush in her actions… or then again, perhaps it was just his mind trying to find an easy way out of that mess without compromising his work. He couldn’t really say and that couldn’t be good. The hesitation was growing…

In the end, he decided that it would be best to do what she wanted and called the number on the card. She didn’t take too long to reply:

“Ah, Mr. Malloy… I was waiting for your call. Did you like the present I gave you?”

“Not really. What exactly have you done to me?”

“Nothing much… it’s just a small curse to break your spirit… While you’re under it, you’ll never be able to look at a mirror without being consumed by the need of causing senseless destruction to yourself or to others…”

“A curse, you say?! No doubt caused by those words I keep hearing in my head… Is that you did to Nakata? Was that the reason behind his car crash yesterday?”

“You’ve been doing your homework. Not bad, Mr. Malloy. The words you heard me say work as a trigger that affects your body and most especially your mind to force you to surrender to your dark instincts of death whether you’re home alone or in some place public with lots of people all around you, all of them potential victims… It’s very difficult to resist it, as I’m sure you must have realized by now.”

“Unfortunately, yes. How’s the curse lifted?”

“Well… all it really takes is a series of words with the power to counter the effect of the ones previously used. Nothing too fancy… Just a sentence or two… Write the article we discussed before and I shall deliver you from that unnatural desire of yours.”

“That will destroy both my reputation and my credibility.”

“True, but you will have control over your life again… unless of course you like my curse and don’t mind living with it until you die, which will probably happen sooner than you think…”

“It seems I have no choice.”

“You’re quite right. It doesn’t have to be a long article: a page will suffice, as long as you explicitly admit that your previous story regarding my products was a complete hoax, one you invented to sell more newspapers…”

“Very well… I’ll write the piece for you.”

“Good. I knew we would come to an agreement. Have it ready before lunch time, if you don’t mind. When the clock strikes one, my driver will ring on your doorbell and bring you to me. I’ll lift the curse after I read what you wrote and not a moment sooner, so don’t get any ideas. One more thing: try your best to write something really good… if I don’t like the result, you can be sure that the curse will keep on haunting you forever!”

“Understood…” He said in a low, almost imperceptible voice.

After the phone went dead he reached for his laptop and started writing what he hoped to be a series of self-destructive paragraphs that would please her. It took him longer than he anticipated, probably due to the fact that he still wasn’t entirely convinced that he was doing the right thing. He thought of her laughing at his weakness… he had been such an easy prey after all! How on earth could he do that to himself without feeling useless and pathetic? More important, how would he feel after submitting the paper?

Besides, she could very well stab him in the back and not remove the curse at all, even if he played by her rules: that way she could make sure he would never bother her again… if only he could fight his dark ego that was awakened by those words…

Fight… the word definitely rang a bell in him. He could almost hear her voice again, saying: “It’s very difficult to resist it, as I’m sure you must have realized by now.”

The newly found hope hit his thoughts coming in from all the sides of the brain. The mental flow that was being produced conveyed the following logic:

“She said very difficult. It’s very difficult to resist, very difficult to fight… but very difficult doesn’t mean impossible. I wonder… if I focus hard enough, will I be able to drive her voice away and be myself once again?”

He had two hours to find out, before her demonic driver came for him in his black carriage from Hell. Speculations were starting to shift into fragments of truth: It could almost certainly be done: Had he not managed to break Laura’s mirror before the end of the ritual? His mind started smiling long before his body made the expression visible… walking into the bathroom, he confronted the ancient power of the mirror’s curse.

When the words rose in his mind and the images in front of him began to open the door into a world of darkness, he brought all his memories into play: happy scenes of a long forgotten childhood, the inescapable thrill of kissing Heather Donahue, the most beautiful girl in San Valley High at the age of fifteen… he saw himself reaching the outskirts of the big city with a pocket full of dreams that eventually came true – he was strong before the curse because he had the right amount of reason and perseverance to overcome the obstacles in his path, and now that strength was coming back, like a breathtaking melody locked inside a music box. He just had to open the lid and let the music come out into the open, rising until eternity…

It wasn’t long before he started singing the echoes of his freedom – the scattered notes coming from his lips were fighting the collagen reflections on the mirror… his hands were closed and completely under his control, imbued by an almost perfect sense of accomplishment. Patricia Campbell’s distorted image was beginning to blur…
Out of the blue, the balance was broken once more.

