Mirror, Mirror on the wall...

Mirror, Mirror on the Wall¦ A wee story by J. N. Morrison

"What do you mean he wasn't asking for it, he was a nut job! said Erik with sudden assumed authority.
"He's dead Erik, give it a rest replied Iain, resisting the strong temptation to deck him for the third time that day.
Erik had at times all the charisma and tact of a dog lapping up its own vomit. He had an opinion on every subject, especially himself and unfortunately he was to men what Uma Thurman is to women. One of his many annoying habits according to Iain was his continual flicking back of his perfectly groomed blond hair, inherited from his equally gorgeous Swedish mother. However his most annoying habit was that he never apologised. And if he was right, which wasn't very often, he wallowed in it like a pig in its own faeces.
"Look all I'm saying is why didn't it happen to any of us? smiled Erik triumphantly.
Erik slammed his pint glass onto the table harder than was necessary, but then he usually needed objects to help him make his point, he was "vocabularily challenged, according to Iain.
"Right I'm off who's coming with me, he finished with while grabbing his, recently acquired in the sales, Armani jacket. Iain liked the fact that it was a tad too small for him and he frequently reminded him of it, but not tonight. Erik strode confidently out of the pub knowing full well that his entourage were quickly following behind him. Iain looked around the empty seats and cursed, for the third time that day.

Erik and Iain worked in the same high rise office in the big city. It was by far the most prestigious office and undeniably the tallest at over three hundred feet. Iain had worked hard to get there and several interviews including a half-hour presentation later, he finally made it. Erik had no such worries he didn't even need an interview. In his darker moments Iain thought that Erik's mother had probably coerced, discreetly mind you, their manager into a rather compromising position. Totally unjustified of course since he'd never met Erik's mum and their manager, unknown to Iain, was actually distantly related to her, second cousin or something. There were clearly many things which annoyed Iain about Erik not least his good looks, his entourage and then there was his lateness that really bugged him. Erik could go out clubbing on a school night, saunter in about twenty minutes late and not receive as much as a stern look from their TL (Team Leader) Robert. There was also the office rumour going round that Robert fancied Erik something rotten. Iain would sometimes look out for any wee signs, but there weren't any, apart from that time at the office Xmas party...

The building was a legend before it was even completed due to its mysterious history. It was the first man-made structure planes could see before the city itself came into view. It had won many awards and was the prize asset of the city. It's cool, modern exterior of stainless steel and glass betrayed its old late 19th Century origins. The original building which it had replaced was built in 1899 by a religious cult, who had since disappeared, rather mysteriously according to local folklore. They had followed the Jewish practice of carefully preparing their food by draining the blood from the animal. As their group grew so their need to build a large building to prepare their food grew. Their leader, a very clever architect, designed and financed the construction of an abattoir. Their practices were so humane and hygienic that the local council used them as a template for other abattoirs in the city. This did not sit well with the other abattoir owners and a revolt soon arose. A group of the more militant ones broke into the 'designer' abattoir one late October night in 1901. Screams were reported by residents nearby. None of the militants were ever seen again. It wasn't long before all sorts of rumours erupted, devil worshippers, Satanists, child murderers. Eventually public opinion had swelled to such an extent that the local authorities were forced to act. The architect and financier of the building made a chilling prediction that all of the members of the board who ordered the destruction of the building would meet a "chilling end to their miserable lives. Sure enough, one by one each of the members of the board died a "particularly ghastly death, as it was reported in one of the local papers. Over the space of two years each member of the board died an even more horrible death than the last one. The final member fell inexplicably from his office, two storeys up and was impaled into a spike a few feet from the ground. The position of his impalement meant he couldn't be reached for over half an hour. When he was finally reached it took another half hour to cut the metal spike. He never made it alive to the hospital, which was probably just as well.

When it came time for the building to be demolished there were some very unusual incidents. Eight men died during the demolition, the same number of council board members who had also died. One man was committed to the local asylum having been convinced that he continually saw headless people roaming the streets. It was the longest demolition ever, having taken a total of three hundred and two days. One room of the building remained relatively intact. It was a men's toilet which had a huge ornate mirror. Local children said it was haunted and although the adults dismissed their suggestions, none of them actually visited the toilet, just in case. The remains of the building survived two world wars and in time the area was fenced off and largely forgotten about until a large conglomerate bought the land from the council, in the early 1990's, who incidentally were delighted to finally get rid of it.

