the Mirror

By Hargrove Perth

 

 

Adrianna Bristol stood before her grandmother's antique mirror and stared at the black velvet cloth covering it. Annabel Bristol had told her, "promise me Adrianna that you will never uncover the mirror. No matter what it may whisper to you, you must never remove the cover." Adrianna laid her hand against the cool velvet which covered the glass. As she walked away the mirror whispered to her, "you belong to me now. You belong to me." A four hundred year old curse has plagued the Bristol family since the 1600's. A curse born out of a love so rich and a betrayal so deep, that time itself has no power to stop it. Only Adrianna has the courage to find the truth behind the curse and set her family free. But will the Mirror release its darkest secrets?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Hargrove Perth
• Release date: Mar 8, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215043288

Hargrove Perth

A perpetual night-owl and lover of all things paranormal related, Hargrove spends a great deal of time researching the larger than life characters of history to formulate characters unforgettable and strangely adored. She writes horror, dark romance, fantasy, and paranormal in the Adult, New Adult, and YA categories. When asked why paranormal, she said, "I'm the girl who cries at the end when Frankenstein is misunderstood, who wants Dracula to keep Mina in his arms forever... I see the humanity in them that others cannot." 2014 Author of the Year by Double Decker Books in Historical/Horror Dark Days Remy Broulette. DDBA 2015 Author of the Year YA Fantasy Miss Crabtree's School for Unnaturals, DDBA 2015 Nominee YA Fantasy Chronicle:Dark Sea Triad, and DDBA 2015 Author of the Year Horror (comedic) Coven Wives.

Book preview

Prologue

FOR NEARLY FOUR HUNDRED years a curse over- shadowed the Bristol women, their lives, and their descendants. It was an under-stated piece of each matron who ruled the family, a silent partner who stood in the darkness, and determined our fates. It was not until the death of my beloved grandmother I fully understood the sway the curse held over my family and the connection it held to the old mirror that donned the foyer for centuries. Nana once said it came from Italy and had been part of our family since the very beginning. The stern warning she gave to me at the age of five still haunts me to this day - she told me, "You must never uncover the mirror, no matter what it may whisper to you, no matter the promises made, or the splendor offered. Promise me Adrianna, you will never uncover the mirror

Chapter One

The Looming Storm

IT WAS COLD, RAINING, and not an ordinary rain by any standard of the definition. The sky grew darker and more morose as the day progressed and my plane approached the small airport of Bristol Bay International.

How bizzare the purple backdrop of the horizon is with those dominating and uncanny shades of green; nearly glowing like emerald swashes amongst the billowing black clouds like some warped artist’s canvas. I have never seen a sky so wicked in Bristol Bay.

The winds increased allowing the day to give way to evening, and the sky’s appearance grew wicked. The moment my plane touched down upon the tarmac I felt a sense of relief. Finally home was within my grasp. The restoration had taken longer in Paris than anticipated, and though Europe was always a welcome sight home was where I preferred. Only moments after retrieving my bags there were securely in the truck of the car and the winding roads leading home stood between me and Bristol Manor.

If only the rain could have held off just a bit longer, I thought as it became increasingly difficult to see.

Rain was not uncommon in Bristol Bay. In fact, it seemed to rain here more than the sun has the opportunity to shine. When you grew up in a small town and never lived anywhere else, the strange weather was just something you grew accustomed to and never really bothered to give it any thought. It was even expected. A day without rain just somehow didn’t seem right. Yet this rain was different, more dismal and bone-chilling than usual.

My phone rang unexpectedly. My work had delayed returning far longer than intended and when the first flight that was available out of Paris opened, there was no hesitation taking it. I recognized the number to be Sam’s and instantly knew something was wrong.

The tears in his voice echoed with every word spoken before my brother whispered, Nana is gone. It just didn’t seem real or possible as the long period of silence grew uncomfortable.

How, why? The words choked between my tears. She was fine when I left, Sam. I don’t understand.