“Dhay teb xiir roos ers myr mnu, Matthew Malloy!” shouted the gruesome voice from the depths of a very dark pit. The intensity of the attack made him lose his concentration: both his legs trembled at the same time and his head felt really heavy. As if it were an intelligent creature of some sort, the curse had managed to elude him long enough to get past his defences and creep into his lips. Unwillingly, he realized that he himself was now repeating the enchantment out loud, heightening the power of the suggestion in every neuron of his brain.

Both hands fought for the right to assault him, plunging into his chest until he was out of breath. He fell to the ground, gasping in pain. He had been overpowered once again, but he believed that the war wasn’t over yet.

During the next hour, he continued to confront the voice of his damnation, losing round after round, each time falling deeper into a guiltless void governed by psychotic delusions of grandeur. When he finally got out of the bathroom, he had blood all over his clothes and most of his sanity had simply disappeared…

He felt like a piece of food being slowly digested in the belly of a giant beast. Even the sofa gave him that impression: he was sinking in it as the shapes all around billowed and nightmare hands played him like a toy, pushing and pulling as if trying to sever him in halves.

The laptop screen was the most hideous sight in the world at that time. All of the words combined in it formed a death sentence.

Though his life was on the verge of ruin, he decided he wasn’t going to give her the chance to pull that stunt again on some other poor old fellow who simply wanted the truth cleared out. With all that power, Patricia Campbell was a very dangerous woman and his own consciousness told him that if he didn’t stop her, no one else would.

He had a gun hidden behind a secret compartment of his mini-bar. It was a small pistol, so small that it could only fire two rounds. Due to its dimensions and the lightness of the materials used in its design, it was the sort of object that could easily be concealed in a pocket without causing too much attention. He was pretty sure that it would pass a metal detector as well, in case the place where he was to be taken had such safety devices, something that seemed very likely in a woman of her wealth and position.

It was a desperate plan, only to be taken in account if indeed she tried to outsmart him. He got changed, cleaned himself nice and easily without looking at the mirror a single time, and after printing the so-called article of contrition, waited silently for his ride…

It was half-past one when he entered Patricia Campbell’s private domains, located on the top floor of PatCorp’s main building, an impressive glassy tower that stood over fifty storeys high overshadowing the competition with its aura of opulence. He had no trouble with the gun whatsoever, majestically tucked in the inner pocket of his jacket.

The multi-millionaire was at the far right end of the floor, in a division that comprised of a magnificent black-varnished desk surrounded by gigantic bookshelves, embellished with rare collections of books of the Occult. This time, she had decided to show more of her money bought sinuous curves in a black dress that was mainly cleavage bursting out. Behind her there was a rectangular shape covered in a red silky cloth.

She smiled at him and lit a perfumed cigarette that not only was a sexy fetish object, but also helped to clean the air around her, impregnating it with promises of open, flowered fields.

“Welcome to my study, Mr. Malloy” she said while crossing and uncrossing her summer-tanned, tempting legs.

“Let’s cut the crap, shall we? I brought the text. Read it, approve it and lift the curse so everything can get back to normal…”

“You’re in a hurry… Well, I suppose I can understand the reason why… if you don’t mind handing it to me…”

He gave her the piece of paper. His eyes were sparking with loads and loads of contained anger.

“Oh, please smile… it will all be over soon. Why don’t you take a seat, while I read it?” she pointed to a chair next to the desk.

“I’m fine the way I am, thank you.”

“Whatever… hum, let’s see…”

She started reading and could not hide her enthusiasm. Placing the cigarette on a marble ashtray, she used one hand to hold Matthew’s future, and the other to draw invisible circles on her breasts. Afterwards, she went for the legs, making the dress go up a bit and then down again, as if preparing to strip dance for him. Matthew looked away… and examined the odd titles of the hard-cover relics that held the power to distort reality’s deepest enclaves. Some of books appeared to be floating on the shelves, as if they weren’t really there… The more he absorbed the words written on the covers, the more nervous he became, afraid of the terrors she could unleash just by reading a few lines on a page.