There were problems early on when the contractors moved in to begin construction. Strange tales emerged of men seeing disfigured and headless people one worker threw himself off some scaffolding and died. Others were reported as having disappeared altogether with just their clothes and shoes remaining. There were a total of eight workers who mysteriously disappeared. Since the construction industry is noted for its high absentee rate these rumours were quickly quashed and put down to scary stories. None the less, the stories continued right up until the building was finished, five years behind schedule. It eventually bankrupted the company who built it.

One particularly unusual story emerged concerning the old toilet. It took the workers a rise in pay, a week to complete the job and a wealthy benefactor to intervene before their work was completed. The rise in pay was necessary to help alleviate their 'ghostly concerns' and to persuade them to enter the building never mind knock it down. The job took so long because of a large ornate mirror, which apparently wouldn't break? A wealthy benefactor intervened and purchased the mirror, part of the deal was that he had to make arrangements to remove the mirror himself. He employed some of the same workforce who had already been working on the site and "paid them a pretty penny for their trouble, as one older worker put it. The wealthy man died suddenly and the mirror was never taken away, it was locked away in a store room inside the new building. There were no reported problems with it, but then it was, covered up.

It would have stayed there until by chance a security guard spotted it during a clear up and reported it to the maintenance department who in turn sent a fax to all the managers inviting them to make a claim. The manager of the top floor was completely captivated by its size and unusual ornate design. He decided there and then that no matter what, he would have it. Several back-handers later it was installed in the top floor's toilet. He was a bit gutted that he'd have to share it with his staff, but it was a price worth paying, or so he thought at the time. The mirror very quickly claimed two more victims. One of them fell down the lift shaft, the doors of which had opened by mistake after the lift had already left. The noise of the thud of the body onto the lift's roof stayed with its occupants for many, many months. The second man was left to try and install the mirror himself. Using a trolley he wheeled it carefully into the toilet. He had built a cabinet for the mirror so the theory was that he simply had to slide it in, so to speak. Having finished the most difficult part of manoeuvring it into the cabinet all he had to do was clamp it into place. At one point all that was holding the mirror from toppling over was a large wooden stick. Later investigation would reveal that there would had to have been a gap which the workman had not accounted for and which was enough to cause the mirror to fall out of the cabinet. One crazy suggestion at the investigation was that the mirror must have shrunk, this came from a fellow workman who said that James would never have made a mistake of leaving a gap he was the best joiner he had ever known. James was barely recognised since his face and head took the full impact of the falling mirror. The autopsy photographs turned up on the World Wide Web a few weeks later, much to his family's disgust. The mirror escaped, completely unscathed.

There was no fan fair when the mirror was finally installed. The first few men who used the toilet for the first time complained that it was always cold when they went in.

Erik worked in the top floor of the new building and was often found telling anyone he came into contact with where his place of work was. Today was an especially good day for Erik because he had scored last night, adding to his ever mounting list of vulnerable and clearly immature young girls. He was intent, as usual, on ensuring everyone within ear shot heard about his latest conquest, in the most lurid of details.

Erik had certain little rituals which he was very fond of. His first one was his morning Starbucks cappuccino, the next was his first of many visits to the toilet for his grooming session. Iain reckoned he'd do well at the Crufts dog show, as long as he wasn't asked to do any of the disciplines which would just confuse him. Erik was genuinely content with how he looked and although only twenty-four years old he had decided that in a few years he would begin what he expected would be many years of plastic surgery to maintain his devilishly handsome good looks. He was the only single man in his age group with a monthly policy for private medical health care. He turned his head from side to side inspecting it for any blemishes, knowing full well there weren't any. A broad smile appeared on his face as he mouthed the words "oh you're good he then proceeded to point and wink at himself like a character from a seventies disco film. As he continued to look into the mirror the reflected light seemed to gradually grow duller. He looked around him but the room seemed to be as bright as it was when he had entered. When he looked back at the mirror it seemed to be absorbing the light surrounding him. He staggered back, his beautiful face now distorted in confusion. He heard a faint scratching noise from behind the mirror. An icy cold shiver ran down his back and he visibly shivered and recoiled. Suddenly the door opened behind him and he shrieked it has to be said like a girl. The visitor who was unknown to Erik was finding it very difficult to hide a smirk which eventually broke into a guffaw as Erik rushed out of the toilet. He flicked back his golden locks dismissing his unusual incident as of no particular consequence, but equally unusual for him he did not relate any sordid details of his previous night's invasion to any of his work colleagues. The strange event had more of an impact on him than he was willing to admit to himself or any one else for that matter.

