Ghosts and Mirrors

I will never forget the stories my grandmother used to tell me when no one was around. My family was super religious so they did not approve of anything that was not in the bible or about becoming a better Christian. After a particularly scary tale she would remind me that I was not to breathe a word of it to anyone. I was little at the time so I didn’t think anything of it. It was our little secret. I loved secrets, they made me feel important and special.

The story that I never forgot was she told me when I was again, very little. I couldn’t remember much except it had to do with mirrors and reflections. One night as I sat at her feet while she did needlepoint by the candle light I remember asking her about the story. Her face became serious, she couldn’t believe I had forgotten such an important tale. This is what she told me…

Once upon a time many many years ago and long before your great grandparents were a twinkle in their parents eye, there was a little girl. This little girl was born to a poor man and woman who lived on a run down farm. There was always work to be done on the farm so the little girl didn’t get to go to school like the other children and when she did they were mean to her and called her names. Eventually she quit going at all.

One day the little girl discovered a mirror in the loft of the barn where she had gone to hide from the noon day sun and her chores. It wasn’t until she sat down to have a pretend picnic that she met the little girl in the mirror. They talked for what felt like hours. The little girl would tell the mirror girl about the farm and the animals, she would tell her about her parents and the children at school.

For the first time it felt like the little girl had a friend. She was happier than usual, smiling more, rushing to do her chores without being told just so she could go play. This went on for a month or so before her mother became genuinely curious. She would stop the little girl asking, “Where are you runnin’ off to in such a hurry, lass?”

“To play with my friend!” The little girl exclaimed, “We’re going to have a picnic!” Before she could ask anymore questions the little girl had run out the door. The mother tried to remember if any of the families near them had a little girl their daughter’s age but she couldn’t think of a single one. So if her daughter wasn't playing with another little girl from the neighboring farms, who was she playing with?

Later that night as the mother tucked her little girl in bed she asked her, “Darling, who is this little girl that you’ve been playing with? How did you meet?”

The little girl’s eyes glittered in pure happiness, “I met her when I went into the loft. I sat down to play picnic and the girl in the mirror asked if she could play. She has the same name as me!” As the little girl went on the mother’s face would pale, her hands would tremble and her voice would quiver,

“My darlin’ lass, you must never go near the loft again.. You must never talk or play with that little girl again, do you understand? I need you to promise.” She turned, holding her child’s hands in her own hand, “Promise me..”

The little girl cried, her heart broken. The girl in the mirror was her friend, her only friend. The little girl didn’t understand the danger she had been in, “But why Mama?”

She refused to tell her daughter the real reason. Instead she snapped at her, “Because I am your mother and I said so! Now do as I tell you.” Her mother stormed out of the room slamming the door behind her. The little girl cried hard. The house eventually became quiet as her mother and father went to sleep but the little girl was wide awake. She quickly put on her play clothes before sneaking down the stairs and out the back door to the barn.

When morning came the mother felt bad about the way she had reacted to her daughter’s crying. She wanted to make it up to her and explain why she couldn’t play with the girl in the mirror anymore. So she made the little girl her favorite breakfast and called her down but the little girl never came down. Worry began to fill a pit in the mother’s stomach as she ran up the stairs throwing her daughter’s door open only to see that the room was empty and had been all night.

“No, no..” The mother exclaimed as she ran from the house to the barn, stumbling up into the loft screaming for her daughter. Her stomach dropped as she the large frame mirror void of any glass. It lay scattered across the floor, her daughter’s shoe among the shards.

Now some could say the moral of the story was about obeying your parents. Others could say that it shows the dangers of not telling someone why you won’t let them do something. For me, well, I never talked to my reflection. I never look at her longer than I have to. I remember telling my mother about it when she was staring into the mirror for too long complaining about her wrinkles.

She asked me who could tell me such a horrible story, I laughed and told her Grandmother did. I had never seen this woman look so confused and worried as she told me that I didn’t have a grandmother on either side of the family. My mother’s mother died during childbirth and my father was an orphan. My mother and I never talked about that day again. I often thought about how it didn’t make sense, I know for a fact I sat there and talked to a woman who said she was my grandmother from my early childhood to my late teen years before I moved away to college.

Though, now I think I understand why Grandmother didn’t want me to tell anyone what she had told me.