He looked at her once more: she had finished reading the text and was speaking to him:

“Very good, Mr. Malloy! You’re most talented in the ways of writing, even when going against all of your principles. These paragraphs are truly exquisite but I guess I won’t need them after all…” she picked up her cigarette and placed the flame near the paper. She burned the edges, then changed her mind and blew softly to put the fire out.

“I guess I’ll just tear it up. I don’t want to cause a fire needlessly and accidentally burn my library to a crisp.”

“I don’t understand!” exploded Matthew. I did everything you asked…”

“I know, but just before your arrival here, my lawyers got the deal of the century and I now own your working place. That’s right; I own the newspaper which means you’re my employee now, although not for long…”

Matthew was awe-struck. That was worse than he had imagined, far worse. He didn’t know exactly what he was supposed to say. The only thing he knew was that she was now showing him her true colours – the ones that reflected her vindictive, ill-temperament.

“Tomorrow’s edition of the newspaper will be a giant apology to me, to my company and to my products. I’ve decided to save a little bit of your honour by simply firing you. Of course, I’ll never let you write another newspaper article in your life…”

“What about the curse?” He asked getting ready to reach for the gun the moment she started laughing at him.

“I gave my word that I would set you free and that’s exactly what I’m going to do. You’re just going to have to trust me – I need to say the proper words in order for it to work.”

“Do it, then!”

“Don’t give me orders, Mr. Malloy! Remember that I’m the one with the advantage here… some manners would be nice on your behalf.”

He relaxed the killing anxiety growing in his limbs and lowered his tone of voice to whisper the word “please…”

“That wasn’t so hard, was it? Now, stay still and don’t make a sound until I’m done.”

The hand with which she had been playing drew a line on the desk as she started speaking on that eerie language from the past.

“Ayos ethmer iorr sem yru fet!”. There was a slight pause and then she added: “Srolo ybe glo ust wome nonu, Matthew Malloy!”

There was a brief moment of silence and then she started smoking again.

“Is it over?” he asked.

“Yes. The curse has been lifted. You’ll no longer lose control of your emotions in front of a mirror, unless you really want to… ”

“I don’t feel any different. How can I be sure?”

“May I? She pointed to the structure covered in cloth and moved towards it. She unveiled a sixteenth-century mirror with gold engravings of snakes and inverted pentagrams. “See for yourself!”

He watched his reflection and nothing ordinary happened. The devilish voice didn’t invade his mind and there were no ghastly apparitions coming out of the reflective surface. The burning desires of death were no longer taunting him…

“Are you happy?”

“I think the correct word is relieved. Thank you for keeping your end of the bargain. Now, if you’ll excuse me…”

“Leaving so soon? How about if I buy you lunch to celebrate the conclusion of our arrangement?”

“No, thank you! I’m not hungry!”

“Too bad… I guess I’ll just have to settle with taking control of your life, then! Close the door on the inside and come to me, Matthew!” She ordered.

“Yeah, right…” He moved for the door so that he would leave but his hand turned against his brain and the door was locked just like she instructed. Afterwards, his legs simply marched in her direction, rigid and obedient. He stopped when she told him to, gazing at her face that, in a matter of seconds, had gone from attractive to utterly dazzling and intoxicating. Slowly, she let her smoke hit him in the eyes…

“Don’t you just love doing what you’re told? She asked, giggling to herself.

Strangeness took hold of him – Patricia Campbell didn’t look vile anymore nor did the prospect of going against her wishes seemed right. That could only mean she had tricked him again, using a more powerful spell this time right underneath his nose.

“You promised you’d release me…” he muttered.

