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(Dis)claimer: This story is inspired by, and is a tribute to, Lewis Carroll’s Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland and Through the Looking-Glass. That being said, there will probably be some similarities to the original stories, but I’m not just re-writing a modern version, and I do think this stands as an original work, so I’ve decided to post it here. This is, of course, a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Summary: Hoping to break the tedium of her daily life, Abbie Munro shadows the mysterious, white-haired man that passes by her grandfather’s diner every night. She follows him through an old mirror and wakes up in a dark world ruled by a tyrannical queen, where logic is twisted and nothing is as it seems. Slowly, the memories of her former life begin to fade. A boy with a manic grin vows to help her escape…but how can she find her way back home when she can’t even remember her own name?
A/N: This is the first original fiction I’ve ever posted online, so I’m slightly nervous. I’ve been writing since I was a kid, but the only writing I’ve posted online before now was fanfiction. Thanks in advance to anyone who reads this. Reviews/constructive criticism would be greatly appreciated.
Alice
Chapter 1: Curiosity Killed the Cat
“Today marks the six-year anniversary of the disappearance of Colin Pierce, son of Senator Ronald Pierce…”
“Oh, what a shame! They still haven’t found that poor boy…”
Abigail Munro looked up from the dried ketchup and egg yolk she was dutifully scrubbing off of one of the Formica tables in her grandfather’s diner and blinked at Hannah.
The older woman was shaking her head sympathetically, light brown eyes focused on the wall-mounted television across the room.
“…Colin Pierce was last seen on Halloween of 2000. Over the last six years, Senator Pierce and wife, socialite Audrey Pierce, have dedicated hundreds of thousands of dollars to searching for their missing son, even going as far as starting The Colin Pierce Foundation, which collects money and assists with search and rescue efforts for missing children throughout the state…”
“I feel so sorry for Mrs. Pierce,” Hannah murmured, turning away from the television and reaching for the broom and dustpan. “Imagine never knowing. It must be torture…”
Abbie sighed and went back to scrubbing. “I do feel sorry for her…but tons of kids go missing everyday. Why don’t any of those cases get this much media attention? The only reason this case is still in the spotlight is because he was the son of a rich politician.”
“Oh, Abbie, you’re so cynical.”
“I’m being honest, not cynical.” Tossing her thick mahogany braid over her shoulder, Abbie propped a tub of dirty dishes on her hip and turned toward the kitchen. “Come on, Hannah, what about that Wilson girl that went missing last year? Have you heard a word about it since? But let the same thing happen to the son of a wealthy senator and we’re still hearing about it six years later…”
“That doesn’t change the fact that it’s tragic.”
Abbie shrugged without answering. It was tragic, she wouldn’t deny it. She just didn’t think the story deserved such constant media attention. It had been six years, for crying out loud. Rehashing the story once a year was like beating a dead horse. Pointless.
“That picture doesn’t do him any justice,” Hannah said in a disapproving tone. “Do you remember that night he was in here, Abbie? He was so handsome. Oh, if I’d been thirty years younger…”
Abbie quirked an eyebrow at her and flicked a glance at the television. She was surprised to discover that she agreed with Hannah, as they rarely agreed on anything, but the picture above the anchorman’s right shoulder did pale in comparison to her memory of Colin Pierce.
She had been eleven the night he and his friends had come into Munro’s, the night he had disappeared. Even then she had helped in the diner for ten dollars a day, clearing tables and washing dishes in the kitchen with her best friend Jesse.
The bells above the door had jangled as he walked in, and she’d looked up from the table she was cleaning, completely enthralled. He’d looked as beautiful as an angel, with his burnished gold hair and lapis lazuli eyes. He had seemed so much larger than life to Abigail, who had developed her first, instantaneous, adolescent crush at the sight of him.
He and his friends had come to Munro’s for ice-cold root beers and garlic-butter fries, which the tiny diner was famous for throughout the city.
