The Mirror Cracked
The
“Excuse me, can you tell me where the
“The
He stopped a man riding a tricycle.
“Perhaps you can help me. Can you
direct me to the
“The
A taxi came towards him and he flagged it
down.
“Where to sir?” the driver asked.
No.4 climbed into the front passenger
seat “Take me to the
“Where sir?”
“Now don’t you start!” he said
looking at the female driver.
“The
The taxi moved off along the main
road, passed the Green Dome and the cobbled square, under the first of two
arches, and the second arch, taking the road out of the village.
“Where are we going?” he asked.
“I’m taking you to the
There was a map in the glove
compartment, unfolding the map he began to study it, and there marked on the
map was the
No.4 sat looking out of the taxi at
the surrounding buildings, grey or red bricked structures which made up the
sides of a muddy square
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and no
resemblance to those Italianate structures in the village itself. The buildings
reminded him of somewhere else, but he couldn’t remember where.
“What is this place?” he asked peering out
of the Mini-Moke.
“The village of course” the driver
replied switching off the engine.
“This is part of the village. People
actually live here?”
“Yes.”
“Architecturally it’s nothing like
the village; it isn’t even on the map. What’s that building?”
There was a large imposing twin
towered stone building resembling a church. Stone steps led up to a paved patio
and a very impressive archway, but a far from impressive doorway!
“That’s the
He paid the taxi driver and stepped
out of the Moke, the driver starting the engine saluted her passenger bid him “Be
seeing you” and drove off leaving No.4 standing in the square. Standing there
he looked about him, wondering why he had not been to this outlying hamlet of the
village before. Then he turned his attention back to the
“Coming in?” a voice asked.
No.4 turned to see a stout, jolly looking
man in a green waistcoat and brown bowler hat and wearing a broad grin on his
face.
“Who are you?”
“Me? I’m the proprietor of the
“I was warned off this place.”
“Really, can’t imagine why.”
“What goes on” No.4 asked approaching
the man.
“Fun of course, nothing more plain and
simple than that. If you can’t enjoy yourself here, you can’t enjoy yourself
anywhere” the man said still wearing his grin.
“Innocent fun?”
The man laughed jocularly.
“What’s so funny?”
“Free from moral wrong” the man said
“without sin, clean and pure, now where’s the fun in that?” with stretched out
an arm indicating the entrance.
No.4 paused and considered for a
moment gazing up at the medieval looking archway, before stepping forward and
through the entrance and into the
Beyond the entrance was a foyer, there were
two double doors to his right, a staircase to his left, and a long corridor
straight ahead.
“What’s your pleasure sir?” a voice
asked.
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No.4 turned around to see a young
attractive Asian woman dressed in a feathered headdress and a sparkly revealing
costume.
“What’s through there?” he said indicating
the double doors.
“The casino” she told him.
“I’m not a gambling man.”
“That’s lucky for you.”
“Where does the staircase lead to?”
“The room in the tower.”
“The room in the tower, what’s in the
room in the tower?”
“I don’t know, no-one has ever come
out to say!”
“You mean there are people in the
room in the tower?”
“Yes.”
“Why don’t they come out?”
An old woman dressed head to foot in
purple and black appeared from the first door in the corridor.
“Perhaps they are enjoying themselves too much;
perhaps they cannot find the door. Sometimes if you listen quietly outside the
door you can hear their cries of pain.”
“Pain, they are in pain?”
“Pleasure can be derived from pain,
perhaps pain is their pleasure” she said and was about to go on her way along
the corridor.
“Who’s that?”
A tall woman in a blue and gold
turban, and flowing robes emerged from a room a little way along the corridor
and swept passed.
“Madam Zena, the medium in residence”
the young woman told him “she’ll tell you of your future for a silver coin. But
perhaps the
burlesque
is more your thing, perhaps you are a theatre goer, the amateur dramatic
society is performing Charley’s Aunt.”
“No” he said.