She kissed him on the lips as he remained motionless. Then, she purred:

“And I kept that promise. The mirror’s curse is no longer upon you, but I couldn’t waste the opportunity of binding your soul for good, could I? I need to protect my empire from meddling creatures such as yourself and I find the job much more pleasing and rewarding when I turn them into mindless drones, exactly the same way I did to you. Now, I can twist you round my finger anytime I feel like it. You’re such a fine specimen and now you’re mine, Matthew! Take off that jacket for me… I want to see you a little better…”

Matthew took off the jacket and handed it to her. She touched it, smelled it and felt something that it wasn’t supposed to be there. Soon, the small revolver was in her hands and she was addressing him in an angry tone:

“I’m surprised that my security guards let this one pass through, but that’s unimportant, at the moment. Explain! Were you actually planning to kill me?”

The answer was a cold “Yes.”

“You should have done it, then! You know, the mirror’s curse is a very weak spell… it only lasts forty-eight hours, then it wears off and for some magical reason, cannot be used on the same individual again, but the one I used a few minutes ago lasts forever. I’ve binded your existence to mine. The shackles in your mind and body cannot be broken…”
Matthew forced his lips to move and said…

“I managed to resist the power of the mirrors for a while. I’ll be able to find the power to weaken this control of yours as well, long enough for me to find a way to dispose of you.”

“No, you won’t! It can’t be done. I’ve told you; you belong to me now. Your brain is already frozen over on the inside… Do you want a proof? I’ll give it to you… then. Move closer to the door!”

He walked back in a robotic fashion until she told him he could stop. Patricia Campbell blew him a kiss and said:

“Catch!”

The gun flew in the air and landed on his left hand.

“Listen to my voice, Matthew! You will not shoot me, because you no longer wish me any harm. You will not shoot me, because my spell has created a bond around your soul. You are now unable to resist my instructions and I’m commanding you not to do it! You may point the weapon in my direction, but there’s no way you’re going to pull that trigger! So I have spoken and my words are your law!”

Matthew held the gun high. It was obvious he was trying to aim for the head. A clean shot, that’s all he needed… he would show her… he would…

Patricia Campbell’s body seemed to be glowing, emanating a vibrant aura that demanded his attention and complete respect. She began clearing the desk, laid down on it like a luscious porn-star and emphasized once more that the power was hers:

“You’ll obey me, Matthew Malloy! Put the gun on the floor… now!”

A shiver went down his spine. It was very easy to simply let go into her world of twisted desires, but easy didn’t mean right. In the truest sense of the word, that woman was a witch… and witches had no place in his concept of a rationally governed world. Patricia Campbell raised her head in astonishment for his sudden outburst of resistance and began chanting at him:

“Srolo ybe glo ust wome nonu, Matthew Malloy! Srolo ybe glo ust wome nonu! What are you waiting for, you pathetic toy? I pull your strings, now! You must do what I tell you!”

He blinked upon her last words, as the dispersed threads of anger came back to him again, stronger than ever. A supernatural last breath of resistance came to him and, against all odds, he succeeded in pulling the trigger. The two bullets in the chamber were fired at her, and both hit the target.

In-between Patricia Campbell’s sweaty breasts, blood roses were born and its petals rolled across her dress and onto the carpet. The noise of the shots alerted the security guards, who rushed helplessly to the locked door, but it was too late. The shots had been very precise and even with all her mystical knowledge, she was going to die soon enough…

“I’m not your toy!” Matthew whispered to the dying figure, whose face was undergoing severe transformations. Her attractiveness and power were beginning to fade… she looked old now, her skin withering by the second… until it was all grey and prum-like, and her eyes became almost colurless above a mouth that was just a big black hole with no teeth…

“That… won’t save you.” she said, whilst choking in her own blood. “Soon, your broken mind will realize its mistake. The pain… of killing me will drive you insane…”

“I’m already half-mad thanks to your previous spell. But I really don’t mind… I’ll be a happy fool knowing I won in the end…”

Her last laugh echoed all around.

“I’m coming back for you, Matthew Malloy… and you’ll know the true meaning of Hell!”