Erik's problems were getting progressively worse as the day went on. It was very difficult for him to concentrate on anything and his excuse for his nightmare of a day would only earn him a free ride to the wee 'doolally' house. At clocking out time Erik was first to leave, admittedly nothing unusual there but today there was a really good reason for his sudden departure. He walked very quickly past, 'the toilet' then stopped. He'd have to go back there sooner or later. He turned around and looked at the door, what to do? He couldn't ask the audience, they were on their way out and there certainly wasn't a fifty-fifty option available. He suddenly decided his visit to the toilet should be sooner. He gathered what strength he still had, straightened himself to his full five feet eleven and a quarter inches (It really bugged him that he wasn't six feet, although that didn't stop him telling every female he came into contact with that he was six feet tall) turned around and walked fairly confidently into the toilet.

The icy chill which greeted him was not unexpected. He had a strong feeling of deja vue as his body shivered for the second time that day. The deep hum of the fluorescent lights seemed louder than usual, one of them began to flicker casting an eerie glow around the room. He looked nervously at the cubicles checking for the red no entry on the locks, they all showed green for go. He turned around slowly to face himself once more in the mirror. Nothing new there, same handsome features, he allowed himself a wry smile. It was quickly wiped away by that same familiar scratching sound from behind the mirror. A thick sickly feeling descended to the pit of his stomach, he began to shake uncontrollably.
"Get a grip! he shouted to himself.
The scratching suddenly stopped. He quickly glanced around half expecting something to jump out on him. Nothing.
"Who's there? he shouted still looking nervously around him.
Nothing. The mirror suddenly made a high pitch screeching sound as if it was about to shatter into thousands of tiny pieces. He turned away protecting his head with his hands and arms. Again, nothing. Something was compelling him to look back into the mirror. Forcing him to turn back to look deep, deep into its shiny almost liquid surface. He felt drawn towards its beautiful sparkly clean exterior which seemed to be sucking him towards it. He could feel himself being physically drawn towards the mirror his feet were starting to move forwards as if controlled by some external force.

The mirror changed, it began to absorb the light again. Something shot out from the mirror and entered Erik, he felt as if he had swallowed poison. He began to retch. He stumbled backwards into one of the cubicles and began retching, fortunately the lid was up. Nothing came out whatever went in was determined to stay there. He gasped for air, his throat burned. He had to get out. What had gone inside him? Maybe he'd imagined it. As he turned around for what he hoped would be the final time, an image of a young man came into view. He recognised the image it was the same young man who had died here a few weeks ago. His face became horribly distorted his mouth, opened and closed like a goldfish and small pieces of flesh began to drop from his face. Erik bolted out of the toilet into the corridor and straight into a young girl who had the misfortune of deciding at the last moment to do some over-time. He didn't even notice that he had bull-dozered through her but continued to career out of the building like the proverbial bat out of hell.

The temptation to phone in sick the next day was intoxicating. He woke up an hour earlier than usual, he had only dozed on and off throughout the night. He was absolutely knackered. He didn't want to disturb his mother who he heard come in from her night shift at the hospital, he felt so alone. Erik mustered all his energy to finally get up. He stood at his bedroom window and tried to take in the huge vista before him. It was a spectacular view of the vast city, which he loved so much, at any time of the day. Today it looked as if the city had no end. It seemed to stretch to the very ends of the earth. He wished he was a painter. His thoughts glided to all the people living in their different houses around him, living their different lives, working out their own particular problems and wondered if any of them had the same problems as him. He doubted it very much. A small bird flew into view. Erik thought how good it would be, to be that small bird flying around with not a care in the world. A larger bird suddenly appeared and began to chase the smaller bird he didn't know what kind they were. The smaller of the two was twisting and turning at break neck speed. Erik watched intently as they sped through the open sky like two world war one pilots. He heard in his mind the roar of the engines as the birds continued their death defying aerial stunts. He followed this brave little bird's weaving and twisting and turning, always out manoeuvring the larger bird. He was cheering it on as it continued to evade its large adversary, at one point he shouted "come on. Without warning the little bird smashed into a nearby window. The noise could be heard through the double glazing of his flat. Erik nearly jumped out of his skin. He watched as its small fragile body slowly slid down the window surface and disappear out of sight. Erik cupped his mouth with his hand. This was a sign he thought to himself, he was that little bird.