She had watched them surreptitiously as she cleared the tables, feeling awkward in her kitten costume. He had seemed so vibrant as he laughed and joked with his friends, his blue eyes jewel-bright even in the dim lighting of the diner. They had lingered long after their food was finished, and she finally summoned the courage to approach the table to clear their plates, the fuzzy black tail of her costume brushing her stocking-covered legs.
Everything had gone smoothly at first, until her nervous, clumsy fingers had tipped over a half-full glass of root beer, sending cold brown liquid splashing across the white tabletop. She had frozen in place with a squeak of horror, cheeks flaming red with humiliation, but as his friends had jumped out of the way with startled shouts, he had laughed and started sopping up the liquid with his napkin.
“You make a very cute kitty, you know,” he’d said with a wink, and she had giggled, some of the embarrassment ebbing away.
She’d periodically caught him smiling at her over the next few hours, and before he and his friends had finally left, he’d slipped her a five-dollar bill as a tip.
“Look me up in a few years, kitten,” he’d whispered with another wink. “Happy Halloween.”
And then he was gone.
Two days later she’d heard about his disappearance. She’d been sad, of course, but over time her feelings had faded, as young crushes tend to do, and eventually she’d forgotten about that cold October night. She’d grown older, started high school, continued working in the diner on nights and weekends, and the memory had been buried by the passage of time. But now it came back in a rush, clear as if she were watching it replay on film, and she allowed herself a nostalgic smirk.
Strange that I didn’t remember that until now, she thought, carrying the tub of dishes through the swinging door that led into the kitchen. She supposed it was because of the newscast, and because the night had been a night very much like this one—cold, dark and rainy.
“What are you smiling about?”
Abigail started at her best friend’s voice, wincing as the glasses in the tub clinked together.
Jesse was standing in front of the dishwasher, looking disgruntled, his dark blond hair clinging to his forehead with sweat. “This damn thing is leaking again.”
Sighing, Abbie set the tub down in one of the large stainless steel sinks and turned on the hot water. Back to reality. “Well, we’ll have to call the repairman again. He said that he’d come back and fix it for free if anything went wrong.”
“But that’s the point, Abbie,” Jesse said with a frown. “We wouldn’t have to call him back if he’d fixed it properly in the first place.”
“Yeah, well, if a frog had wings, it wouldn’t bump its ass every time it hit the ground,” Abbie mumbled, repeating one of her grandfather’s favorite clichés. “That thing is ten years old. What do you expect, Jesse? It’s not like grandpa has the money for a new one.”
Jesse shook his head. “If he doesn’t even have the money for a new dishwasher, how can he afford to keep this place afloat? Business has been slow as all hell lately.”
Abbie bit her lip anxiously. It felt like she and Jesse had worked in the diner for all of their lives. She hated to think of it closing down, even if she dreamed of getting away from it almost every night. She didn’t want to be a waitress for the rest of her life, but she didn’t want to see her grandfather’s lifework go down the drain. The revenue from the diner was their only means of support. She still held the hope that her meager tips, along with the scholarships she had applied for, would pay for her psychology degree.
She had moved in with her grandfather after her parents had died when she was eight. They lived in the apartment above the diner, and Jesse and his mother shared the apartment on the third floor. For all their differences, she and Jesse had become fast friends and remained so throughout high school. They would even be attending the same university next fall.
Jesse was rebellious by nature and was constantly getting into trouble, but his grades were impressive, as was his skill at basketball, which had brought him a variety of scholarship offers from schools across the country. He’d declined them all, save for the offer from the local university, and said that he could play basketball there as good as anywhere…but Abbie knew that he had only chosen to attend the school because of her. He didn’t want to leave her—shy, awkward Abbie—alone and friendless at a new school. It made her feel guilty, because he would certainly have a better chance of being spotted by a NBA recruiter at a Big Ten school than he would here, but another part of her was grateful. Sad as it was, she was terrified of being without him. He and Hannah had become a part of her ramshackle family. Her life wouldn’t be the same if he left.
“Business will pick up soon, Jesse,” she said as she scrubbed a plate clean and dipped it into the sanitizing water. “It has to.”
