BLACK MIRROR

"Erik…" his name trailed off into the wind whispering through the towering pine trees. Here he lay, covered not only by the black canvas cover but also by the blackness of night and the blackness in his heart. How had it all come to this? The excruciating journey from Paris to Calais was about to break him as the familiar voice of Madame Giry and little Meg bartered their way through the remote path. It was October 31st, a month after the Paris Opera House burned to the ground at his hands. A month after he released his beloved Christine to Raoul. A month after all the events yet the blackness remained and grew ever darker. Running always helped and perhaps running and escaping to America would solve it all. Erik. He heard her voice again as it danced over the whispering pines. Erik, Erik, Erik. He shuffled his body into a more comfortable position in the back of the buckboard, his arm catching the jagged edged pieces of the broken mirror. Why did he bring what shattered pieces were left? All these pieces would reflect was black.

Every year on October 31st brought the memories flooding back to the excruciating night of their journey, and with each passing year, Erik felt his sanity slip away. Once they reached New York and finally "settled" into this new life (God these women were insufferable and annoying yet Erik was still grateful), Erik moved about his new domain on Coney Island struggling to find his muse. It wasn't until a few years after their arrival that he decided to piece the mirror back together. He might not have her voice or her body to provoke his inner creative genius, but perhaps the mirror could cut into the depths of whatever soul he had for… something. The shards of glass of the mirror from his Paris lair hung on the wall in a broken array, the center completely missing, seeming more like the open hole to the pits of hell rather than reflecting light. But the most peculiar thing was the shards no longer reflected anything: no light, no reflections but only blackness. "Light and music died that night," Erik spat at the mirror. ERIK. He stopped dead in his tracks. How had he heard her voice whispering his name again after so many years? And from where was it coming from? Like the nails on a chalkboard, he heard the scratch against cold glass. Erik. "It can't be," he held his breath as he walked closer to the scattered array. A face? White? Not his, but hers! But as soon as it appeared, it quickly vanished.

And as it was every year on October 31st, the ghost of the black mirror made herself known. His name became louder and louder every year as well as the scratching from behind the glass. By the time ten years had passed, he knew who she was in the mirror. It was her. The wedding dress. The veil. The bouquet. The beautiful, long brown locks of hair cascading down her shoulders. But her face was always distorted and never clear. But he knew, he just knew it had to be her. So every year on the night of October 31st, Erik found himself sitting on the floor of his room pleading for her to come, to show her face. But each year with his hopes filled he'd see her face, fear crept instead in its place. The scratching behind the glass always grew frantic, loud, and ear splitting. The whispering of his name morphed from a gentle whisper to a frantic murmuring and finally to a loud shriek, as if lightning struck towering pines and streaking its vengeance to the ground.

He thought of taking down and tossing the glass array shards but it kept calling to him, teasing and tugging at his dwindling hopes that she would finally appear to him. The apparition in a black mirror finally coming to life, embracing him, and bringing light back into his world.

Now years later, on October 31st, Erik groaned about the anniversary. Ten long years stuck in Coney Island. Ten long years without his muse. Ten long years and that damned mirror still refused to give up what he wanted most. Pacing his room, he bargained with the Devil since God gave up a long time ago. "Bring her here and I'll give up everything." The ear splitting shriek and frantic clawing from behind the mirror startled him. "Ahh, restless after ten years, my Christine? Come to me, my Angel of Music." Each step forward the shrieking and clawing grew louder and more ferocious. And that's when he finally saw her face! The black mirror finally reflected and showed her face! But "Oh God, no!" Erik screamed as the white creature reached through the glass, skeleton arms struggling to catch him. And the face! Oh God the face! It was not the face of his beloved but the mirror bride from his lair. Her face blank and expressionless, shrieking and screaming and clawing its way towards him from the shards of glass. The force of this creature's embrace slammed Erik into the mirror, the jagged, sharp edges burying deep into his flesh. Cuts deep. Blood red smearing on glass. He gasped for air as his body thudded to the floor. His face held in a spectacle of horror as the scattered array of shards of black mirror crashed around him.

Suddenly the shrieking stopped only to be replaced with the whisper, "It's over NOW, your music of the night."