Erik lay down on his bed, he was crying. He thought about that poor little bird and why it had to die, he thought about his Father and why he had left him. He turned onto his side and saw his poster of a Ferrari Maserati, he thought about cars and all the advancements made in science and technology and why in this the 21st century he should be afraid of his own reflection in a stupid old mirror.

Erik didn't know that what he was so afraid of didn't come from this century or this world.

The underground station seemed quieter, emptier than usual. In fact all the streets had a strange claustrophobic feel about them. It was like walking about on an early Sunday morning. As he left the underground station Erik began to notice that if he walked towards anyone they would suddenly shy away from him, hiding their faces. He felt really weird about this, even a bit paranoid. He decided to try and ask someone for the time to convince him of his misplaced ideas. He spotted a particularly attractive young girl just in front of him. Her long elegant legs led his eyes up to a smooth red silk dress which caressed her tight buttocks which were beginning to hypnotise him as he followed their every movement. He snapped out of his trance and stepped up a gear to make his move on her. He caught hold of her arm gently to make sure she acknowledged him. She pulled away and made a strange moaning sound. Erik began to get alarmed, what was wrong with her? He tried again.
"Excuse me I'm just asking for the¦ Erik wasn't given the chance to finish his sentence. The girl unexpectedly turned around moaning like someone from the asylum for the insane. Her face was horribly contorted and small pieces of flesh began to peel off. Erik recoiled in terror. He screamed out loud. As he did so more people suddenly appeared with the same misshapen faces. They moaned and groaned towards him. Erik was experiencing a panic attack for the second time in his life. His breathing was erratic as was his blood pressure as these things slowly shuffled towards him. He was being suffocated by them, there was so many of them. His cries became more and more muffled as they piled on top of him.

He couldn't breathe. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't breathe¦

Erik waved and pulled at the sheets on his bed which had wrapped themselves tightly around him. He took in huge gulps of air as he slowly came round relieved to be in the sanctuary of his own bedroom. His moment of peace was shattered when he looked at the clock. It was seriously well past late, even for him. In the first time of his working life Erik left home without showering. He was demented, he'd have to see his doctor, but what was he going to tell him? He wasn't sure how much more of this he could take.

The tall mirrored building loomed high into the morning air. It really was a magnificent building, thought Erik, despite what it contained. He was wondering what it was like before it was built, what kind of building had been there previously and whether or not there were any pictures showing its ascendancy towards the sky. He had liked the famous pictures of the Eiffel Tower in its various stages of construction. He had some vague recollection that it was built on top of some old large building but couldn't remember what it was. A truck laden with cows roared past him. As he watched it disappear into the distance the word abattoir popped into his head. The previous building was an old abattoir he remembered from a talk someone gave when they first moved into the building. A shiver ran down his spine and he was filled with a terrible feeling of dread. Erik walked slowly to work, despite the fact he was nearly two hours late.

"How did what's his name die anyway? asked Erik, out of the blue.
The quiet hum in the room was unceremoniously silenced. Iain had just been thinking to himself how very odd it was that Erik had been so quiet during lunch, was it because he had been so late? He doubted that. If he was being honest he was also a bit annoyed that Erik had negated Iain's cunning plan to deflect Erik's usual onslaught of his most recent lascivious activities with a carefully prepared selection of loud rock songs saved onto his new MP3 player. Even stranger, Erik was looking at him for an answer.
Iain sat with his half eaten home-made sandwich in his hand and looked at everyone around him as if seeking their permission to speak. Their blank faces continued to assault him.
"If you mean William, I, eh, don't really know Erik, answered a very bemused Iain and munched into his sandwich.
"Come on Iain you must know something, if anyone knows you'll know said a frustrated Erik.
"That almost sounded like a compliment Erik, is that what it was? smiled Iain as he gulped down the last of his lunch. He sat back and drank slowly from his can of juice he was visibly reclining into his newly acquired power.
Erik raised his eyebrows, Spock style. He was going to lose this particular battle.
"If it means getting a decent answer out of you than yes, but no bull Iain said an almost pleading Erik.
"Okay Erik, no bull said Iain who sat slightly forward in his chair. Everyone else moved slightly forward too, but fortunately no-one was aware of the en mass advance, if they had the laughter would have ruined the slightly creepy atmosphere which had quickly enveloped the room.
"You need to keep this to yourselves, this did not come from me said Iain, looking for the prerequisite nods of compliance.
"He, eh died under, very, strange, circumstances said Iain, purposefully, he paused for effect and sat slightly upright. While Erik could hold an audience with his good looks, Iain could equally hold an audience with his theatrical story telling. He leaned once again into his by now fully enraptured audience.
"I don't know the full story but I've got a mate who works at the Morning Mail said Iain.
"Is that Frank who looks like the lead singer from the Foo Fighters? volunteered his colleague Stephen.
Iain smiled and nodded.
"Yeah, anyway he managed to get a look at the pathologist's report continued Iain.
He looked at Erik to see if he knew what a pathologist was. Erik's slightly furrowed brow confirmed Iain's suspicions.
"That's the guy who examines dead bodies Erik said Iain sarcastically, looking straight at Erik.
"Chuh, I knew that, huffed Erik looking around him for support which on this occasion was not forth coming.
Iain moved his eyebrows into a, 'whatever style' and continued.
"He had died of, fright, exclaimed Iain, his second pause was justified by a small gasp from his by now very concerned audience.
The words, hand, eating and palm popped into Iain's head as he continued his macabre tale.
"His face was contorted in a really grotesque way and it was as if all his energy was sucked out of him finished Iain. Iain heard the word grosse from his attentive audience swiftly followed by the word, "Garbage! from a doubting Erik.
"Do you want me to call Frank on the phone Erik, do you? asked Iain reaching into his jacket for his mobile. Erik's deafening silence was proof that he had reluctantly agreed with him.

