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                                         Uncle Nick

 

 

Jack looked into the mirror after spitting out the foam. Toothbrush still in hand he continued his attack, determined to observe the minimum period of two minutes vigorous brushing, as recommended by his dentist and the pretty lady on the toothpaste box. As he brushed he noticed in the reflection a large hair protruding from his nose, and with little thought, save perhaps a degree of stoicism, he proceeded to pull it out.

      “Ouch.” he heard himself shout, as a small stab of pain shot up his nostril.

      Applying himself again to the job in hand he recommenced brushing, despite knowing in his heart of hearts, that his teeth were beyond recovery. After a brief rinse he looked again into the mirror.

      “What's your game then?” the face facing him asked.

Jack looked again at the reflection, expecting nothing more than to see his own tired features staring back. But no; before him was a person of obvious maturity, distinguished in looks and demeanour, and appearing to be at least ten years younger than himself. Also, judging by his face (much else he could not see) a couple of stones lighter. It was a handsome face he saw, square looking and unblinking, eyeball to eyeball, and Jack was curious to say the least. He was about to reply to his somewhat unlikely visitor, but was beaten to the punch.

      “Well?” the face asked “What's the idea?”

      “What do you mean? Asked Jack, not comprehending, and yet unable to resist his 'new' image.

      “You know perfectly well.” said the reflection, as he patted down his grey, but perfectly coiffured hair. “How would you like it If I stuck a pair of pliers up your nose and pulled all the hair out, eh? Just tell me that.”

      “It was a pair of tweezers, and it was only one hair,” Jack responded somewhat annoyed; “and anyway, what has it got to do with you?”

      “Everything,” replied the reflection. “Just because I seem to be on the other side of the glass doesn't mean that I cant feel what you are doing.

      “But who are you?” asked Jack, a little tetchily “and who gave you the right to look through my mirror? Have you never heard of something called privacy?”

      “Questions, questions, nothing but questions; Can't you work it out?” The reflection started to laugh, but it didn't sound to Jack like a joyful laugh; rather it was a trifle more sinister.

      “No I can't, so would you kindly leave me to my ablutions.” he retorted, for he was getting irritated, while his new 'self' seemed to be enjoying the encounter.

      “Well now, you are a crabby one, but I'll forgive you. I guess it does come as a bit of a shock to have your mirror invaded.”

      “But who are you – are you me?”

      “Is that what you think?” asked the mirror, with a tone of voice very close to a sneer, “When did you ever look as magnificent as this?”

      “Well I only wondered that's all – no need to be rude. I thought perhaps it might be me in say, ten years time, or something.”

      With that the reflection roared with laughter “Ten years, it sputtered.   “You'll be a pretty sight in ten years if you don't make some serious changes. No dear boy; this is how you might have looked ten years ago, if you'd taken a bit more care of yourself.”

      “So you are me then; er; I mean now; oh' I don't know what I mean. Are you me or not? Jack finally managed to say.

      “No no no. I'm your uncle Nick; don't you recognise me?”

      “Uncle Nick - Uncle Nicholas? But he died years ago.”

      “Quite so dear boy. I think you are beginning to catch on.”

      “Bloody ridiculous. I've had enough of this.” Jack said, as he opened the bathroom cabinet door to its widest capacity so that the mirror was almost flush to the wall. “I must be cracking up. Fancy talking to someone in the mirror.”

      “Oi, who do you think you are? If you don't turn me right back again it will be the worse for you.”

      Jack heard the voice clearly, and the implied threat, though it was slightly muffled now. Slowly he turned the mirror back to it's proper position, half hoping that the ancestral reflection would be gone; but it was still there smiling.

      “That's better.” said uncle Nick “Now let's not have any more of that.”

      “I'm sorry, but you got me a bit scared. After all I’ve often spoken to myself in the mirror, but this is the first time that I; well someone else; has answered back.”

      “Yes yes; well that's as may be, but we have some important things to discus.”

      “But you don't look like Uncle Nick. He was small and fat, and nearly bald as I remember,” Jack said, trying to recall his long departed uncle, who he hadn't seen for about twenty years. “and you sure as hell don't look like me.” he added for good measure.

      “But I can look as I please, and as a gesture to you I chose to look like you. Or at least like you might have looked if you hadn't made such a mess of yourself.”

      “Look here.” Jack shouted. “This is my house and my bathroom and my mirror, and I will not stand here to be insulted. Will you please put back my proper reflection?”

      “As you wish.”

      In a flash Jack was looking at himself again. Thin wispy hair, decidedly grey but of the dirty scruffy variety; not the pristine silver grey of his dearly departed visitor. His teeth, that is, those that remained, were stained; unable to produce a smile that would compare to the one so recently before him. And his face, adorned at the moment with a three day growth, was as drawn as his cheeks were sallow. The comparison with what he saw now, and what had so recently gone before could hardly have been more extreme.

      Jack slowly opened the door of the shaving cabinet revealing the assortment of little boxes and little bottles with gather in such places.   “Uncle Nick;” he called softly, “are you in there?”

      “Of course I'm not you blithering idiot. What did you expect to see? Me sitting on a bar of soap next to the aftershave. Just close the door can't you?”