“Well perhaps more simple pleasures
are your fun, we have side stalls, a hall of mirrors, a ghost train” she
suggested.
“Perhaps you could simply go away and
allow me to explore on my own!”
“That might not be a wise course of
action” she warned “but as you wish.”
There appeared a coiled rope on the
floor, the young woman picked the end of the rope and throwing it into the air
the rope became as rigged as a steel pole. The young woman gave him a smile and
began to climb the rope towards the high ceiling. Then reaching the top the
rope became limp, falling to the floor in a heap, the girl had gone! No.4
picked up the end of the rope, he looked up at the ceiling, coiling a length of
the rope he threw it upwards but it fell back on him.
No.4 stood at the end of the corridor, the
first door on the left, the one Madam Zena had emerged from had no doorknob.
The door to his right was ajar, he stepped towards it and was about to push it
open when a claw emerged from the darkness within, instantly he drew
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back
and the door was slammed shut in his face!
Moving slowly moving on he saw a door
marked 101 and the word which sprang to No.4’s mind was torture! His hand moved
towards the door knob, twisting it he pulled the door open and stepped into the
room.
It was a square room, carpet on the
floor, a grey filing cabinet in a corner, a couple of paintings decorated the
walls. On the far wall were two word maps, the one to the right had small lights
illuminating parts of the world. Behind a large oak desk sat a bad-headed man
who apparently had failed to notice No.4 enter the room, or if he had he made
no reaction. He simply sat there filling in The Daily Telegraph crossword. It
must have been just after 3 in the afternoon, because there was no tea plate
accompanying the cup and saucer on the desk. No.4 slowly approached the desk.
“Anyone at home?” he asked.
The bald-headed man looked up through
his spectacles but said nothing.
“Who are you then?”
The man behind the desk remained
silent.
“Are you the chief inquisitor?”
The man simply sat there toying with
his ballpoint pen.
“I expect you want me to talk, what
do you want me to say?”
The man remained silent.
No.4 leaned over the desk
“What…do…you…want…me…to…say?”
The man said nothing, showed no
reaction, wouldn’t be drawn into speaking.
“What’s this, the silent treatment”
No.4 looked about the room “don’t I even get a chair to sit on? You know I’m
not at all sure what you are, perhaps you’re no more than a pen pushing bureaucrat.”
“He is” said a voice with a Scottish accent
“but I’m not.”
A gaunt looking man wearing a white
coat had entered the room, in his right hand a syringe.
“Now just relax, this won’t hurt, well not
immediately anyway” the doctor said slowly approaching his patient.
“What have you there?”
“The first dose of Scopolamine” the
doctor said.
“The first dose?”
“If you refuse to talk, there will be
a second and even a third dose, then you will talk whether you want to or not.
You won’t be able to stop yourself.”
“If you imagine for one minute that
I’m just going to stand here and let you fill me with that muck you’ve another
think coming!” and he made for the door.
But there was no door, where the door
had been was now a smooth wall!
“Now laddie, don’t struggle” the
doctor said making a grab for his patient.
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No.4 managed to dodge the doctor, but now
the bald-headed man was about to get involved. He moved from behind his desk
and grabbed No.4 from behind, locking his arms. No.4 struggled, but the more he
struggled the tighter the grip on him became. Then as the doctor moved forward
again brandishing the syringe No.4 leaned back against the man holding him, and
kicked out his legs sending the doctor reeling backwards and the bald-headed
man back against his desk. For a moment the hold on No.4 was released, he
picked up the heavy table lamp and bashed the bald-headed man’s face in with
it. There was no blood, only broken spectacles and torn latex, and a dented metal
face. Arms and legs flared about awkwardly, he dropped the lamp and tore open
the white shirt to reveal a chest of whirring cogs, gears making up the
workings of the automaton. Dropping the lamp No.4 stood back as the doctor
dashed forward to examine his new patient.
“Look at what have you’ve done
laddie!”