Her friend joined her at the sinks and began to towel-dry the plates she’d set aside.
“I’m sure it will, Abbie,” he said softly, and she tried to ignore the worried glint in his eye.
“Maybe we should go to Melissa’s Halloween party,” Abigail suggested with forced cheer. “Who cares if we weren’t invited? The whole senior class is going to be there. No one would notice if we crashed.”
Jesse glanced at her sideways, hazel eyes amused. “What’s with you tonight? First, you walk in with that goofy grin on your face and now you’re suggesting that we crash a party? You must be running a fever.”
Abbie shrugged. “I’m bored. And I’ve never crashed a party before. You only live once, right? We should definitely go.”
“Abbie…” Jesse hesitated. “Are you sure you’d want to do that? Melissa’s been your mortal enemy since third grade. She’d flip out if she noticed, and she’d probably make a huge scene.”
“I just…I just want to do something,” Abbie said with a sigh. “High school is almost over and I’ve never even been invited to a party. Even the geeks from the chess club were invited.”
“Abbie, be honest, you’ve never made any effort to make friends. You can’t expect people to come to you. You have to put yourself out there.”
Abbie’s hands went still in the soapy water. “I try…”
“You don’t try, Abbie. You’re completely anti-social. It’s like you expect people to come up to you and just offer to be your friend. It doesn’t work like that.”
Hurt flared in Abbie’s chest at his words. She reached out to shut off the water and wiped soapy fingers dry on her apron. “Then why are you my friend? If I’m so anti-social and unlikable, why did you stay my friend for all these years?”
“Abbie, I didn’t mean it like that.” Jesse’s dark blond eyebrows had come together in a frown. “You’re a likable girl; you’re just not very approachable. You give off this aura—like you don’t need anyone or anything. People misconstrue it. Basically, they think you’re a bitch.”
Abbie gasped, violet eyes wide with shock. She stepped back from Jesse, feeling tears threaten. It wasn’t that Jesse hadn’t said similar things in the past—he’d always tried to encourage her to be more friendly and sociable—but he’d never been quite so blunt about it. She had known he was in a bad mood all night, but she hadn’t expected this kind of personal attack. It wasn’t like him, and she wasn’t sure how to react.
“Oh, Abbie, don’t…” Looking away from her, Jesse raked wet fingers though his hair. “I’m sorry. I’m not trying to hurt your feelings. I’m just…I’m pissed off. I’m worried about the diner, and I fought with Amber earlier, and my mom might be getting laid off…and there are just…too many things going on right now. My head feels like it’s going to explode.” His hazel eyes were apologetic when they met hers. “I didn’t mean to take it out on you. Forgive me?”
Abbie nodded, not trusting herself to speak.
“You need to be how you were when we were little,” Jesse said, reaching out to squeeze her fingers. “Remember the first time we met outside your grandpa’s apartment? I was just this snot-nosed punk with torn jeans and dirty face who picked fights in the schoolyard. The other kids were afraid of me. But you came up to me that day, in your frilly Sunday dress, and you held out a hand, introduced yourself, and asked me to be your friend. It was as simple as that.”
Abbie gave a small smile at the memory. “Well…things were simpler then.”
Everything had been simpler then. After her parents had died in a car crash, that’s when things had gotten complicated. That was when Abbie had discovered what it was like to be poor and ostracized by the other kids. That was when a bitter, lonely sadness had settled in her heart. She had shied away from her classmates, from the children who mocked her for not having new clothes and shoes every year, who made fun of her for not having parents. Now, as a teenager, she knew what children were like. She knew how unknowingly cruel they could be. Being teased in school was a part of growing up, like a right of passage. But the scars that had developed back then had never fully healed, and she still had difficulties opening up to anyone even now.
Suddenly remembering something, Abbie looked up at the clock on the wall. It was nearly eleven. That meant that he would be passing by soon.
“I’m going to go see if Hannah needs any help up front. Can you handle the rest of the dishes?”
