The Mirror Never Lies
by Caroline Sztaba

Part 3

Irving Liste arrived at his home, or what was a mirror image of his home, around 5.30 PM. He noticed that, like everything else around him, there was no sign of movement from within the house. Normally his wife Lydia would be milling around the front garden or cleaning the windows or even chatting to the neighbors, but here was nothing but shadows and emptiness emanating from the house. He shuddered. What if Lydia was in there? But what if it was a different Lydia? The wife he knew was kind, gentle and placid. What if there was a monster waiting for him beyond the doors?

Irving opened the front door and stepped inside. The first thing he noticed was the smell.

Normally the house smelt of fresh pine cleaner and furniture polish where Lydia spent her days cleaning the house like a new pin. But today there was a rancid smell of rotting meat, like a garbage bag left unattended for weeks. It was overpowering and made Irving physically retch. He put his hand to his mouth and covered his nose. As he walked into the hall, he noticed the place was filled with flies, insects, maggots, rubbish and feces of every description. The walls had green mould, which covered the bright floral Laura Ashley print that adorned the long corridor leading to the kitchen. He looked into the reception room and noticed this too was pretty much in the same condition. The upholstered armchairs were torn and dirty, smeared with....heaven knows what! The floor was littered with papers and more unsavory bugs coupled with rotten food and chemical waste. He continued to the kitchen where the door was firmly shut. He could hear movement, like someone preparing a meal, cutlery and saucepans cluttering around. His stomach lurched, he didn't know what he would find or who!

The scene, which greeted Irving when he opened the kitchen door, can only be described as surreal.

Irving's wife was poised over the kitchen sink, her arms bloody up to her elbows. She seemed to be cutting up poultry of some sort, however it was difficult to tell because the whole of the kitchen was in such disarray. There were even more flies in this room and more mess littered about. Excrement smeared generously over the walls, tabletops and floors. Food taken out of packets and left near to carcasses of rotting meat. Cheese white with penicillin and mould covering the normally pristine white kitchen tiles. There wasn't a work surface that didn't contain waste of some kind. Irving threw up onto the floor. His stomach couldn't take much more, and the fact that his wife was preparing food in such conditions made him feel worse.

It was then that Lydia turned to him, and he finally saw what it was she was doing. She had cut the right side of her face off, clean to the bone. Here right eye was just a bloodied gaping hole and her dentures poked through the ravaged flesh, which hung in tendrils. He also noticed she was holding something in her hands. She offered the items to Irving, extending her bloodied arms to him. She gave him a deathly grimace that didn't quite make a smile. He could see in her palms, an ear, an eyeball and lumps of flesh.....the remains of her face.

For the umpteenth time that day Irving fainted.

When he came to he noticed darkness around him. But the smell was the same. He also felt restricted. His eyes became accustomed to the dark, and he noticed he was tied to a bed. He strained his eyes some more and realized it was his own bedroom. Through the gloom he could make out the patterned wallpaper, which appeared torn in places. There was also black mould everywhere. His hands were bound together, and his arms were spread either side, tied to each bedpost. In the darkness he could see a shape moving, gradually walking towards him. He began to scream, his helplessness and fear escalating. As the figure drew nearer he realized it was Lydia or the 'alternative' Lydia. She held in her hand a large kitchen knife, the one she normally used for cutting the giblets off poultry. He knew it was razor sharp. His screams became louder as Lydia hoisted the knife above her head, and then plunged it into his stomach, puncturing his abdomen, which released a geyser of warm blood, splashing onto the walls. Lydia repeatedly stabbed Irving until his screams turned to a gurgle and finally fell silent.

She stepped back to admire her handy work, seeing the blood drip from the bed onto the floor. The whole of Irving's body was covered in blood, his face a contorted mask of agony. Lydia started to giggle, a low nervous manic titter, which began to slowly increase in volume until she laughed hysterically, madness and insanity taking over completely. 

Suddenly, the room began to shake and quiver, like an earthquake. Lydia dropped the knife and held onto the bedpost for support, her laughter dying instantly. The house continued to shake for a few more minutes then....stillness. A smile began to form on what remained of her lips. It seemed someone else had looked into the mirror and was paying her and the master a little visit......

To be continued.......................................

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