Perhaps I had ambitions to be an MP - or an undertaker!

Friday, January 23, 2009

FRIDAY 23RD JANUARY

SOMETHING COMPLETELY DIFFERENT TODAY - - - - -

Sometime during the 1950s I wrote a short story and since that time it has been lying forgotten in a cardboard box. It occurred to me that perhaps it might be of interest to you and so here it is. A sum of money is mentioned in the story and, because of inflation, I've had to change it to a more realistic figure.



........................................THE MIRROR.....................................


It hung on the wall in front of him, big and ugly and incredibly ancient. The massive ornamental frame, once bright as gold, now dulled and tarnished with the passage of the years, sat heavily on the oak mantlepiece and the frayed cords, which stretched from the picture rail high above, allowed it to lean precariously forward.

From the moment he opened the door, he had been aware that the mirror dominated the whole room, and now, as he sat waiting, he felt his eyes irresistibly drawn to its reflections - the horse-hair sofa, like the rest of the furniture faded and worn, the bulky dark sideboard, the big brass candlestick on the table nearby, and there, just outside the arc of light from the feeble gas jet - the door. Very soon now that door would open and Randolph would come in.

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The man in the chair frowned.

First it had been Martin, pompous and self-righteous, who had suddenly appeared to blast his hopes for the future. Then came Fred Jamieson, that small interfering busybody whose gossiping in the end forced him to flee to other parts. Cousin Anthony, successful in business, had been next, fearful lest his relationship to an ex-convict should become known. And now it was Randolph whose shrewd calculating brain had few scruples where acquiring money was concerned.

And the same thing would happen again. For the fourth time all that he had built up would be shattered. Under the threat of exposure his hard-won executive post would have to be relinquished; he would change his name ; move to another town. There would follow the long search for employment and then the struggle for promotion, and when the future again seemed bright with prospects of success, the past would once more reach out its hand to point an accusing finger at John Blake.

He gazed at his reflection in the mirror. The greying hair, lined face and tired eyes made him look older than his forty years.

Why did people victimise him so? Surely he had fully paid the penalty of his folly. Was it a misplaced sense of justice? Or an inherent streak of cruelty? Were they jealous that he was again making a success of his life?

His thoughts turned to Randolph. Quite by accident they had met the previous day and again he had experienced the cold fear which always gripped him when he was confronted with someone from his old life.

John Blake shivered. There was something sinister about this house to which he had been invited and he wondered why Randolph had chosen such a place for their meeting. The caretaker who had let him in pleaded ignorance, saying only that he had been told to expect two gentlemen.

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His fingers gripped the dingy coverings of the uncomfortable chair, and he could see complete determination on the face in the mirror. Despite his past he had, by untiring effort, reached a commanding business position and a seat on the board was not an impossibility. He would NOT be robbed of his reward a fourth time! No man would stand in his way now!

An odd sensation was creeping over him. Despite the chill of the room, beads of perspiration gathered on his brow. His eyes were held by the mirror whose reflections now stood out clearly, while the material objects around him faded into darkness.

He vaguely heard the opening and closing of a door. And there, standing behind his chair, was Randolph.

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“Good evening, John. I’m so glad you decided to accept my invitation.”

He met Randolph’s mocking eyes in the mirror and remained silent.

“I feel I owe you an apology for arranging our meeting in a place like this but,” he paused significantly, “I thought it would be ideal for our purpose.”

With difficulty the other man found his voice. “I said yesterday that I saw no point in this. I can’t understand why…….”

“Perhaps you’d rather I come straight to the point. Very well, I will.”

The speaker moved forward a pace and placed a hand on the back of the chair. Because of some fault in the glass, the reflection of Randolph’s thin face became distorted, and John Blake shivered involuntarily.

“I asked you to come here, John, because you and I have something in common. First, we share a secret - your secret.” The voice fell to a whisper. “And the second thing we share is - fear. You fear that your secret will become known, and I - I fear poverty. But, you know John, our fears can be groundless, if you agree to my proposal.”

Randolph turned from the mirror and moved slowly towards the sideboard.

“I think,” he continued, “A quarter of a million would clear my present debts - “

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It all happened in a flash!

As John Blake sat there rigid, his eyes glued to the enormous mirror, he saw his own reflection suddenly rise and, wheeling round to face the other’s back, snatch the big candlestick from the table. And still his body remained transfixed in the chair as he watched the candlestick gleam for a moment in the eerie gaslight and then come crashing down with a sickening crunch on Randolph’s head.

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For a long time he sat convulsed in sobs, his hands clasped tightly over his eyes to shut out what awful thing the mirror would show.

“I didn’t move from this chair,” he kept repeating, “I didn’t move!”

Then quite suddenly a wave of calm swept over him and he felt as if he had just wakened from a horrible nightmare. Steadily he rose to his feet and forced himself to look in the mirror.

Yes, the candlestick stood on the table, untouched. He was alone. But his hands trembled as he lit a cigarette and sat down to wait……….

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“Good evening John, I’m so glad you decided to accept my invitation.”

So absorbed had he been with his thoughts that he had not heard Randolph come in, and, taken off his guard, could only stare at him in the mirror.

“I feel I owe you an apology for arranging our meeting in a place like this,” Randolph was saying, “but I thought it would be ideal for our purpose.”

He felt mounting panic as the other’s opening words brought back the vividness of his dream, and he scarcely recognised the sound of his own voice.

“I said yesterday that I saw no point in this. I can’t understand why….”

“Perhaps you’d rather I come straight to the point. Very well, I will.”

The man in the chair had a terrifying feeling that he was an actor playing a part in some surreal drama, powerless to move or speak until his script dictated so.

The voice droned on but his confused brain caught only a word here and there.

In the mirror they held one another’s eyes, one pair filled with a growing horror, the other cynical and coldly smiling.

And then something snapped in his tortured mind!

As the speaker turned to the sideboard, Blake felt some strange power jerk him to his feet and spin him round to face his tormentor’s back. The room was swimming around him. He groped for the big candlestick and felt the cold smoothness of brass as he swung the weapon high above his head.

For one brief moment he knew complete and utter madness! A wild agonising hatred seared through every fibre of his being; a thousand screaming clawing devils fought for possession of his soul; strange meaningless patterns of colour spun around, tearing at his eyes, and there were fleeting glimpses of faces - Martin, Fred Jamieson, Cousin Anthony.

And then it was all over……

There was a resounding crash as the huge mirror fell to the hearth, and almost immediately his head was clear, his body relaxed; the madness had gone.

The two men gazed at the splintered glass and broken frame.

When Blake spoke his voice was calm and deliberate.

“My answer is - no,” he said, “I will not be blackmailed.”

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Somewhere a clock chimed the hour, and at last with an effort he roused himself and rose from the chair. His eyes wandered unseeingly round the empty room. Randolph would now be brooding over the failure of his plan to make some easy money.

Blake knew what he had to do. His resignation would be tendered tomorrow, he decided. And then - a change of name, a new town, a fresh start.

As he turned to leave, he glanced down at the broken mirror. He could see his face in one of the larger fragments and it seemed as if his reflection smiled mockingly at him.

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