I will meet you at the house, Sam said before the lightening illuminated the sky and the phone went dead. I couldn’t honestly remember a day in her life where Nana was sick as the road before me became increasingly harder to see between the tears and the heavy rain that fell. Nana was the picture of health when I left. Annabel was so vibrant, so opinionated - she did whatever she wanted, whenever she wanted and no one would dare to argue with her. 

How can she be gone? It was only three weeks ago I saw her last.

As always, she was the picture of perfect health. Thinking about the day I had lunch with her, mulling it over to see if there was something, anything that was missed, it suddenly occurred to me how frantic she had behaved when we discussed the restoration in France.

Adrianna, please don’t go to Paris, she had pleaded. I don’t want you to leave. You need to stay here, in Bristol Bay, where you will be safe.

Oh Nana, I will only be gone for few days at best. This restoration in Paris will not take nearly as long as the last. I only have to sign off on the last few design changes that need done and then come home. You will see. It will be like I never left, I told her.

On the days leading up to my flight, Nana seemed uneasy. I could barely initiate a conversation with her before she would burst into tears. I found myself avoiding her for fear of making her cry. She kept to herself, rummaging through old boxes and photographs, rearranging the pictures on the mantle, and talking to herself as she stood in front of that old, damned mirror. None of those things were all that unusual. Nana had stood front of the mirror and spoke to it as if she expected it to answer her since we were children. It didn’t seem out of the ordinary then but now it did. Something was wrong. Nana knew something was wrong.

The day my bags were packed to leave I saw her at the bottom of the staircase whispering to the mirror and holding the old piece of black velvet covering it tightly in her hand. She nearly appeared to be pleading now that I think about it. Anyone else would have thought Annabel Bristol was senile. To me, she was just being herself and her behavior never caused a second thought, until now.

I told her I would only be gone for a few days and promised she would be the first one seen when my project was complete. I kissed her good-bye and left her standing in the bay window watching me with the curtains slightly parted. Even when turning the sharp corner at the end of the driveway, Nana was still standing in the large bay window with the light cascading over her shoulders from the kerosene lamp. I wondered why she wanted me to remain so badly as I boarded my plane, but my thoughts quickly turned to the restoration project and what needed to be completed. It never crossed my mind until my phone rang.

Could she have somehow known that she was going to die?

I shook my head and tried to shake the image from my mind before stopping the car, pulling off to the side of the road crying uncontrollably. My Nana was gone and somehow it was my fault.

If only I had stayed with her this might not have happened.

I rested my chin against the steering wheel and watched the rain fall steadily against the windshield.

Even the sky appears angry Nana is gone. The only mother we have ever known has left us. We are all that is left of her lineage now...

I wiped the tears from my face and tried to compose myself. My brother would be waiting for me at Nana’s house. The last thing Sam needed to see was his sister having a meltdown when he was alone and dealing with Nana’s death without me.

Nana had spoiled Samuel and me since the time we were small. We were her only grandchildren, and the fact we were twins made us all the more special. Nana said we were unique because I was born at three minutes past midnight and Samuel three minutes before midnight. Even though we were twins, our birthdays were different days. A smile came to my lips remembering our days with Nana when we were small.

How many times she scolded us only to be instantly forgiven?

The tears began to flow once more when I stopped my car at the iron gates leading to her house and quickly ran through the rain to open them. The torrential downpour quickly soaked my clothes. Dripping wet and cold, I ran back to the car quickly and turned the heater on in the hopes it would take away the chill.

It seemed odd Samuel didn’t leave the gates open for me. It just wasn’t like Sam to forget to leave the gate unlocked when he knew my plane had landed. I drove slowly up the winding drive to the house and parked in the roundabout out front rather than pulling around the side of the house. Tears welled in my eyes as they turned toward the spiral spindles lining the front porch where we often set in cool even breezes of the summer, the three of us, talking and laughing without a care in the world.

She just can’t be gone.

