Dark Winter (3 page)

Nan was older than me, in any case, and I had found out about her age purely by accident. My mother had left some documents lying around, and I caught sight of the year of her birth – 1905. Wow, because I had no idea she had been born so long ago. I respected her even more then.

The particular story centred around a church in the village where my Mum had lived in Ireland, before coming to England as an adult. Mama, an elderly lady on my mother’s side, gave the two girls – Nan and her friend Dana, an envelope with money to give as a donation to the church.

The church itself was very old, and was rather imposing to two eleven year old girls. They had been in the church before, but on the night in question it looked even more scary. Back in those days, you wouldn’t have to worry about the place being locked. You could just walk right in.

Entry to the church was via a huge oak door that opened down the centre. The building had one large spire to the right of the roof, and a huge window of stainless glass was on the front of the old church. Statues of saints and bishops surrounded the building, looking for all the world like gargoyles standing on watch.

It was a dark winter’s night. It wasn’t snowing, but it looked like it just might do that, so the two girls hurried into the church with the envelope.

The floor made a loud noise as the girls walked on it. Echoes reverberated around the church hall. Hurriedly, Nan made for the table near the altar of the church and placed the envelope down on it.

There was no-one in the church except the two girls. At that moment, the table rose up – it was a figure, in the cloth of one of the convent nuns. Except that, there couldn’t be a nun here, not at this time.

The hair stood up on Nan’s neck, and she ran, screaming and swearing out of the church, with her friend Dana following her, bewildered about what was going on.

The floor was highly polished, and very shiny, and Nan nearly did the splits on the floor, before collecting herself and getting out of the church as fast as she could.

A local policeman stopped the girls to see what all the commotion was about, and when it was explained to him, whilst he may not have believed there was a ghost in the church, the girls believed it. He escorted them close to home and bade them good night.

I asked my Nan, “So, is that it?”

She said, “Aren’t you scared, even a little bit?”

I had to admit I was, but it perhaps was the fact that this had been the sixth night in a row in which Nan had told me a ghost story. I conveniently neglected to say I had been watching horror films on my television into the small hours. My nerves were on edge more than usual.

“I think so,” I replied weakly.

“But you were expecting more,” she said.

“Well, yes!” I stammered, with perhaps too much honesty.

“But isn’t it more scary when it’s left like that, Milly? If the ghost just fades away, what is there to be scared of?”

“That it might come back,” I answered, a bit too quickly. I was almost correcting her about calling me ‘Milly,’ but it was her pet name for me, and she had told me a story even though she was tired, so I let it be. Her next words stopped me in my tracks.

“No, it’s not that,” said Nan, “but that it might never go away.” She hissed the word
away,
which added to my state of increasing unease. Jesus. Why did I do this to myself? I was sure Nan enjoyed terrorising me. “Or can never be killed, or banished. Those ghosts are the ones to watch out for, Romilly.”

I tried to regain my composure.

“Is it a true story Nan?”

“It’s true,” said Nan simply. “The stories are always true.”

“What about the made up ones?” I ventured a smirk.

“Especially the made up ones.
Especially those
. But I think you’re too old to be hearing ghost stories. Maybe Romilly, you should try being in one. I’ve seen my share of ghosts over the time.”

“I…I’m not sure I’d like to see a real ghost, actually Nan. Not for real.”

“Wouldn’t that be great,” said Nan, with a hint of despondency, “if we could choose to see ghosts or not.”

Without saying a further word, to my surprise, Nan got up out of bed and went to her dressing table.

Opening a drawer, she brought out a rectangular box which had small flowers drawn all over it. It was damaged at the edges. I already knew what was in it.

Nan wore a huge smile over her face, and motioned me to sit on the bed next to her. “Here’s something that just might scare you then.”

“Here.” She handed me the box, gesturing “Come on, Milly, open it.”

I gently fingered under the lid. I had already made up my mind that I wouldn’t like what was ever inside.

“Open it,” said Nan, a bit more sternly, but not in any unfriendly kind of a way.

Stifling a sigh, I bit my lip and pulled the lid off.

Inside the box was a mirror, the very one I had seen a year ago at Rosewinter. My Nan’s eyes sparkled.

“You
see
this, Milly? You see it, don’t you?”

I certainly saw
something.
Something
rather odd. As Nan lifted the mirror out of the box, her hand seemed to merge with the handle of the mirror. I then convinced myself that my eyes were playing tricks on me, and that nothing had really happened. I rubbed my eyeballs a little too roughly, but soon regained focus.

“Look into the mirror, Milly,” said Nan, holding the mirror right in front of me. It seemed very old, perhaps as old, if not older, than Nan herself, and whilst the glass itself could do with a clean, the ornate rubies that adorned the golden mirror were sparkling.

But there was a problem. I don’t know if Nan’s ghost story had left me un-nerved, but I just didn’t want to look into it. But Nan was always kind to me, and I trusted her implicitly, so refusing her wish wasn’t on.

So, I looked into the mirror, and saw just what I expected.

“I just see me, Nan.” Christ. Just look at my hair. I really did need to fix it. My eyes were sunk into their sockets, and black bags hung underneath. I almost looked like someone you would see on Jeremy Kyle. What a mess. I would simply have to forget the horror movies, and get to sleep earlier. Channel Four were having a Hellraiser season, and I had only watched the first two.  If Pinhead ever compiled a list of possible prom dates, the way I was looking, I could qualify.

“Look a little longer, Milly,” said Nan. “Then, then you will see.”

“Huh? What the-” I blurted out the words just as my image disappeared, and the mirror just showed the back of the bedroom wall, as if I wasn’t even there. My hand also seemed to have fused with part of the mirror’s handle, somehow, though I knew such thoughts were crazy.