Iain sat back arms folded relishing his few minutes of fame then as if on queue the lights flashed off and on. The screams of the women present narrowly overwhelmed the screams of the men. Iain couldn't resist laughing out loud, although a high percentage of it was due to laughter of the nervous kind.

Erik stood at the door to the toilet. Not just any toilet, but the toilet. Once it had been his most treasured sanctuary but oh how quickly it had turned into his frightening asylum of terror.
"This was mad, he said to himself, "it's just a stupid toilet. As he plucked up the courage to finally enter the 'stupid toilet', he stretched out his arm, suddenly the door opened and for the third time in as many days a girl-like shriek was heard emanating from the general area of the men's toilets.

Three weeks slowly and painfully passed, Erik wasn't sleeping properly. On the few occasions when he got purposefully drunk this made his nightmares even more real and thus more terrifying. His once good looks were already starting to turn decidedly shabby. He hadn't looked at a mirror since the incident and it showed, his beautiful golden locks once never out of place were beginning to resemble an old shabby English sheep dog. His mother was very concerned and tried to persuade him to see his doctor. His entourage had long departed from him and he looked rather pathetic. Even Iain was beginning to feel sorry for him.

Iain watched as Erik left the office. He was clearly not his usually confident, brash self and hadn't been for some time, he had also developed a zombie like shuffle which was painful to watch. It reminded him of their recently departed colleague, William, which gave him an unexpected shiver down his back. Iain decided to make a quick enquiry, he began to worry that perhaps Erik was going to be next on the death list. As he quickly caught up with Erik he found it was easier to walk beside him such was the break neck speed he had recently been attaining.
"Erik, you can tell me it's none of my business, but, eh, you know, you don't look yourself, I mean is there anything I can do to help or? asked Iain not sure how to finish his ill prepared speech.
"There's nothing wrong snapped Erik whose legs suddenly gained speed.
"Okay replied Iain raising his hands in defence of his genuine enquiry. He stood back watching Erik as he quickly shuffled out of sight.

Erik was never the ideal employee and although he occasionally made mistakes it was usually put down to 'dumb blond syndrome' but of course more recently his previous good looks, now rapidly disappearing, didn't cut it any more. His team leader was in the middle of berating him in front of his colleagues when Iain appeared. He quickly picked up the gist of the conversation and without thinking interrupted the rather over-enthusiastic team leader's tête-à-tête.
"It was actually me who checked that report last interrupted Iain. "It's my fault he said. He glanced at Erik who looked at Iain with a puzzled expression. The puzzled expression made its way to their team leader which soon looked as if it required medical attention. They both turned to each other as if suddenly developing a bout of severe deafness then back to Iain for confirmation, who nodded his head in compliance.

