What's the Catch?

The mirror showed a reflection that wasn’t my own.

The difference was so subtle a glance might not notice it at all. Even if you looked thoroughly many might not notice anything amiss. But I’d been slowly growing aware of the image feeling “off”, not quite true.

Now something to know about me, I can be almost obsessive about those silly puzzles where you are given two similar images and you search for the differences. I excel at finding even the most obscure variations. I spot stuff no one else does. And I do so many of those puzzles that seeing a reflection is always like encountering a puzzle, my mind immediately begins to look for what’s different even though I know it will be the same. But this mirror? This mirror was different.

Two weeks ago

It was a really old mirror and my husband wasn’t sure where it came from but it was in the house with all the rest of his distant great-aunt’s possessions he’d inherited. We found it in the attic, wrapped in several layers of old quilts tied tightly around it. Realizing it must be something fragile, we carried it carefully down to one of the bedrooms before unwrapping it. The wooden frame stood strong and steady on the floor and the mirror was suspended in a yoke that allowed it to tilt up and down. The entire yoke swiveled side to side and the wood was a gorgeous honey color with delicate floral carving throughout.

I loved it immediately, but my policy as a former self-proclaimed hoarder is three days to sleep on it and make appropriate evaluations of its worth and usefulness before adding anything of any significant size. My three days were up.

“Keep or sell? Easy question Cate,” Alan prompted.

But it really wasn’t. I had been thrilled by the mirror at first, the color was amazingly a perfect match to our custom-made bedroom set. And in our new house, I hadn’t yet put up a full-length mirror for checking my outfits when dressing. The larger room had plenty of space to add a frivolous piece of character and beauty, and my newly minimalist side could argue for the functionality of the mirror.

“There’s just something off about the reflection,” I whined.

“Looks fine to me. Keep in mind that’s an old mirror, real silver or mercury or whatever they used back then to coat the glass. That stuff tends to fade or run or evaporate or something and most old mirrors are at least a little off.”

“Not like that. Something else.”

“What?” He sighed. “I see you, me, the furniture, the walls, all there. Either you want it or not.”

I haven’t told Alan everything. He’d be sure I was losing touch with reality again. But sometimes there were little differences between the reflection in this mirror and reality. Things in the mirror just looked brighter, cleaner, and better somehow. Now I suppose that’s not a bad thing – but I’m a realist – if my pants make my ass look big, I want to know it.

Crazy as it sounds, things changed between the reflection in the mirror and reality. Telling Alan that would have him suggesting I need a ‘vacation’ to see my doctor. I’m not hallucinating. At least, I’m pretty sure I’m not. I’m not stressed, depressed, or anything else, I know what I’m seeing is real. Of course, things seemed real before that were not. But this is real.

For example, some of the wallpaper was peeling in the bedroom. I had been playing with the lifting edge, considering if we needed to do anything about it before selling the house. Then when passing the room later I looked in the mirror and I noticed in the reflection the wallpaper was not peeling. I stepped inside and looked closer at the reflection and there it was, peeling like on the wall, so I wrote it off as angles and light and just being tired.

As I walked out, I wished aloud that the wall could have really looked as good as the reflection. I mentioned to Alan that we probably should tack down that wallpaper, it would look so much better and wouldn’t have to be a big job, just some glue or something as a quick cosmetic cover. Later that night I couldn’t believe my ears.

Alan came into our bedroom smiling. “Good job on that wallpaper, no sign of it ever peeling.”

“What?”

“The wallpaper. I see you found some glue and tacked it down.”

“Oh, ok.” I said as my mind raced with panic. “So, it looks good? I’m just going to go peek at the final result.”

I hadn’t done anything. Had I? I had gone to look for some glue but didn’t recall finding any. I definitely didn’t remember doing the actual gluing. The paper was not only not peeling, but it also seemed brighter and cleaner, much as it had in that reflection where I first saw it not peeling.

As I looked at the mirror, a shiver ran through me with a feeling like a hand softly stroking my spine with its fingernails. I wished aloud for the wall to look good, now it did. It was like something heard my wish and granted it. Alan would think I was crazy, so I said nothing.

Another difference seemed to move actual stuff into reality. Yesterday I went for a break and sat on the bed in the room with the mirror. I laid back and put my feet up then sighed out loud that I should have thought to bring a drink up with me. Turning my head to the side, I looked in the mirror and saw a reflection of a tall glass of iced tea sitting on the floor beside the bed. I rolled to look over the edge and there was a glass of iced tea sitting on the floor. Cool and fresh and it hadn’t been there long because the condensation had not even dripped down around the glass onto the floor yet.