Jesse followed her gaze to the clock and gave her a significant look. “You just want to see if that guy walks by again.”
Guilt flitted across Abigail’s features and she laughed softly, knowing she’d been caught. But, then, Jesse had always been able to read her better than anyone. “I can’t help it. He’s the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen.”
Jesse rolled his eyes and turned back to the sink. “I still say it’s not normal for a guy who looks that young to have white hair.”
“You’d be amazed what a little hair dye can do,” Abbie murmured, lips curled in amusement.
“Yes, but why would a grown man dye his hair white of all—“
“Jesse,” Abbie interrupted, pausing with her hand on the swinging door that led back to the front of the diner. “I just wanted to say…I’m sorry about the fight with Amber…and I hope your mom doesn’t lose her job. I know how hard it’s been for you lately…”
Jesse was quiet for a long moment. Then, “Thanks, babe…”
Abbie walked back into the diner. She really was a selfish girl. Why was she worrying about Halloween parties and her position in the high school social hierarchy, or lack thereof? She should be even more worried than Jesse about the possibility of the diner shutting down. She could easily find a job at another restaurant, but what would her grandfather do? He was too old to start over. She’d have to drop out of school and work two jobs to support them both. She’d have no other choice—he’d always given her all the luxuries within his limited means. If he could sacrifice for her, she could certainly sacrifice for him.
Wandering over to the window, she fiercely pushed the thought away. It wouldn’t come to that. Why should she have to worry about jobs and money? If her parents had still been alive, she would have been a normal teenager. She wouldn’t have had to feel guilty about worrying about boys and friends and parties. It was selfish and petty, but she was bored with her life. Nothing exciting had ever happened to her. The fact that she was an orphan didn’t even make her unique. People lost their parents every day. Even in that she wasn’t special.
The glass of the window reflected her rueful grimace. What a horrible thought to think.
Just when she was going to begin an inner tirade at her own stupidity, a flash of white caught her eye. It was him.
He looked more ethereally beautiful than she had ever seen him. His long white trench coat was billowing in the wind and his frost-white hair had taken on a silver sheen in the rain. He moved gracefully, confidence radiating from every step. He spared her only a brief glance as he passed the diner, as if he’d felt her enraptured gaze, and she drew in a sharp breath as she realized his eyes were the color of quicksilver.
She had never seen eyes that color…particularly not set in a face that was like a sculptor’s dream—fine-boned with high cheekbones and a straight, patrician nose.
In her memory of Colin Pierce, she had thought that he looked like an angel. But if Colin had looked like a good angel, gleaming with kindness and golden light, then this man looked like a dark fallen angel. Still beautiful, but in a dangerous, wicked way, with eyes that glittered like silver ice.
Biting her lip, she glanced over her shoulder. Hannah was distracted, humming to herself as she wiped down the counter. She wouldn’t notice if Abbie slipped away for a few minutes. She had to know—who he was, why he always walked by the diner at the same exact time every night, where he was going. She had to.
Quietly, Abbie opened the door to the diner and slipped out into the darkness of the night.
The man in white had already rounded the corner and she followed quickly, trying to keep her steps light. The diner was in a shabby neighborhood at the edge of town, near the abandoned warehouses and factories. The only people walking the streets on the east side of town at this time of night were up to no good. It occurred to Abbie how foolish it was, following a stranger in the middle of a cold, rainy night, but her curiosity was overwhelming. What could he possibly be doing out here at the same time every night? It could be anything. He could be looking for stolen car parts, or for drugs, or for something even more sinister.
Abigail’s steps faltered as she thought about this and she came to an uncertain stop just before she reached the long alleyway at the end of the block.
She was brimming with curiosity, but perhaps this wasn’t the best idea. She backed up a step, hesitated, then turned back toward the diner.
Coward, a small voice inside her whispered. You were just whining about the lack of excitement in your life. But when it finally comes down to doing something about it, you chicken out like always.
Abbie straightened her shoulders and tried to ignore the voice. She was being smart, rational. Not cowardly.