"I don't want your sympathy spat Erik later as he and Iain walked out of the building and into the bright evening sunshine.
Iain ignored him. Erik tried to keep up with Iain who was striding out in front.
"So why did, you help me? asked Erik a few minutes later, unable to maintain the Mexican stand off. Iain continued to ignore him. Erik shuffled quickly forward and grabbed his arm. Iain stopped, looking dangerously at Erik's arm which was still attached to his. Iain continued his ascent up Erik's arm with his eyes until they were looking Erik square in the eyes. Erik instinctively released his feeble grip. Iain turned around and continued his journey forward.
"I'm sorry Iain, is that what you want to hear? shouted Erik.
Iain stopped and slowly turned around facing Erik again, he was about ten feet away from him.
"I don't give a toss about your apologies he said in his best measured and restrained tone, although he liked the fact that Erik had apologised. He moved slowly forward as he spoke, Erik was transfixed.
"But would it hurt you to give me a bit of respect?
Any closer and the spit from his second last syllable would have reached Erik's face. Erik hung his head. He admitted defeat, he hadn't just lost the battle he'd lost the war, a war which of course was in his imagination. Iain felt a pang of regret, a short pang to be fair. He sighed heavily.
"Let's go for a pint, Erik said Iain shaking his head.

Their local pub was unusually quiet, which had the advantage of offering them some peace and quiet but meant they had to keep their voices unnaturally low to avoid prying ears from a few of their colleagues who had unintentionally followed them into the drinking establishment. They both naturally skirted around the main topic of discussion finding out more about each other in a few minutes than they had done in the last eighteen months of working together. It had the nervous atmosphere of a first date. Iain soon extinguished that notion.
"Look, if we're going to be honest then I'll start, I've never liked you Erik he blurted out. Okay that didn't come out the way he had intended, thought Iain. "I'm sorry I didn't mean it like that he said trying to back track.
"I've never liked you either said Erik very matter of factly. "You don't like me because of my good looks, although that's up for debate now and I didn't like you because you're so smart. Erik took another mouthful from his pint of Dutch courage. Iain was visibly shocked at what he heard, but not altogether surprised. The advert for an orange fizzy drink came to mind and he felt a stinging sensation on his face for a few minutes.
"Erik that's the first time you've made an accurately astute sentence which I have ever had the pleasure to hear from your sweet Swedish lips smiled Iain.
"Who told you I was Swedish? smiled Erik and soon both of them broke into howls of laughter. The laughter quickly subsided and Erik began his tale of woe. Iain sat engrossed. It seemed that the tables were turned. It was Erik who was holding the audience's attention with his story telling, but of course this was no ordinary story. Iain sat in stunned silence. Erik finished off his pint.
"I believe you said Iain firmly.
"So what can we do about it? asked Erik.

The next evening they visited the main reference library. Iain concluded that an analysis of the building might give them a clue as to what was causing this unusual phenomenon. They sat down at a large oak table Iain opened the reference book which contained information regarding the original building when it was an abattoir. They had spoken to George a kindly elderly gentleman who was one of the concierges in their office building. His father had known someone who had worked in the abattoir.
"Why do you want to know son? asked George.
"It's a, eh, project we're doing bluffed Iain.
"Yeah, we've to do a, eh, presentation interjected Erik.
Ian nodded in agreement. George told them a potted history which wasn't really helpful however he seemed at times to want to say more but didn't, he finished with a warning.
"Don't be poking yir nose into it, it's not for the likes of you young lads he said and shuffled back to his desk.
Instinct told them not to ask George any more questions but it equally told them they had to continue their investigation immediately.

The reference book contained original blue prints of the old building which in its day was clearly a fantastic work of art and it seemed to be an act of complete stupidity that it was ever knocked down. This was no ordinary common abattoir.
"Look at the design man, it's absolutely amazing, in fact some of it looks Egyptian exclaimed Iain clearly amazed at the detail and design of this beautiful building.
"I thought we could look at old newspaper articles, see why it was demolished said Erik not as impressed.
"Yeah, yeah said Iain still engrossed in the pictures and not really listening.