“He doesn’t need you doctor, he needs
a clock repairer!”
No.4 turned away and saw the door in
the wall, it opened automatically and he stepped out of the room and into the
corridor.
A little way along the passageway was an
ornate arch, and instead of a door hung a decorative draped above the arch a
sign which read “Hall of Mirrors.” Pushing the drape to one side No.4 entered
the hall. It was a dimly lit, and he stood before the first mirror it made him
look short and squat. He moved about to see the effect in the mirror, and he
smiled to himself. The second mirror made him look tall and thin, again he
moved about changing the image in the mirror. In the third he wasn’t there at
all, there was no image of him in the mirror. He raised an arm, but there was
no corresponding arm, he put his face to the mirror, but no face stared back at
him. Then he put a hand to the mirror and to his alarm it went into the mirror
as though it were liquid, he quickly drew his hand back. Feeling in his pockets
his hand felt the cigarette lighter; he took it out of the pocket and threw it
at the mirror, the mirror cracked from side to side, and the lighter dropped to
the floor. He stooped and picked it up putting the lighter back in his jacket
pocket and watched as the molten glass repaired itself.
“Metal cannot go through” a voice
said.
No.4 spun round and looked about him,
there was no-one.
“Only flesh is allowed through” the
voice said.
“Who are you, show yourself” No.4
said.
“Now why should I do that, after all
anonymity the best disguise” the voice said.
“People who hide are afraid.”
“Afraid of what?” the voice asked.
“Of being revealed for what they are!”
“And what am I?”
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“You, you are a coward, afraid to show your
face!” 4 said accusingly, trying to draw the man out.
No.4 changed tack “Why can only flesh
go through?”
“I don’t know it’s just the way it
is.”
“Where does the flesh go?”
“Through the mirror to the other
side” the voice said.
“How do you know this?”
“Because I’ve been there” the voice
told him.
“And you came back.”
“It’s possible to come back, for the
unfortunate ones. Now I am a poor reflection of my former self, as you can
see.”
From out of the darkness a figure of
a man emerged, but he was smooth as glass. As the figure drew closer it turned
slightly, and then shock, for the figure was merely the thickness of glass, his
back was plain wood…… No.4 turned and ran out of the Hall of Mirrors and into
the passageway his back against the far wall as he half expected the reflection
to pursue him, it did not. He stood there remembering the words of advice
offered to him earlier that day “The Fun Palace…a terrible place I shouldn’t go
there if I were you!”
No.4 had two options, he could either go
back and leave, or go on, perhaps being a glutton for punishment he went on, perhaps
there was another way out. There was, as though to read his mind, at the
farther end of the passageway was a pair of doors displaying the words “Way
Out.” He pushed the pair of doors open, there was a sudden rush of noise, the
sound of traffic. He stood in a street with cars rushing towards him and car
horns sounded. Suddenly a green bus almost ran him down, but he managed to
dodge out of its way only to narrowly miss being hit by a black taxi. He threw
himself to the ground and rolled to the side of the road. Slowly he picked
himself up, he still stood in the road, traffic passed him on both sides the
sound of car horns filling his ears. The noise stopped, and the busy city
traffic merely cinema film back projected onto the walls of the long room. Despite
this fakery, his reactions had been as though real. There had been a burst of
adrenaline. His heart pounded in his chest, beads of sweat upon his brow as a
number 37 bus ran through him. He allowed himself a few moments to recover from
the shock before leaving the room the pair of “way out” doors swinging closed
behind him.
“Having fun?” a voice asked.
He turned to see the figure of an attractive
blonde hired woman, dressed in a black laced up corset, fishnet stockings, high
heel shoes, and a white fur wrap.
“You look as though you need a drink”
she said to him.
“Can you get a drink in this place?”
“Go inside and they’ll serve you with
whatever you want.”
“Alcoholic drinks?”
“Anything you want, just go inside”
the woman told him pointing to the neon sign.