Thoughts were one thing. Feelings were another. I felt my hands start to burn, and the skin around my fingers, hands and wrists gave off a burnt ash type scent.

Then I felt voices in my head, and I felt light headed. There were too many voices to process, never mind understand what they were saying. I went to drop the mirror, and Nan cradled the mirror and caught hold of my arm.

“Nan? What’s….what’s happening?”

“That, my dear, is no ordinary mirror. It catches souls.”

My Nan said this with the straightest of faces.

“I can tell you don’t believe me, but it’s true. Romilly Winter, you have to believe me.”

Oh no. If Nan called me
Romilly Winter
, and not her usual
Milly
, that meant one of two things. Either I was in trouble, or about to get into trouble. I couldn’t tell with any certainty what it was, much less fear to ask.

I stared at her absent-mindedly, then at my singed hands. Something was majorly wrong here. So. Enough of playing chicken. I somehow plucked up courage to ask her anyway.

“Nan, you’re serious, aren’t you? You’re absolutely serious.”

I know that other people in my situation would have been running down to Mum and Dad to say the old dear had gone crazy, but there was an intensity, a sincerity about Nan that made me think that she really was telling the truth.

“The Mirror of Souls,” said Nan. “You felt them, didn’t you, when you held the Mirror, right Milly?”

Milly. I’m Milly again, thank goodness.

“No time for buts. The Mirror is yours now. Look after it.”

“No! I won’t keep it Nan! This is too weird. I can’t handle it.”

“You must. I’ve fewer years ahead of me than you have, so…..don’t argue with me.  I’ve seen the future, little one, and you…..you
need
the Mirror. You’re the only one who can deal with what is coming. I am too old for all that.”

“All what Nan? This is show and tell. You show me things, but you tell me nothing.”

“You will be fine Milly. Just…keep on doing what you are doing. You are still going to kung fu class, are you?”

What a strange question. “Yes…but-”

“You’re going to Rosewinter for your birthday, right?”

“I am. At least, that’s the plan. You know Mum.”

“You cannot take no for an answer. I know you won’t to go, but you have to be there. Something will try and take the Mirror from you, and kill you if you get in its way. But you can’t let it, Milly. Do you see the marks on your hands?”

I did. God, I did.

“They will…protect you. But you have protect others as well. You see, my markings are fading, yours are getting stronger. The Mirror will imprint itself on you, and only you now. Should any foe try to harm you, place your hand on their chest. There will be an intense heat emanating from your fingers, even hotter than what felt just now, and that which would attack you, will fade.”

Mirrors. Markings. Unknown things that would try to kill me. This was no mere story, no fantasy. Nan was very matter-of-fact when she spoke about this, and was not at all like the conversational tone she used when telling me ghost stories.

“Um, Nan….you were saying something about protecting others?”

“Oh. Oh yes. Remember my magic gloves?”

Oh yes. I loved that trick. Nan would place these white lace gloves over her hands, and voila! The markings would disappear. I never quite figured out how she did it.

She reached the inside of her pillow slip, pulled the gloves out and held them in front of me.

“Now, they belong to you as well.”

“Oh no, Nan, I couldn’t possibly take them from you.”

“You’re not taking them, I’m giving them to you. If you don’t wear them, everyone will see your markings. If you ever find yourself with dark thoughts, you may end up hurting others. I know you don’t want that, so please, wear them at all times except when you feel at your safest. Don’t bring tears to your old Nan, now. Just promise you’ll go to Rosewinter for your sixteeth birthday. Promise me.”

Well, what could I do? It couldn’t harm me to keep the Mirror in the box, and if it made Nan happy, well, what of it? I just wish she had said it was some kind of antique, was worth a hundred thousand pounds now, and if I kept it safe for a few years, it would be worth ten times that, and I would be set for life. No such luck.

“I promise, Nan.”

I could always back out of it later.

I tried to rationalise things. Whatever I had just saw or felt, it was as a result of successive nights of Nan’s ghost stories. I was more than a little un-nerved, but decided that I would do my best to keep composed. I would go to sleep, wake up the next day, and it would all be fine. No markings, no Mirror, no mystery.

“On one condition, Nan. You’ve got to keep telling me your stories.”

“You’ve got a deal there, Milly.”

I put the lid on the box, stood up, straightened my nightgown and hugged Nan, giving her a kiss on the cheek. I had a million questions about all that had happened, but it would have to wait until the morning at least.

I just had to steel myself from opening the box again, at least until the morning. I just wanted to satisfy myself that what had happened, hadn’t happened at all. I do remember putting the box away in my dresser. That, I remember.

Despite my exhaustion, and Hellraiser 3 playing in the background, it wasn’t easy to sleep, and it was little to do with Nan’s story and prophecy that something would try and kill me on my sixteenth birthday.

No, what was making it hard to sleep was the imprint on my hands from the handle of the Mirror. That was real. It was like I had been branded, somehow, like slaves of old that I would hear about in history class.

I dozed off, then woke again. I immediately checked my hands and was relieved to see they were unblemished. No markings at all!

Mum and Dad told me Nan’s hands looked as they did because she had burnt her hands handling a hot fire poker in her youth.

I know that now not to be true.

I was fixated on my hands as the pain of the branding made tiny little rivers of red on my hands, first on the back, then on my palms and wrists. The pain was intolerable, and yet, just as I was about to scream my loudest scream ever, the pain subsided.

There was no longer any doubt what the markings on what my Nan’s hands were – because now, I have those same identical markings on mine.