Liar, the voice whispered again. Jesse was right about you. You complain about being bored, about not having any friends, but you never do anything about it. You’re too scared.
Abbie lifted her chin subconsciously. She would do something about it. She had sensed from the beginning that there was something different about the man in white, something mysterious and otherworldly. She would find out what it was. She would bring the knife and mace that Jesse had given her, and she would follow him. Tomorrow.
Abbie flicked on the lights as she entered the apartment, making no effort to be quiet even though she knew her grandfather was asleep in his bedroom. The man could sleep through a tornado, and his loud snores went on undisturbed as Abbie prepared a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, poured herself a glass of milk, and made her way into her small bedroom beside the kitchen.
She settled on her twin-size bed with a sigh and took a small bite of her sandwich. She really wasn’t hungry, but this would be her first and only meal of the day and she knew from experience that she would wake up in the middle of the night with a terrible stomachache if she didn’t force herself to eat something.
Her eyes wandered around the room and fell on the faded blue velvet cover of her diary. The book had been her constant companion as a child. She had taken it everywhere, her favorite picture of her parents tucked between its pages. The picture had been taken on the stoop in front of the diner shortly before her parents had died. She’d been sitting on her father’s lap, wearing the frilly pink dress Jesse had mentioned earlier, and her mother had been sitting beside them, and they’d all been laughing. If memory served, her grandfather had taken the picture the same day she and Jesse had first met.
At some point, she’d lost the picture and she’d grown out of needing to cart the diary around everywhere like a toddler with her favorite blanket. It had probably slipped out of the book without her noticing, and she had torn her bedroom apart searching for it once she’d realized it was missing. She’d cried for hours when she hadn’t been able to find it.
It wasn’t the only picture of her parents that she had, of course, but it was the only one that had been able to stir something inside her, to make her almost remember what life had been like when her parents were alive. Almost.
The blare of sirens as several police cars sped passed her building snapped Abbie out of her reverie and she quickly finished off her sandwich and took the dishes out to the kitchen. She needed to go to bed. It was nearly one in the morning, and she had to be up at five for school, followed by another closing shift at the diner. She was sick of the same exact routine every day. It was no wonder that she lost track of days sometimes. Nothing happened to differentiate one day from the next, so they all seemed to pass by in a blur…and a very dull blur at that.
Sighing, Abbie changed into her nightgown and slipped beneath her goose down comforter. Things would change once she started classes at the university, she was sure of it. Maybe they would even change tomorrow, if she could work up the nerve to introduce herself to the man in white. It was possible. Stranger things had happened.
She was thinking of the man in white as she fell asleep…but when she dreamed, it was about her parents’ funeral…and about a sullen little boy with hair as dark as night and eyes like a cat.
Abbie was only half paying attention as she swept and mopped, sneaking in a glance at the clock whenever she thought Hannah wouldn’t notice. She felt so tense by the time eleven o’clock rolled around that a small part of her almost wished the man in white would break his routine and not walk by so that she could talk herself out of this crazy idea. But almost as soon as the thought entered her mind, she spotted his snow-white trench coat and knew instinctively that nothing would stop her from following him tonight.
She called out an excuse to Hannah and slipped out the door before she could think better of it.
The night was windy and cold enough to make her shiver and draw her oversized sweater shut. Thankfully, the rain had stopped and she was able to follow him without worrying about puddles, her slip-resistant shoes silent on the dirty concrete.
He had been half a block ahead when she’d exited the diner, and she was forced to hasten her steps in a desperate attempt to close the distance between them. She couldn’t risk losing him after she’d waited all day for this chance. He had been walking by everyday for almost a month, but she had no idea if he would continue to do so. What if this was the last time he needed to come to the east side of town? She couldn’t pass up the opportunity.
Once again he rounded the corner into the long, dark alleyway at the end of the street. This time Abbie only hesitated for a fraction of a second before she followed.
He’s fast, she thought absently as she watched him disappear into a building at the end of the alley. He looks like he’s taking a leisurely stroll, but I’m practically running to keep up.