With my coat pulled over my head to shield myself from the rain, I hastily ran to the house. The porch light always gleamed like a welcoming beacon to everyone who visited. The bulb was cold to the touch. The light had not been on all evening. Nana told me once when someone passed away, the porch light and parlor lights were left off as a sign there had been a death in the family. Never in my lifetime did it ever occur to me those lights would not be lit and burning brightly.

I laid my hand on the brass latch the same as I had a million times before, but this time she would not be there to greet me. I opened the door slowly and stepped over the thresh-hold. A huge gust of wind pushed past me and nearly made me lose my balance. It took all of my strength to close the door. The wind always blew here but tonight it had ferocity behind it, a silent anger driving by an unseen force that appeared to correspond with her death. Bristol Bay is listed as the windiest city in Maine. Tonight that title was being upheld for everyone in the small town to sense.

The parlor was cold and unwelcoming as my hands trembled while lighting the kerosene lamp in the bay window.

How many countless occasions had I pulled into the driveway and seen this same lamp lit? It glowed warmly every evening as she sat in the old wing-backed chair each night crocheting or working on needlepoint with a hot cup of tea steaming on the little table alongside her chair. Her memory could not fade, could not slip from the minds of those who loved her.

As long as I live, you will always be lit when I am here.

The house was quiet except for the usual creaking sounds caused by the wind. Nana always hummed as she worked on her needlepoint or knitting in the evening. Now her home was silent except for the howling wind. A shiver went down my spine as I thought about being in the house alone for the first time.

Where Samuel could be at this time of night? He told me he would be here when I arrived.

I picked up grandma’s shawl from the back of the divan and wrapped it around my shoulders. It smelled like her and that provided me a small amount of comfort.

Tears flowed uncontrollably as I wandered about the house expecting to hear her sweet voice calling from the kitchen to ask if I wanted a hot cup of tea. Every single item was placed perfectly. There was not a speck of dust to be found anywhere in the mansion. It appeared as though Nana had cleaned the entire house. As the tears streamed down my face, it occurred to me she had readied the manor for her funeral.

Nana would want the funeral to be here in the house. It had been a long-standing tradition within the Bristol family for all viewings to be held in the family home before being taken to our private cemetery. The family, the estate, and the manor were steeped in long-standing traditions that began long before my birth; some of which didn’t make much sense to me but would be kept to honor not only Nana but our first relative who had founded the town.

Our first ancestor came to Bristol Bay, then a nameless plot of barren land bordering the sea, in 1728. Rosalie Anastasia Bristol came to America from upper Tuscany as a single woman with a dream. She landed in Plymouth and decided to move north after the attacks against the settlers began. With every possession she owned loaded onto mules, horses, and packed into two covered wagons, Rosalie set her sights on claiming a piece of land for her own and leaving the past behind her. Annabel said Rosalie was ‘tough stock’ and traveled with only two servants that were the closest thing to family she had. By the summer of 1732, they had fashioned a sizable log cabin and set up a trading post that was connected to her modest home.

Nana had said Rosalie was one the first settlers in Maine to have actual glass windows in her cabin; hand blown glass she imported directly from Venice. Installation of the windows took place before sending for the last of her belongings she left behind in Italy, including the mirror that hung in my Nana’s alcove. A mirror, which was a prized possession of the family and had belonged to three generations of women prior to Rosalie had hung in the foyer as long as I could remember. Our house, Nana had told me, sat in the exact spot that Rosalie’s log cabin had once stood and that if anyone were to take an axe to one of the walls, the original structure would be found safely enclosed inside Bristol Manor.

Nana also told us that Rosalie traded with the whites and Indians alike and had no prejudices and no preformed conceptions about the Natives. Her goal was to establish a town, call it her own, and that was exactly what Rosalie Anastasia did.

