I’ll cut right to the heart of this warning. Time is precious.
Destroy the mirror.
The damn thing is sitting upright next to this letter, like a demon perched on the table. Don’t let that elaborate golden frame and stand dazzle you. The thing is cursed. It drove me to madness. Yes, I admit it. I’m crazy, but that’s just because of what I’ve seen in the mirror. You would be too if you saw the horrible things that I did.
Time is of the essence. Still, I want someone to know my story. I’ve been unable to destroy this damn mirror, so all I can do is give fair warning while telling my tale. If you can, destroy the cursed thing.
My name is Dominic. I’m the only child of Caesar and Antoinette Debardi. I grew up in the family castle, DeBardi Hall, in the Lombardy (Lombardia) region of Italy. We had many servants, and I seldom got to see my parents, who travelled a lot.
When I was seventeen, a small flat wooden box (15″ x 18″) and a letter arrived addressed to my parents. They were still travelling on the continent at the time, so I signed for them. It was made of cherry wood and was quite handsome. The letter had the family crest imprinted on it.
I waited for my parents to come home. A year went by with no word. I sent out inquiries to all of their friends and business associates. I ran newspaper ads. I finally hired a detective, after the courts allowed me access to the family fortune.
Two years went by with no word. One day I noticed the cherry wood box, still sealed, laying on the bookshelf in the library. It was dusty. Half-hidden by a Jade Buddah my mother brought back from Tibet.
I pulled it out. Moving a stack of papers on my desk to one side, I made room for the box. Sitting down, I examined it for a few moments, trying to see if there was a clever way of opening it. Like the trick beech wood boxes my father used to bring home from India.
As far as I could tell, it was sealed tightly with no way to open it. I was young and very inquisitive, a normal seventeen year-old. I tried breaking the seal with my pocketknife, but ended up breaking my knife instead.
Challenged now, I took it down to the basement where there was a workshop. It was filled with tools and workbenches cluttered with isometric drawings of cabinets, and draftsmen supplies like compasses, rulers, drafting squares, and pencils.
I put the box in a vice. Grabbing a hammer and a chisel that were hanging from a rack on the wall, I proceeded to whack away. I ended up splitting the wood to get at the contents.
Miraculously, it was a mirror, a very expensive-looking mirror that had somehow survived my crude assault. I took it upstairs to the parlor, marveling at it’s weight. It was a solid gold frame and stand.
The mirror itself was cloudy-looking, like it was very old, created in the days before they made perfect mirrors. Upon closer examination I made out fantastic-looking creatures intertwined around the stand and base. They appeared to be demons from an ancient culture. Greek? Roman? I wasn’t educated enough to know the answer of where it came from.
When I stepped away from my examination I was surprised to see the clock strike midnight. I’d been in the library for hours. Shaking my head tiredly, I went upstairs to my room and instantly fell asleep. When I woke up the next morning the first thing I saw was the mirror sitting on my chest of drawers.
My heart stopped. I’d given all of the servants the weekend off. I was alone. So how did the mirror appear in my bedroom? I threw the covers aside and scrambled into my clothes. It was still there.
There was no rational explanation. The damn thing should have stayed in the parlor. I briefly wondered if someone was playing a prank on me. Searching everywhere, I couldn’t turn up a jokester.
I carried the mirror back downstairs. It actually felt heavier than the first time I picked it up. That’s the first time I heard it call my name.
In the following days the mirror stalked me. I would find myself staring into it and seeing terrible visions for hours. I gave all the servants a month paid vacation, and sent them away. One day, during a lucid moment away from the mirror, I remembered the letter that came with the box. I went into the library and searched through my desk drawers.
It was there, along with other letters I’d saved over the years. Unopened. I’m not sure why I didn’t open the letter sooner. If I had, I could have saved myself a lot of suffering. The letter was from my father.
He told me not to open the box. No matter what. He explained that the mirror inside had my mother’s soul trapped inside. He was writing the letter with the last of his strength.
With the help of a Turkish holy man, my father had sealed the mirror in a box using ancient spells. He sent the box back for safekeeping while he sought a way to free her.
But his brief exposure to the demons inside wore down his frail body. He was dying and wanted me to find a way to free her. The mirror inside was from Crete, and was stolen from an ancient king’s grave. He admitted that they bought it on the black market. It was all he knew.
He ended with a final goodbye and wished me the best. You know the rest.
I screwed up when I smashed the box open. The demons have been after me ever since. Wait a moment…I think I hear them in the hallway…
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