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“Fancy a drink?” he asked her.
“I’m in the Burlesque show, I’m due
to sing in a couple of minutes” she told him, then turned and sashayed along
the corridor, knowing full well that the man’s eyes were watching her, she was
not wrong.
He turned his attention to the neon sign “Black
Cat bar,” and went inside.
“What’ll it be?” asked the barman.
“Bourbon” he said “a large one.”
“Been a hard day?” the barman asked
reaching for a bottle and glass.
No.4 watched the barman pour out a
double measure and paid with his credit card, then downed the liquid in one,
indicating to the barman to refill his glass. Perching himself on a stool, he
sat sipping the bourbon as he looked about the room. At one table four men sat
playing poker, in side booths couples sat together talking and laughing. Sat at
a far table was a lone figure nursing an empty glass, which he refilled from a
bottle on the table. An usherette passed by carrying a tray, she offered him
cigarettes, and he took a pack of Lucky Strike. He got off his stool and
crossed the room to the far table. The man looked up at him through blurry
eyes.
“Oh no not you go away!”
No.4 drew out a chair from under the
table and sat down “You, of all
people in a place like this.”
“We all need some fun in our lives;
and I’m no different to anyone else!”
“You don’t look to be having a great
deal of fun to me.”
“Have you got a drink?” No.2 asked.
No.4 finished his drink and showed
him his glass.
“It’s empty, have another” and he
refilled the glass from his bottle.
“You’re drowning your sorrows!”
“Wouldn’t you in my position?”
“What positions that, surely you’re
not tiring of being the Chairman of the village.”
“It’s not all what it’s cracked up to
be you know” 2 told him draining his glass.
“Then why don’t you resign and give someone
else a chance?” 4 suggested refilling 2’s glass for him.
“Women!”
“What about them?”
“She was here a few minutes ago.”
“Wearing a fur wrap and very little
else?”
“You know her, Yvonne” No.2 beckoned
No.4 to draw near “never get involved with a burlesque singer, that’s my
advice.”
“Meaning you have?”
“Beware the pleasures of the flesh!”
No.2 told him.
“I never thought to see you of all people in this state!”
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“I
could lose my position because of her.”
“How so?”
“She wants me to get her out.”
“Out of where?”
“Here.”
“The
“Don’t be daft, the village!”
“And are you?”
“Am I what?”
“Going to get her out?”
“Of course not, what do you think I
am….stupid?”
“Then there’s no problem” 4 said
draining the bottle into No.2’s glass.
“You haven’t read the latest part 2
order!” he said picking up the glass and draining it, he glanced over his
shoulder “See him?”
“Who the monk?”
At another table sat a figure in a
white robe, his face obscured by a cowl.
“What would a monk be doing in a
place like this?”
“Then……”
“He’s an assassin!”
“An assassin, here…in the village?”
It was then the monk looking figure
rose to his feet, moving towards the table he pulled a gun from beneath his
robe. Aiming the semi-automatic at a startled No.2, and to the horror of
everyone in the bar, the assassin fired the gun. No.2 saw the assassin make his
move, he stood up and tried to make a run for it, but it was too late. The robed
figure rose to his feet, moving towards the table as in a scene of repetition
as though in a film, he pulled a gun from beneath his robe. Aiming the gun at a
startled No.2, and to the horror of everyone in the bar, the assassin fired the
gun. No.4 saw No.2 stand up, then he saw the cowled figure, he too stood up
kicking his chair away he made a move towards the monk as he again pulled the gun
from beneath his robe. Aiming the semi-automatic at a startled No.2, and to the
horror of everyone in the bar, the assassin fired the gun. No.2 fell backwards
as the bullet entered his chest. The assassin dashed from the bar, 4 was
divided, to pursue the robed figure, or help 2. He chose the latter. Tearing
open No.2’s grey jersey he looked down at a set of cogs and gears of an
automaton! It stood up.
“Time we had another little drink!” it
said.
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