Her body spasmed and death conquered it. Almost simultaneously, the door was blown open by a vigorous kick of a Scandinavian giant dressed in a dark-brown uniform, holding a fully loaded, five times bigger gun than the one Matthew had…

The subsequent trial for his actions was a mere formality, since he admitted his guilt without hesitation. He didn’t tell the court the events related with the curses Patricia Campbell had placed upon him, but Laura Davis, who sat in the front row of every court session, could clearly see that his motives were directly related with that unforgettable scene inside the elevator and the awareness of it all made her cry.

Matthew Malloy was sentenced to life for murder in first degree, without the right to parole. The story of his downfall appeared in every media, and so did the story revolving around his unexplainable death.

Two months after the reading of the sentence, he was found sitting in a corner of his prison cell with his head shattered, as if it had burst from inside out. The smell of perfume was in the air and an intriguing message had been written in blood on the wall in front of the corpse. In it, one could read the last words his brain had assimilated before the final act:

“I told you I would come back for you…”

Woah. That was quite an interesting story, ending on a very chilling note. I didn't know you wrote fiction; it's great to see you do! Some of the phrases and vocabulary you employed I could trace to your poetry. This is a sound bit of work!

I have a bit of constructive criticism for you, if you don't mind. The Mirror's Curse was well-written, the scenes well-portrayed and solid. The horror inherent to this fiction was especially developed in the final portion, where Matthew is on trial, but before that, the story felt reported, in that many of Matthew's actions and thoughts are narrated as opposed to shown to the reader. (Not the show vs. tell! ) This style worked for the final section. But, for example, when you're describing the attack of the curse, when Matthew stands before the mirror "singing the echoes of his freedom", your narrating what happens to Matthew, as opposed to allowing the reader to see for his or herself.

Out of the blue, the balance was broken once more.
“Dhay teb xiir roos ers myr mnu, Matthew Malloy!” shouted the gruesome voice from the depths of a very dark pit. The intensity of the attack made him lose his concentration: both his legs trembled at the same time and his head felt really heavy. As if it were an intelligent creature of some sort, the curse had managed to elude him long enough to get past his defences and creep into his lips. Unwillingly, he realized that he himself was now repeating the enchantment out loud, heightening the power of the suggestion in every neuron of his brain.

The boldfaced bits are a few passive phrases that could be reworked to bring the reader into the action. For example:

Out of the blue, the balance was broken once more.

It came shorn of all warning. A gruesome voice, washing aside the memories, the blessed thoughts, took him like a tide from the dark pit, a bellow of thunder upon his clear horizon: "Dhay teb xiir roos ers myr mnu, Matthew Malloy!" He gasped, stumbled back on trembling legs. It had come, despite himself, it had broken through his defenses, crept into his mouth, formed upon his lips. Matthew's shoulders sagged, weighted beneath his suddenly heavy head. His concentration was slipping; he could fill it pooling away from him like water down a sloping hill.

The words came unbidden.

They filled his ears, no longer a chant of the mind, but one issuing from his own mouth, unstoppable. He repeated them, watched his misshaped mouth form the words, heightening the power of the suggestion in every neuron of his brain...

Another point is your dialogue. It's strong, moves the story along well, and keeps track of which character is saying what. But after line after line of pure dialogue, the reader may feel overwhelmed! Also, dialogue is watching the action progress. Without any actual action (i.e: She frowned, picked up the glass. "I never said that," she murmured.) the reader is left with the last action the characters performed before they began their conversation - and that action can grow a bit stale. For example, the first occurence of this point in The Mirror's Curse is when Patricia come to Matthew's house to make her disapproval of his article clear. At first, the pure dialogue is exciting, fast-paced, keeping the reader on edge. But this drags on too long. Readers are left with the image of Miss Campbell and and Matthew standing some yards from the door, frozen there by Matthew's "rather idiotic joke". Instead of,