I took the glass and went to find Alan.

“Hey, did you leave this in the mirror room?”

“You’re the one always hanging out in there, not me,” he said with a laugh. “So distracted by the mirror you forgot you brought a drink along? That looks great, bring me a glass please?”

“Take this one, it’s full,” I said without thinking as I handed him the glass. Then wondered if it was safe to drink. He drank it down as I watched, then I took the glass to the kitchen to get my own drink.

Could it be as simple as making some tea, bringing it up with me, and then forgetting about it? Nope. We didn’t have any iced tea made and the glass didn’t match any others in the cabinet. But I didn’t dare consider trying to tell Alan.

I could hear his voice – that sigh and eye-roll, here we go again voice – telling me it was my imagination. Since we’re using instant tea mix, I must have just mixed up a single glass for myself, not a pitcher. There are so many different fragments of sets of glassware and dishes, it’s entirely possible to have just one glass left of this pattern. I decided not to say anything about it.

But I knew. I knew that unlike him I never make just a single glass. What the heck is the point of that anyway? It’s no faster than making a pitcher and then there’s some ready for your next glass or the other people in the house.

“Earth to Cate! You in there?” Alan snapped his fingers in front of me. “Easy question. Keep or sell?”

“I wish I could show you what I mean by ‘off’,” I started to say as I looked into the mirror and my eyes were drawn to the reflection of a ring on my hand. The one lost months ago on a weekend vacation.

“My RING!” I shouted pointing to the reflection.

Alan looked at the mirror and then at my hand where the ring now was on my finger. “So, it really was just in your luggage somewhere? When did you find it?”

“I didn’t find it!”

“Clearly you did, you’re wearing it.”

“The mirror. It was on my finger in the mirror…” I trailed off realizing how it will sound to say that it then suddenly appeared on my finger like magic.

Alan looked at me with cautious concern. “Yeess. It should be reflected in the mirror if it is on your finger. Unless you’re claiming it’s a vampire ring and should have no reflection? Don’t let it bite,” he quipped.

“Keep.”

“What?”

“I want to keep the mirror, Alan,” I said hurriedly.

“It matches our room, and the reflections are perfectly useful.” I was drowning in uncertainty about the choice but imagined the possibilities. Wish for something, ask for it, and it appears? Lose something and it’s found? I would just have to be careful about not talking about things from the mirror.

He looked at me with his head tilted and eyes squinted. “You’re sure? Because you’ve been whining about the reflection being off constantly.”

“I’m sure. It will be fine. Great even.”

“Okay.”

What have I done? As soon as I said keep a little cold dark ball of dread formed in the pit of my stomach. Alongside a sparkly ball of excitement and curiosity. So many possibilities. But there must be a catch. In all the books and movies there’s always a hidden price. I didn’t notice anything with the wallpaper and tea and ring though.

Present

We got the mirror home and it looks as good as we thought it would. Perfect color and size, like it has always been with us.

I don’t want to push too hard; the whole be careful what you wish for adage keeps rolling around in my mind. But I did “find” a few more lost items. I figure that is safe enough, finding something that is rightfully mine. How much of a catch can there be to that?

And I’m really excited about this latest ‘found’ item. For his birthday I decided to ask the mirror to find an old pocketknife Alan lost years ago; it had been his grandfather’s and he had been very sad to lose it.

“I said no gifts this year,” Alan sighs as I slide the small gift box across the dinner table toward him. “We really need to tighten the budget. That inheritance was nothing but a drain. Nothing in her accounts, and even with everything we sold from the inside, getting that house on the market took a chunk from our savings. I don’t know how she managed to keep that old place all those years between property taxes and maintenance.”

“It’s OK, I didn’t spend anything, I just found something,” I reply. “Open it.”

Alan stares at the knife in confusion. “What? Where did this come from?”

“I just found it in a corner, it must have been hiding in one of the packing boxes and fell out. Your grandfather’s pocketknife.”

“It can’t be I lost that one camping.” Alan almost seems to be getting angry now.

“Well, there it is.” I insist. “Aren’t you happy to have it back?”

“This isn’t the same knife, look how new it looks. You don’t have to lie about buying me a gift, it’s OK.”

“I found it. And cleaned it up. I didn’t buy it.”

