The Mirror

The Mirror- A short story

He shuffled along the dismal street, still damp from the rain that had just ceased.
For the God knows how many times he thought once again about how he was going to sort things out.
No matter how he tried it never worked out the way he planned it. He came to the conclusion that life, his life sucks!
He owed everyone, the bank owned his house, he was mortgaged to the hilt because of credit card debt. Huh! He had enough bloody credit cards to play snap with!
They were tripping over themselves to give him a new one and like a fool he believed the hype.
It all worked , in a fashion, until he lost his "so, so safe" job.
OK they gave him the proverbial Golden Handshake and he was King for a day.
Then the money in the bank started going out to pay the standing orders and direct debits.
The Golden handshake started to get calloused very quick.
So now, only 6 months later,he was tramping the streets looking for work.
The snag he never thought about when he was in work for the last quarter century was that he was now old and no one employs old people any more. They are not "vibrant" or "trendy".
He could do most things, repair almost anything. No one does that in this throw away society.
Use a computer? Not a clue, you didn't need one to drive a truck, about the only thing he was good at. Apart from spending money that is, at which he was an expert.
So here he was, shuffling along, wet and bedraggled, hungry and a long walk home in the dark ahead of him to an empty house.
Empty since Joanna had walked out, sick of answering the door to the debt collectors.
What was that?
Something made him stop dead in the street.
He had seen something that was not quite right, but where?
He backtracked, there it was again, what was it ?
In a shop window he saw a large gilt framed mirror and as he stared at it he realised what he was seeing, or could not be seeing was more like it.
Instead of the bedraggled old man he saw a young fit guy dressed smart but casual staring back at him. What the hell! It was himself ! He looked about 25.
Tears filled his eyes as he remembered those days when he was young and it seemed the world was his oyster. He looked again and he was holding something out to himself. He shook his head but the image didn't. This is crazy, he thought, I must be coming down with something.
When he looked again he was still holding something out as if to say read this old man.
It was a number and a name, No6 Jamie Boy.
What the hell did that mean? He looked again and was shocked to see himself as he was now.
Crazy, he thought, got to get home and get some sleep. Maybe tomorrow would be better.
The next day, he was out again walking the streets looking for work and again he was getting rejected and more dejected. He decided to get a brew to warm up so he popped into the cafe.
A mug of tea, no food, money didn't stretch that far, he sat down in a window seat.
Someone had left that days newspaper so he idly skimmed through it to while away the time more than anything. Until he came to the sports section and an item jumped out at him.
It read " Jamie Boy is ready for the big race, not the favorite but will give a strong challenge"
That was what he had seen the day before, nothing about the race but No6 Jamie Boy.
Heart starting to thump he checked the racing pages and there it was "No6 Jamie Boy 5-1"
He had only 20 euro left in his pocket and really needed it to get through the rest of the week but it nagged at him that maybe this was a sign. He supped his tea and looked at his watch. The race was set for 1pm and it was already 12-45.
Sod it, he thought why not? What else can life chuck at me?
He walked down to the Bookies and placed 10 euro to win on Jamie Boy. Then he waited.
He didn't wait long and he was over 50 euro richer!
In his joy he had forgot about the message in the mirror. He went for a much needed meal and once sated he strolled along the High Street until he came to the shop with the mirror.
It was a shabby place for an antique shop. The stuff in the window was dusty and haphazard, except for the mirror, that gleamed like new. He saw himself, again as his younger version, again he was holding out something for himself to read.
No 1 Fiddlers Lament 50-1. Grabbing the paper from his pocket he scanned the racing but there was nothing. Rejection once again settled on him and he walked home.
At least he had enough to put some food on the table and with that he ended the day.
He woke with a start! The paper he had to read that gave him the win was the following days paper!
He was washed, dressed and out of the door in record time. Down to the newsagent for the paper,
opening it even before he got his change and there it was in the greyhound racing section,
No 1 Fiddlers Lament in the 12.30 pm race!
He almost ran the length of the High Street to the Bookies to place his bet, no need really as it was hours before the race. checking the board it said the dog was in at 33-1, not what the mirror said! Now what? He waited, pondering what to do and then looked at the board just as the odds changed to 50-1. He still had 40 euro left from the day before, not thinking of food , he placed it to win. He had over 3 hours to wait and it was torture to him and the doubts started to creep in. What if the first was a fluke and this went down? He didn't have a bean for the rest of the week until his dole came around.
At 12.35 his doubt left him. The dog romped home well in front of the pack. He was nearly 3 grand richer and never happier.
Walking about 3" above the ground he strolled back to the antique shop with a plan forming in his mind. He would buy the mirror, now that he has some cash to pay for it. His worries were over.
Then they were not! When he made an offer for the mirror the shopkeeper said it was not for sale.
He offered him 1,000e, 2,000e and finally 2,700e, just about all he had. Still no sale.
He had to have that mirror before someone else made an offer the shopkeeper would not refuse.
At home that night, he formed his plan. Why pay anything?
The following day he watched and waited until the shop was about to close then made his move.
He entered quickly, pushing the owner to the ground giving him a kick for good measure.
As he took the mirror from the window the owner told him it would do him no good. He said a strange thing, he said it was only a good mirror; for this he received another sound kick to his head and he fell silent.
Wrapping the mirror in an old piece of sacking he left by the rear door and took his prize home.
He set it against the wall and uncovered it. He saw an old man with unkempt hair, unshaven and with a wild look in his eyes! Where was the young man? Where was the paper that was going to make him rich beyond his dreams?
He kept going back to the mirror all night still seeing the old man and wondering what to do.
The next day there was a commotion in the High Street. Police had cordoned off the shop and the news people said that the kind old man had been savagely kicked to death by an intruder who seemed to have taken none of the works of art, some which were quite valuable and nothing had been taken from the unlocked safe which contained thousands of euro's.
The Police were puzzled.
He was shaking like a leaf and glad that no one noticed him. He hadn't kicked the man that hard had he? He didn't mean to hurt him, the old fool must have had a bad ticker or something.
Anyway, no one saw him enter or leave, he had left nothing to incriminate himself, he was safe.
He went home not risking getting close to the scene
He looked in the mirror again and still saw the wild old man staring back. The magic, hocus pocus or whatever seemed to have stopped and was probably just his fluky imagination anyway. He would get rid of the mirror just in case of, well you never know do you?
It was the only link there was and someone might remember seeing it in the window. So that night he smashed the mirror and broke up the frame, wrapped the whole lot in the old sacking from the shop and dumped the lot in a skip down the road. It was all over and at least he still had his winnings didn't he?
He went to town the next day, once again looking for work before his cash ran out and he happened past the antique shop, closed now but with a constable at the door with questionnaires for the passers-by. He was stopping anyone, asking them if they saw or heard anything suspicious the previous evening.
When the constable saw him ,he grabbed his arm and shouted for assistance, which came in the shape of 2 burly officers from inside. hey handcuffed him and hustled him inside the shop until a car arrived to take him away.
He was scared stiff and wild eyed, wondering what the hell had caused them to grab him.
Then, as they took him out to the waiting car what he saw made his blood run cold !
The mirror was in the window! in the reflection he saw himself kicking the old man to death!
Then he remembered what the old man's last words meant. The mirror was only for good.

© Dave Timperley April 2016

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