Their investigations continued for several days but nothing concrete was forth coming. They were experts as far as some of the history was concerned but the real reason why the building was destroyed still eluded them. Soon both men's frustration boiled over. It was their first stramash since that fateful day when Iain offered to help Erik. This time Erik took control.
"Look this is crazy we have to work together said an exasperated Erik.
Iain agreed. They both decided at that very moment to cease from their investigative journalism and went out from the library and across to the multiplex cinema. It was a welcome relief from the ultimately mundane job of looking up old documents which by this time didn't really tell them anything they didn't already know. After the movie finished they both sauntered out reliving some of the film's funnier moments. Erik without thinking told Iain, "he was away for a slash, which under other circumstances would not have initiated a chortle never mind a full blown belly laugh. He left Iain creasing himself and walked into the toilet still laughing at Iain's reaction to what he had said. Once finished Erik began to wash his hands, it was only when he raised his head to look in the mirror that it hit him what he was doing. He froze in fear. What was he thinking? He quickly averted his gaze from the malevolent mirror. He thought he heard it groan. "Don't look up, he said to himself, over and over. All the mirrors from his house had been removed although his mother had secretly hid a small one in her underwear drawer she knew if Erik found out he'd flip. It was the first one he'd seen for weeks. He watched as his hands began to shake in front of him. He could feel his head slowly rise. He had no control over its upward movement. His hands remained fixed to the sink. His breathing was becoming erratic. His head continued its slow ascent. He tried hard to stop himself, it was no use. Beads of sweat dripped from his brow.
"I'm going to die he thought.
The bottom of the mirror slowly came into view. The room suddenly grew cold or was it just Erik. The light in the mirror seemed to be fading. He was going to pass out. More of the mirror became visible. Was that scratching he could hear?
"Oh please let it stop he said out loud.
The door to the toilet opened and someone walked in. They rushed over to Erik slumped over the sink.
"Hey you aw'right mate the stranger asked.
Erik nodded and waved his hands signalling he was okay, his hands lied. He was anything but okay. He managed to stumble out of the toilet into the main foyer where Iain was waiting for him. Iain dived over to his new friend and grabbed him before he collapsed to the ground.
"Erik, what happened? exclaimed Iain trying to get him to his feet again.
"Fresh, air gasped Erik.

They both sat on the park bench for a good five minutes before any words were exchanged. The cool evening air helped to calm down both frightened young men. Iain was thinking about cigarettes when Erik interrupted him.
"Before my Dad left I was never frightened at night said Erik. "He was my protector, I had nothing to worry about he sighed. "I'll never forgive him for leaving us like that said Erik in a mono-toned voice.
Iain looked across at his friend, a word he would never have used to describe Erik a few weeks ago and watched him staring into space. Erik turned round and faced Iain.
"Do you think I'm going mad? It's okay if you think I am, but I need to know continued Erik in his mono-toned voice.
Iain thought for a moment.
"I'm no psychiatrist Erik, but I don't think you're going mad, I really don't, no bull Erik said Iain seriously. "Come on, let's get you home. Iain helped Erik to his feet and they walked slowly to Erik's house.

Erik's Mother and Iain sat together in the sitting room they both drank from their coffee mugs slowly and quietly, Erik was tucked up in bed. The room was sparsely decorated but there was a nice airy feel about it, not cold but fresh. The wooden floor and light wood furniture helped create this pleasant ambience, despite the circumstances which had brought them together.
"Thanks for the, eh, coffee, began Iain lifting his mug.
Erik's mother smiled and nodded, she didn't look at Iain. Iain could tell who Erik inherited his staring ability from. She closed her eyes for a moment and Iain thought she might break down at any minute, he thought about what he could do to help her but was slightly distracted by her natural beauty. How could Erik's Dad have left her was he mad? Clearly he was. Iain could normally talk for Scotland but tonight was decidedly different. There wasn't much in the room to help him think of something to say so he opted for the old classic line¦
"This is a nice house you have smiled Iain, could it get much more crass?
Instead of thanking him she carefully laid down her mug and flicked back her hair, her blue mohair jumper helped to accentuate the parts of a woman's body which are guaranteed to excite any hot blooded young man. She knew exactly how to press his buttons. She smiled and licked her lips at him then she looked at him in that way only women can, her eyes told Iain she wanted him. She deftly rose from her chair and straddled him ripping his shirt open in one complete move.

Erik's Mother's coughing fit awoke Iain out of his evening dream. He rushed over to her knocking her coffee over. He was now between a rock and a hard place. Should he smack her on the back, he at least had the gumption to know a slap on her front would initiate a law suit, or try to clean up the mess. Her non-verbal signals from her hands indicated that the coffee spillage jumped up to first place on the next things to do list. He heard her mumble between gasps of breath, the words "under and "sink. He located the cloth in the kitchen and some cleaner and raced back to the room. Erik's Mother was standing trying to regain her composure, as Iain was cleaning up the mess he looked up at her and thought that her composure was really, really excellent. Once again Iain was distracted, this time by Erik's Mother's chest which was unnaturally heaving up and down as she tried to regain her breath. He felt his face turn scarlet which prompted him to keep his head down as he tried to finish his very important job. Although he meant well, Erik's Mother had to finish cleaning up the mess. Iain sat mesmerised watching her clean the stain on the carpet. This was not right, time to leave, he thought before his calm exterior exploded all over Erik's mother.
"I should go now said Iain when she returned from the kitchen.
Erik's Mother nodded.
"I'm sorry¦ began Erik's Mother. "I¦ she couldn't finish the sentence.
"It's okay, I'll keep an eye on him smiled Iain, terrified at what he had just agreed to do. Iain gazed into her deep blue Scandinavian eyes, his mind was screaming "go, now but his body was saying stay, just a little bit longer.