“Well, this one has all three blades, and I personally broke the mid-size blade off my grandfather’s knife,” Alan says his voice getting frosty. Then he looks hard at me. “Having his initials engraved into it to try to fool me is going a step too far, Cate. Don’t keep lying to me.”

Oh no. The mirror brought the knife back but not its history.

How do I explain this? He’s in no mood to hear the truth about the mirror. I’ll be packed off to the looney bin in no time. But if I say I bought it he’ll want to know how much and which card I used and stuff.

“Really, Alan, I found it. OH! Maybe it didn’t fall out of one of our packing boxes, maybe it was one of the boxes from your great-aunt Ellie’s house? All the little stuff that we didn’t have time to go through and kept in case there’s something valuable on closer inspection?

"The house was originally their grandparents’ house, maybe he had two of those knives and lost one when visiting his grandparents? Those are all banker boxes with the handle holes in the side, so it makes more sense it fell out of one of those anyway.”

Where did that come from? I am not usually that fast on my feet with spinning stories. I hold my breath waiting for his response.

I can see the tension release. “That actually makes sense.” Then he looks a little sad. “But if he lost this one, then the one he gave me was just a replacement. He told me it had been a special gift for his 13th birthday from his grandfather.”

“It could still have been a special gift for his 13th birthday. Maybe it was a special gift to replace this one after it was lost? After all, back then 13 would have been a little old to be getting a pocketknife for the first time, this one might have been an earlier gift. And what was most special about the one you lost is that it was the one he had kept and used all those years. I’m sorry this one doesn’t have all that history for you.”

“True. Thank you,” Alan says as he leans over and kisses me.

I almost sigh aloud in relief. That was close. No more using that damn mirror.

“And thank you for listening on the no extra spending. We’re going to have to talk about just how tight things are getting since you haven’t been able to find a new job.”

Guilt floods me. I know it’s not my fault I had to take all that time away to get my head together, but it seems like the whole world sees the slightest gap in work history and is like ‘red flag’ don’t hire this one. It crosses my mind that maybe the mirror can help but I squash that thought immediately. Be careful what you wish for, actions have consequences and all the rest of that junk.

I’ve tossed and turned all night for a week. Alan is even commenting on how sleepless and restless I’ve been. I can see the worry in his eyes and feel him hovering, watching me for any signs I need help again.

It feels like the mirror is calling to me, goading me, daring me to ask it for more. And every time I wonder what kind of price I might have to pay, I shiver as those cold fingernails trail down my spine.

The mirror has taken to visually tempting me. Like that first time when I caught just a glimpse of the wallpaper restored, then when I looked closer it wasn’t and I wrote it off as angles and light and whatever. I’ll catch just out of the corner of my eye a reflection of something different, then it’s gone.

A couple of days ago it was the bedspread. The reflection showed a different one – gorgeous and so much better than our current old rag. I wanted so much to say “I wish I had that bedspread” and then turn to the bed and see it there for real. Then it was the curtains. Before that, a suit hanging on my closet door, which would be a perfect interview outfit – if I ever get to the interview stage anywhere.

My mind keeps spinning circles around what the catch might be to the magic the mirror seems to offer. And how to minimize any cost, like only asking for things we’ve lost. Maybe I could just wish to know where to buy them. That’s just knowledge, how costly could that be? Ha. My student loan balances say it could be quite costly. Not that it would do me any good with the new budget. No new suits or bedspreads or curtains in my near future. As I walk out of the room, I again feel those icy fingernails stroking my spine, begging me to wait, speak, wish.

Three more hours of online searching, applying, and crying. I can’t do it anymore. I step through the doorway and stare at the mirror. The icy nails have been replaced with a warm gentle hand, caressing my back in slow circles.

The consequences will be whatever they will be.

“I wish I could get hired for a good job.” My phone pings a new e-mail alert and I see the subject line We’d like to Schedule an Interview.

“I wish I had the money for the bedspread and curtains and suit and to clear some of our bills and…,” I pause, thinking, as my purse sitting on the dresser splits at the seams, cash pouring out.

Then I shudder in horror as laughter erupts and a hissing voice whispers, “You’re mine now,” as icy fingernails stroke up my spine before wrapping around my neck.

The mirror shows a reflection that isn’t my own. It’s subtle, the demon peering out of my eyes. But it’s there. The consequences will be whatever they will be. We smile, collecting the cash and deciding it’s not really necessary to answer that interview message.