To get away from the hustle and bustle of an increasingly mundane and materialist existence Quaid wanted to get away and have some time to himself. He seems to have found the perfect getaway in this some aged yet nonchalant hotel. It seemed a bit isolated yet it had a mysterious appeal. The surroundings seemed like a dreamworld or one that Quaid imagined would be a nice place to have in the country. 

Here Quaid could be himself, enjoy his photography, watch his movies from the comfort of his large hotel room or venture into the canteen. The food was good and the furniture and surroundings seems strangely familiar and comforting. There were not many people present but those who were may have been seasonal regulars and friendly. More importantly Quaid could strike deep meaningful conversation with them. Also he felt comfortable to tag along with these folk. They did not come across as the same bland and boring predictable office workers or people obsessed with false lives and celebrities. There was no news and drivel here.

Quaid liked that. As he wonder around sometimes lost in his imagination and the surroundings of the venerable 18th century grounds near an even older cemetery Quaid found a place for reflection and doing some leisurely sketches. Why not? A new sense every day. A big forest nearby and plenty of time to just take it slow and explore. No voices or distractions. Happy days.

Yet underneath this seemingly idyll trip and rest from that increasingly false world something very serious unsettled him. Quaid in part wondered if he was trying to escape life or really was he trying to run from some danger he found imperceptible? Is such a person left to his own thoughts in danger of becoming delusional? 

Since Quaid arrived at the town on the edge of the forest with its gothic buildings in the background surrounded by mist one thing particularly fascinated Quaid. He was attracted to that mysterious mirror. It was very aged yet there was a fascination in that the mirror had been there when the people in the cemetery were alive. Many lives passed by and had one one time looked int he mirror and stared into it. Sometimes it seemed in his mind that the strange worn features on the glass stared back at Quaid. In the day time it did not matter but sometimes when he was alone and having a shower at night it gave him chills. More than he would like to imagine. He was a big man after all.

As it approached midnight Quaid walked towards that unusually old mirror in the shadows intertwined with light. He stared and there was appearances of odd shapes and outlines due to interplay of moonlight and shadows. Apart from his own footsteps the place was deathly silent. That made his movements and motion of walking all the more apparent. Then the rather distinctive breathing. Why was his breathing so loud? Even the sound of his heart throbbing seemed more discernible. That seemed silly but nonetheless the involuntary actions of is heart beating and lungs inhaling was more self evident. 

Only a two hours ago walking in the cosy lounge where that strange wide oval mirror was the scene seemed relaxed and welcoming. It did not seem so cosy and welcoming now. Everyone else was sound asleep in dreamland. Having nice dreams in a warm bed. Even the owner had gone upstairs the winding French staircase. Only the owl, strange noisy insects and the bouncing moonlight dicing in between shadows were Quaid’s acquaintances. Not much of an acquaintance Quaid felt feelings of loneliness. The mirror was now facing him. Quaid felt more alone than ever.

Thoughts ran through Quaid’s mind faster than light. Well physically Quaid the man of scientific background know nothing could match speed of light in the universe. Yet Quaid liked to draw connections and parallels from what he learned and read about. Quaid liked watching a series called Supernatural. Strangely enough the series episodes seemed to remind him of the scene and present surroundings. Whilst speaking to himself Quaid tried to push the Supernatural series to the back of his mind. The more he actively struggled the more in vain it was. That made him unfordable and frustrated at the same time. A bit like making an active effort to sleep. The stubborn insomnia can be a real nuisance. Yet Quaid was fully alert and his brain was thinking far more than he could give it credit for. 

Quaid stood square to the mirror and without objectively thinking he touched that mirror. In the reflection Quaid could make out the Decorative Gramophone respondent in moonlight confidently peering through the clouds. There were many old and immovable objects such as large grandfather clock all with deep mahogany varnish. 

Quaid’s through was dry. He grumbled a cough and swallowed. His two fingers pressing against that mirror. Now Quaid saw something that truly disturbed him. At that moment the face looking back was him but also had a serious look of concern. Also it showed fear. Quaid felt his spine tingling and wondered if that was his face. Who the hell else face could that be?

Quaid’s imaginative mind was racing and wondered if this was a dream, or been caught up in some simulation by a writer. If so he damn sure wanted the script to change or wake the hell up. Quaid recalled that some science lectures talked of simulations and holograms. That was no comfort to Quaid because he knew exactly what he felt. It was a mixture os lightheadedness and steely resolves because his senses were sharp right now. 

The face staring back was Quaid. It seemed Quaid’s inner conscience was trying to tell him something and that was transferred to his facial image in this mysterious mirror. He was not one for superstition even though his aunt said after evening not to stare into mirrors. Quaid the man of science and reason actually did not like doing that at night. When it was lights out then turn off and bed. Although Quaid’s comfortable bed that served him so well was far away from this lonely scene he walked himself into. 

Quaid could be very forgetful and make silly errors like misplacing his keys and such like. Yet he also seemed to have an eidetic memory at times. He could remember many events subtle and insignificant in great detail that happened many years ago. Now the eidetic memory went into overdrive. Damn that eidetic memory! That can keep on awake recalling eating pink popcorn when one was four years old to remembering something more sinister. This was sinister. Quaid recalled his conservation with an old long term tenant and reading about in the library of this majestic glorious old yet solid imposing building. Quaid read about some the interns in that graveyard. Most were people of many generations some ancestors of the hotel owners. This information upload was going 100 miles per hour as Quaid’s fingers kept touching the mirror. It was all being revealed in a split second like that in a flash. 

Some of those people however that were buried were outcasts. Recall this was a very old place and some old bones were before the United States even existed. There were crossroads. That was the hint. An savoury hint that unpleasant people who did unpleasant things had been left there. Fable has it the soul will not be able to retrace its steps effectively so as to take revenge on the people of this living realm. Why the devil did they have to be dumped in that cemetery near by?

You see as Quaid was realising and his body was now stiff there were other faces clearly discernible from his own reflection showing concern. Those faces were resembling ones he found in old books of the towns history. All meticulously recorded by the local historian. A friend fellow unlike these faces. Problem is Quaid had carried on reading from that local historian. He now remembered those old black and white photos were faces of people clearly staring back at him. Holy heck hope those were not now floating behind his back! He dare not turn to see. What is worse Quaid recalled what he read about those damned should interned. Also the answer to Quaid’s musings was indeed this old mysterious mirror had been gazed into by these people whose long deceased faced now emotionally and intensely stared back. 

Heavy breathing and laggard movements of the neck Quaid dared to gaze around. No one else behind him. Although that mirror was nothing ordinary. This was not an imaginative mind but something more worrying. Why the hell did the hotel keeper not inform people of this? Most of the visitors and staff did not bother with staring into mirrors or reading from the local historian. Quaid did and not the mirror was showing unsavoury albeit ghostly company.