“Atrocious lies? The fact that you use dangerous chemical agents in your perfumes, compounds that increase in almost fifty percent the risk of developing cancer? That’s no lie. If it were, you wouldn’t have come here today.”
“What you wrote is pure gibberish. Unfortunately, gibberish is what people tend to believe most. In just a couple of hours, your article cost me a great deal of money, Mr. Malloy. I really don’t like that… it makes me lose my temper.”
“Too bad about that… My investigation gave me the necessary evidences to write down the story. Whether you like it or not it’s the truth and the public has the right to be properly informed. So you lost money… big deal when compared to the many lives your products may have doomed already!”
“Does that mean you are not willing to write down the article I have just proposed?”
“That’s exactly what it means. And the fact that you’re asking me that only proves that everything I wrote is true. Sue me if you want. This is a battle you can’t win…”
“I wouldn’t feel so sure, if I were you… There are many ways to win a battle, Mr. Malloy. Some are quite obvious, while others work in the shadows…”
“That can be considered a threat, you know?”
“I’m not the kind of woman to make threats… I consider them a waste of time especially when it comes to business. The best way to get the results is simply strive to get them. That has always been my philosophy.”

try,

“Atrocious lies?" Matthew laughed, briefly, humourlessly. "The fact that you use dangerous chemical agents in your perfumes, compounds that increase in almost fifty percent the risk of developing cancer? That’s no lie. If it were, you wouldn’t have come here today.”

“What you wrote is pure gibberish," Ms. Campbell replied. She met his eye, arching long, scrupulous eyebrow. "Unfortunately, gibberish is what people tend to believe most. In just a couple of hours, your article cost me a great deal of money, Mr. Malloy. I really don’t like that… it makes me lose my temper.”


“Too bad about that… My investigation gave me the necessary evidences to write down the story. Whether you like it or not it’s the truth and the public has the right to be properly informed. So you lost money… big deal when compared to the many lives your products may have doomed already!”

“Does that mean you are not willing to write down the article I have just proposed?”

“That’s exactly what it means." He leant closer, raising his chin, emphasising his words with a movement of the head. "And the fact that you’re asking me that only proves that everything I wrote is true. Sue me if you want. This is a battle you can’t win…”

“I wouldn’t feel so sure, if I were you… There are many ways to win a battle, Mr. Malloy. Some are quite obvious, while others work in the shadows…”

In that brief moment, there was a quality to the tilt of her head, the narrowing of her eyes, the deepening coolness of her tone, that alarmed Matthew. He straightened, frowning.

“That can be considered a threat, you know?”

“I’m not the kind of woman to make threats… I consider them a waste of time especially when it comes to business." The quality was suddenly gone, vanished with the snap of her purse, the straightening of her spine, the dismissive, downward flit of her eyes. "The best way to get the results is simply strive to get them. That has always been my philosophy.”

My last point, which is minor, this this: put an extra space between your paragraphs! Indentations don't seem to work of ZU (if that was why the text is smooshed together), so putting a line between each paragraph makes it easier on the eye.

Well, that's my review! Hope it helps. Write more fiction! Your fiction is all to scarce around the Fiction board (), and I was elated to see it.

Cheers!

"The mirror's curse" is utterly gripping, but interspersed with subtle humour ("Sunbeams are quite silent as you all know"). It was very shocking when the true nature of the mirror's curse was revealed, and rather ironic. Campbell called it a "weak spell", but regardless of the "physical" weaknesses of the curse, it led him into her trap and his demise.

I hope you write more stories!

First of all, thank you for your comments. They're most welcome and I'm glad you actually took the time to read the story, which was, I admit, perhaps just a bit long and sluggish...

I really aprecciated your constructive criticism, Selah as it provided me with many good ideas to rewrite some of the passages of the story. I totally understand what you're trying to say when you claim that sometimes the story feels reported. I guess I jus't wasn't too good conveying the action at some points... sometimes, words didn't come out right and it was easy to slip in another line of dialogue than to add some more expressiveness to the character's psychical and psychological changes throughtout the dialogue... in that particular aspect, the passages you rewrote with your very own personal style were a good example of the sort of improvements This little experiment of mine needs... thanks again! When I have the time, I'll revise the story in order to make it more real and lively. When that time comes, I'll be sure to post the new version in this thread...

Szerenade, I'm glad you liked the little humorous moments I tried to introduce in this story. That's actually one of the techniques I like to employ whilst writing... I plan on writing some more stories in english to imporve my vocabulary and writing skills and those kind of private jokes will most certainly be there... once again, thank you for reading!