She made her way down the alley quickly, but cautiously, ears straining to listen for any sudden sounds above the crunching of broken glass and gravel beneath her shoes. She bit her lip, feeling anxious as she passed a cluster of dumpsters. Anyone, or anything, could be hiding behind them and the thought caused her stomach to clench with dread. Luckily, nothing assaulted her but the sickly sweet stench of garbage, which made her nostrils flare and lips tremble in disgust.
Sucking in a deep breath, she held it and ran passed the remaining dumpsters, not stopping until she’d reached the building he had entered. She braced an arm against the brick exterior wall as she tried to collect herself, wheezing softly.
Oh, Abbie, you and your brilliant ideas…
The sound of glass shattering somewhere nearby nearly made her jump out of her skin, and she spun around to look behind her, hand flying up to her chest in alarm. Her heart was pounding in a trip-hammer rhythm and felt lodged in her throat, which made breathing almost impossible. The remainder of the alleyway looked dark and ominous, the buildings on either side looming above her like giant monsters.
Fear roared inside her and she began to pant, eyes darting back and forth as she stared hard into the darkness. Someone was coming; someone must be coming.
Pressing herself back against the wall, she began to edge toward the door, feeling her way with her hand. She’d be safer in the building than she would be out here. At least, she tried to convince herself of that as she found the knob and turned it slowly, trying to make as little noise as possible.
The door opened with a shrill squeak and Abbie winced, ducking inside and slamming it shut behind her. She turned the deadbolt to lock the door, and then glanced over her shoulder warily, ready to unlock it and run back into the alley if necessary. There was no one there, however, no threat, and as her eyes adjusted she realized that she was in a small, dimly lit stairwell.
For a moment she stayed where she was, torn. The man in white had come into this building, which meant that he had gone up this stairwell. Perhaps he, or someone else in the building, could show her another way out, preferably a way that bypassed the alley.
Hesitantly, she made her way up the stairs, stopping every few steps to look behind her. She would have heard the door open, of course, since the hinges seemed to be in dire need of an oiling, but she was scared and paranoid and it made her feel a little better to visually ensure that no one was there.
“Everything’s going to be fine,” she murmured under her breath. “You’re going to get out of here and then you and Jesse are going to laugh about this in the morning. But he’s going to be totally pissed off at first because you’re such an idiot.”
Strangely enough, the thought of Jesse reaming her out for her stupidity was oddly comforting, and helped her stiffen her resolve. There was no need to panic. Surely someone in this building would be decent enough to help her, and if they weren’t, she’d mace them all and run like a bat out of hell.
She allowed herself a small smile of amusement at the thought, although it was really more of a grimace than anything.
Once she reached the landing, she took a moment to brace herself, reaching out to open the door with one hand while she reached into her pocket to grasp the switchblade Jesse had given her with the other.
She pulled the door open carefully, mind whirling with the possibilities of what might be on the other side—gang members, mafia henchmen, drug lords with nine-millimeter pistols, black market organ dealers, a serial killer with a collection of dead bodies—but what she wasn’t expecting to find was a long, narrow corridor at the end of which something gleamed temptingly in the darkness.
Abbie blinked in confusion. This was getting weirder by the minute. She and Jesse had broken into a few of these factories when they were younger, but she’d never seen anything like this before.
She stepped into the corridor and let the door shut behind her, withdrawing the switchblade from her pocket and holding it at her side. She couldn’t use it as expertly as Jesse could, but it wasn’t like it took a rocket scientist to stab someone with a knife. She could defend herself if need be, thanks to Jesse’s tutoring.
She moved forward slowly, keeping her steps light, eyes wide with surprise. The floor beneath her looked like marble, black with white swirls and veins. The walls were lined with evenly spaced torches and when she stepped closer to inspect one she discovered that they were real, the flames burning steadily in place without emitting any sort of smoke.
“Stranger and stranger,” she muttered, shaking her head.