A woman with forethought and intelligence, she took the wealth her family had amassed and used it purchase gold and silver before boarding the Cornelia Maria to travel to the New World, which was impressive since after the separation of America from England, money other than American currency was worthless. Rosalie traded for what she needed, which was not much, and bartered for the rest. Once settled, invitations were sent to those who were beleaguered from years of persecution to travel to the little establishment she named Bristol Bay. Many of the families that Rosalie knew had more than ample wealth to make the journey. It was not long before Rosalie soon found herself in the company of old and familiar friends who enabled the town of Bristol Bay to be built.

Officially founded in 1747, we still retain ownership of part of the town. Our cemetery sets apart from the city cemetery as was decreed by Rosalie before her death. Every female ancestor since her has been laid to rest in the family crypt.

How frightened I was the first time I saw that mausoleum with its old world styling and those appalling statues outside acting as silent guardians nestled in the white roses. The thought of those statues still makes me shudder. Why Rosalie would choose those demonic looking statues of crying angels to guard the doors to the mausoleum is beyond me. I feel the same way about the hideous gargoyles that stand next to the iron gates with their snarling lips and exposed teeth. Was everything dark and gloomy in Europe at the time they were made? Why weren’t those hideous statues ever replaced with something, kinder, gentler, and more welcoming to those who were about to enter?

Nana would take her place next to her mother and her grandmother. Family tradition stated all the Bristol women were to be buried next to each other for some reason. No one had ever bothered to explain why our family did this.

I didn’t think about asking before today. With Nana gone, the true reason behind why only women could be placed in the crypt would be forever silent.

Aimlessly staring out the window at her rose garden below gives me little comfort as I had hoped it would. Despite my best efforts to distract my thoughts from the fact Nana was gone, it proved to be only a minor detour from my guilt.  

There is so much I do not know about our family; about her, and now the chance for me learn what only she could teach me is gone. I wasted the greatest treasure of my life without even realizing it. The stories I barely paid attention to were the fabric of our family. Now I will never know them.

My thoughts turned toward my great Aunts - how devastated they would be when they discovered Annabel was gone. She was our rock, the family matriarch, and my best friend.

How can we go on with our lives without you?

I decided to build a fire and take the chill from the room, knelt down and stacked several small pieces of kindling in the fireplace before placing a piece of split oak on top. Fumbling for the brass match container, which always sat next to the fireplace doors, and discovered for one reason or another, it was on top of the mantle instead of where I accustomed to finding it.

What are you doing up here?

The lid would not come off. I pulled as hard as I could before it finally came loose and spilled the contents all over the floor.

Well, that was absolutely brilliant.

I knelt down on the stone floor and starting picking up the matches. But as the brass matchbox was turned upright, something inside made a noise. Wondering what it could possibly be, I held it beneath the lamp. It was a ring.

What would a ring be doing inside the matchstick box?

Holding it tightly in my hand to admire the setting, it become evident it was not a ring of modern making but something antiquated with old world details. It seemed rather strange that a ring with obvious value such as this would be tucked away inside a matchbox container.

Had Nana hidden it here and forgotten about it?

I held the ring up to the light and admired the antique scrollwork.

What a wonder you are. Never have I seen an emerald so clear and crisp as you. Did you belong to Nana?

The cut was a traditional square emerald set in white gold. Could you be as old as you look? I held the ring closer to the light to see the details more clearly. Just as I was about to slide the ring onto my finger, Samuel tapped on the window. The ring slipped from my hand, tumbling from my grasp, and into the cold air return vent.

Sam opened the door and let himself in as he always did. He paused to hang his coat in the hallway before joining me in the parlor.

Don’t do that again! You scared the living daylights out of me, I said hitting him on the arm.

Come on now Adrianna, you aren’t afraid to be in this big, old, creepy house alone are you?

Don’t say that, Nana’s house isn’t creepy. It is just old and eccentric like her. Besides, this old house has character and history, which is more than any of the new houses in town can say. Why did you tap on the window like that? You made me drop her ring down the vent. Come over here and help me find it.

What ring?

I found a ring in the matchstick box. I was looking at it when you decided to be a jerk and scare me.