He forced himself to leave because if he didn't, he would have taken her in his arms and¦

Iain stepped into the cold night air. He wondered if any of Erik's family had ever suffered from bouts of madness or depression. Iain continued his journey home amazed at how ordinary everything looked and yet here he was trying to fathom out this most extraordinary situation he was in. He decided at that moment to see the mirror for himself. As quickly as he made the decision, a strong feeling of dread crept over him and asked him a question, "what if you're next?

Iain stood at the dreaded mirror the next morning, careful not to tell Erik what he had planned to do. It felt no different to when he had stood at the same mirror nearly eighteen months ago. Today was different, previously he had spent nanoseconds at it, today he was going to try and spend a lot more time or as long as the mirror would allow him to, as long as the mirror would allow him to? Mmm, this was starting to get to him. He shook his head and stepped forward. He examined the tall mirror closely. He stopped and even listened intently. Nothing. Why wasn't he affected? He stepped back thinking what was different about it to any other mirror? What do other mirrors have that this one doesn't or vice versa? He walked towards it again, carefully. Iain lifted his arm and reached out to touch it, his finger hung millimetres from its perfect shiny surface. He blew his breath onto its surface, it must be too warm it didn't go cloudy, which might count as being a bit unusual, he thought. Its perfect surface, he repeated to himself. There were no marks, no blemishes, now that was unusual. It was also a huge mirror and in one complete piece. How did they get it through the door? It must have been at least eight feet by ten feet. Iain decided not to touch it instead he stared into the mirror the light hadn't dimmed, if anything it seemed brighter. He looked brighter, his skin seemed smoother and there were no spots on his face. He usually had one or two lurking about but today he looked quite good. A children's story came into his mind, 'mirror mirror on the wall¦'

He blinked himself awake but he could feel himself getting drowsy again he yawned and in his mind he felt a pulling sensation. Was it from the mirror? It wasn't strong enough to warrant a full scale investigation just enough to make him think that Erik's story had a ring of truth about it. He quickly left just as it was beginning to feel a bit colder.

The boys stood outside on the roof of the building, where the smokers congregated. Iain was hungry for some nicotine.
"If we don't solve this I will be a smoker within the next 24 hours, said Iain looking longingly at one of his colleagues drawing on a cigarette. He watched as her lips pressed gently onto the cancer stick and her cheeks collapse as she inhaled more poison into her lungs. For Iain it was simply a beautiful sight, the fact that the woman he was looking at was very attractive was an added bonus.
"We haven't stood at the mirror together announced Erik.
"That's so true laughed Iain. Why hadn't they? It seemed so daft not to have done that as the very first thing to do.
They both rushed down the stairs and into the toilet. One of their colleagues turned round to see them both almost diving inside.
"My, my boys aren't we the desperate ones he smiled, smaning as he left.
The 'boys' cursed at him in unison.
"What do we do? asked Iain. They were staring at themselves in the mirror. Iain was slightly taller than Erik he'd always thought he was shorter.
"We wait, said Erik mysteriously, not noticing the difference in height between them.

They both squared up to the mirror, legs apart and assumed the power stance.

Nothing.

They slowly turned to each other. They sighed at exactly the same time then turned and laughed. Erik felt a sharp pain in his head, he looked at Iain, his eyes and contorted face told Iain something was very wrong. Suddenly a high pitched shriek sounded from the mirror, Erik's body began to go molten on him. Iain watched transfixed as Erik's body turned to a strange flesh coloured liquid which was rapidly moving across the floor and up towards the mirror. Erik was being sucked into it. Iain looked at the mirror, mouth open in complete abject shock. He looked to where Erik had been a few seconds earlier. His clothes and shoes lay scattered around the area where he should have been. Iain stared into the mirror it looked the same as it did eighteen months ago when he first saw it. Iain screamed.