The choking fear that had overtaken her in the alleyway had ebbed away and been replaced with curiosity. Were those…rosebushes? Sure enough, a potted rosebush had been placed with meticulous care between every pair of torches. She reached out to one and touched some of the soft, red petals. They were as real as the torches and seemed to be thriving even in the dim firelight.
Stepping away from the rosebush, she continued down the hallway, looking closely at everything she passed. She felt awed, but not frightened, even though a tiny voice in her head was trying to tell her that she should be.
So this was where the man in white had been coming every night. But what was this exactly?
By the time she reached the mirror at the end of the corridor, she was completely mystified. The mirror seemed to be shining and pulsing with energy. She saw herself reflected there and stared at the image for a long moment.
She was wearing the pale blue diner dress her grandfather had ordered for all of the waitresses. It had short sleeves with white cuffs, which was the reason for the bulky black sweater she wore over it, and fell to just below her knees. The contrasting white collar and apron had Rick Rack trimming, and the overall effect made her look like a waitress from a classic 1950s diner, which was exactly what her grandfather had been trying to achieve when he’d purchased the uniforms. Together with the white tights she wore, the outfit might have almost looked cute…but the effect was ruined by the ugly, black, slip-resistant shoes she had bought to go along with it. She had purchased them for comfort, not style, and had felt no embarrassment when Jesse had laughed out loud the first time he’d seen her wearing them. Let him try standing for hours on end and carrying around heavy trays of food all day in heels, as her grandfather had originally suggested. Her feet had been sore for days.
Her reddish-brown hair fell down her back in a thick braid, save for a few wisps that had escaped to frame her face, and her skin was bare of any makeup. She looked pale and thin in the torchlight, the corridor stretching long and dark behind her.
She considered turning back then. Something about the mirror seemed vaguely threatening, as if it contained some sort of hidden power. It would have been wise to turn back at that point, she knew that, but the same power that made the mirror seem frightening also made it irresistible.
She stepped forward, reaching out a hand to touch it without thinking. Almost immediately, she sucked in a startled breath and tried to pull away. It felt cold, painfully so. The only time she had felt anything like it was when her grandfather had been unable to find a babysitter and had been forced to take her along to one of his cryotherapy sessions. She had watched curiously as the doctor had dipped a cotton swab into a cup and applied the liquid it contained to the warts on her grandfather’s feet. The entire procedure hadn’t taken long and soon the doctor and her grandfather had moved out into the hallway, where they stood talking quietly.
Feeling curious, Abigail had snuck over to the doctor’s tray of equipment and reached for the cup. Her sole intention had been to look at it and try to figure out what it was, but, clumsy as always, she had knocked the cup over and spilled its contents over her hand. At first the feeling had just been a shock of cold and she had gasped, but the gasp soon turned into a shriek as a sensation unlike anything she’d ever experienced overtook her. It had felt like cold fire burning a hole through the center of her palm and she had screamed herself senseless, only partially aware of the doctor and her grandfather rushing back into the room.
The doctor had lifted her, carrying her over to the sink, and holding her hand under warm, running water as he called frantically for a nurse and her grandfather looked on helplessly.
By acting quickly, the doctor had managed to prevent any severe damage, but she’d still had to be treated for mild liquid nitrogen burns, which had blistered and required her to keep her hand wrapped in gauze for nearly a week.
This mirror felt like the liquid nitrogen had—like cold burning.
Again Abbie tried to pull her fingers away, but the mirror seemed to come with her, reaching out to fully envelop her hand and creep up her arm.
Whimpering, she frantically tried to jerk her arm back, but the mirror kept coming, thick, silvery liquid moving over her skin until it had reached her shoulder.
She screamed then, as she had when she was a child, tears leaking onto her cheeks as she squeezed her eyes shut. The sensation was horrible, overwhelming, like thousands of icy-hot needles pricking her skin at once, and suddenly it became too much. It was as if her brain could no longer process so much pain and shut itself off. And slowly—slowly—her surroundings gave way to darkness.