Don’t be so melodramatic!

I started to cry at his lack of sensitivity.

How can you be so cruel? Nana has only been gone a day. It is as if you don’t even care.

I’m sorry sis. I didn’t mean to make you cry. I miss her too, you know I always thought she’d be here forever. He wrapped his arms around me and began to cry.

Our mother left when we were very young, and no one ever heard from her again. Our father made every effort to find her; at least that was what we were told. No one ever spoke about her. It was forbidden for us to ask. I guess our father thought it would be better if he focused all his attention on our happiness and not that she left us. Nana never spoke of her either. Annabel dis-owned her the day she decided to step out of our lives. There were not any pictures of our mother displayed anywhere in the house. As far as Nana was concerned, Elizabeth Bristol didn’t exist.

Now both the women who were my mothers are gone to me forever without reason or explanation. How can this be fair? What did I do to be punished this way?

Growing up without a mother really had not affected Samuel and me. We were typical children. We could always find some grand adventure to go on. Especially in the attic, since it contained a treasure trove of exciting, dusty antiques. We remained so close to one another until we went to college. College is the only time I can honestly recall that Samuel and I were separated for any length of time.

Each of us made a success of ourselves in our fields of interest. Samuel worked as the Museum Curator of Antiquities at the Bristol Bay Museum of the Arts. I went to school in Paris and became an architectural advisor for building restoration. My profession took me all over the world to do consults on various restoration projects in Europe. All the members of the Bristol family are successful at whatever they do, no matter the occupation.

Don’t let go Sam. I am afraid. I don’t know how to live without her.

Everything will be fine, I promise. I’ll help you find her ring, he whispered.

Samuel went to the kitchen to find a screwdriver so we could remove the vent. I opened Nana’s roll top desk to look for a flashlight. There could be anything in that vent. I had no idea the depth either. For all I know, that ring could have fallen the entire way to the furnace.

I found one, Samuel called from the doorway then knelt down on the floor next the vent and started removing the screws.

I shined the light on the screws so it would be easier for him to see. Although we had finally convinced Nana to have electricity run to the house several years ago, she only allowed them to install one ceiling light in each room. She preferred kerosene light to artificial. I nearly laughed remembering what she had said. Electricity just isn’t natural, Adrianna. I will keep the kerosene lamps. Besides, I will always have a way to see when the power fails unlike those twits in town with their fancy lights. They never should have down away with gaslights. What were they thinking?

Samuel removed the last screw. I helped him pry the grate from the floor. Shining the light into the vent and praying her ring would be within reach and finally saw the ring perched precariously on a lip around the inside about three feet down.

Hold onto my feet so I can lean in a little further.

It nearly slipped from my fingers. I slid my arm up and sat the ring on the floor far from the vent. If it fell in there again, I probably would not be so lucky to be able to reach it. Samuel pulled me out of the vent and picked up the ring.

Wow. This really is spectacular. How old do you think it is?

I have no idea really. I never saw her wear it. Did you, Sam?

Now that you mention it, I have seen this ring once before.

Samuel stood, went to the mantle, and began searching through the rows of family pictures. He finally picked one of the pictures up and carried it over to me.

Here it is. Great-grandma has the ring on in her wedding picture. See?

Samuel pointed to the ring.

He was right. She did have the ring on her left hand. The ring must be at least one hundred and fifty years old, if not older.

Great-grandma also lived well into her nineties, and she looks to be around twenty in this old sepia photograph. I wonder why Nana didn’t wear it? It is so beautiful, much too beautiful to be inside a brass matchstick box.

I sat down on the window seat as Sam continued to ask me questions.

Why do you think she put it in there? That is a pretty odd place to keep such a valuable ring. Don’t you think, sis?

I know. I will ask Aunt Leticia about it tomorrow. I am sure she knows about the ring. You know Leticia, she knows everything there is to know about the family, I said.

I slid the ring onto my right ring finger. It fit perfectly as though it were made for me. I sighed. I