      Jack closed the cabinet door, and was relieved to see Uncle Nick smiling at him again.

      “Thought you'd want me back when you had another look at yourself.” he sneered.

      “I don't know why you have to be so rude. I can't help how I look, and you didn't look that good yourself when you were alive.”

      “Yes; I'll give you that, but I did at least live a full and interesting life, and I left more than a few quid in the bank when I toddled of.”

      “It's news to me.” Jack retorted. “I never saw any of it.”

      “Yes. Well that's one of the reasons I'm here now.”

      Jack perked up. “Do you mean that you left me something?”

      “You were a bit slow off the mark dear boy. Nothing left now. Not a bean. Some of your distant and more avaricious cousins got there first. Probably people you had never heard of; one or two of them even that I had never heard of.”

      There was just a hint of irritation in his voice on that last point. “So when you didn't show they carved it up between them.”

      “I didn't know.”

      “Well it was your own fault.” Uncle Nick insisted, not quite angry but with some firmness. “I never saw anything of you from one year to the next, and before I clocked it I had no idea where you were. Anyway, I'm here to make amends, though I’m not that you deserve it.”

      By now Jack was more at ease with his visitor, no longer overawed, but frankly getting somewhat tired of being slagged off.”

      “Ok uncle Nick; It was nice to see you, now will you please go away.”

      With that he opened the cabinet door once again, threw a hand towel over it and pushed it once more to the wall.

      “If you do that one more time I will leave for good and you will never know about the changes I can bring to your life.”

      “Changes. What changes?” Jack removed the towel and swung the mirrored door back part way so that, he could see his ‘uncle’ again, albeit at a rather oblique angle.

      “Well, a new lifestyle to start with; and will you please close that dammed cabinet door again so I can see you properly.”

      “Perhaps, if you try to be more agreeable.”

      Jack put on his stern face. “And what does that mean? What kind of lifestyle? There's nothing wrong with my lifestyle.” Jack answered firmly, but with unconvincing surliness.

      “You're joking of course,” uncle Nick retorted rather sarcastically. “From where I stand there's nothing right with it.”

      “Allright , maybe there's room for a little improvement here and there, but what kind of changes?”

      “Close the cabinet door.”

      Jack closed the door a little further.

      “Close the door please.”

      Jack closed the door until he and Uncle Nick were face to face again. He, straight faced and slightly anxious, whereas the venerable uncle had assumed a decidedly impish persona.

      “Ok, let's have it,” Jack asked, “what's it all about?”

      “Money my friend, that's all. Money, and what plenty of it can do for you. I can arrange it so that you can have all the money you could ever want.”

      “But why should you do that. And what's in it for you? This is getting a bit scary.” Jack muttered.

      “But you are family dear boy; why should there be anything in it for me?”

      Jack was not convinced of the sincerity of his uncles dismissal of personal gain, which throughout his life had always been his number one priority. It was something in his eyes; something that just didn't seen right.

      “Why now then? Tell me that: you've been dead for ten years, so why after all that time do you want me to be rich?”

      Uncle Nick stepped back as though in shock, and Jack was able to see his arms lifted, palms facing outwards. A moment or two elapsed before he spoke again.

      “Such ingratitude. But OK, I can see you are not interested. It's up to you of course, but I'll bet your cousin Walter – four times removed - won't be as hasty. Yes I know you've never heard of him, but he's next down the line. I think he might be a little more welcoming than you. So farewell Jack, I'll let you get on with your business, and your life. I can see you are a busy man.”

      At this point Jack could see the rather flamboyant image of his ancestor starting to fade, while his own image was slowly replacing it.

      “Wait wait waitཀ” he called. “Uncle Nick, don't go. It's been a bit of a shock that's all. Please come back.”

      “Thought you weren't interested.”  Jack heard the voice clear enough, but as his half faded image was now merged with his uncles half image the words seemed to be coming from his own mouth.

      Jack shuddered. “It all takes some getting used to.” he said Now will you please stop disappearing?”

      “Certainly,” replied uncle Nick, his face miraculously and instantly reinstated. “if you promise not to move this cabinet mirror again. Deal?”

      “Deal - So, er, what do I do now?”

      “Nothing dear boy. Just go about your business. I think you'll soon get the idea.”

      “Is that it? And how do I know if it's working?” Jack was concerned to see that once again the image of his uncle was fading.

      “You'll know.”

      Uncle Nick was fading fast, but the big smile, which, like the Cheshire cat, seemed to last longer that the rest of the image, somehow indicated that the interview was over, and for once, without rancour. Jack watched until all he could see was himself. His scrubby, grubby, tooth stained, tired and weary dirty haired self.

      Later that day he went to buy his daily paper, and as was his usual habit, he picked up a scratch card.

      “Don't know why I bother?” he said to the shopkeeper, “Never won anything with these in my life.”

      “Well I'm blessed.” He stopped, surprised, as the words escaped his lips. He was on his way back home and had been idly scratching the scratch card - not to mention the itches that were a constant irritation on various parts of his body - and there to his utter astonishment, he saw that he had won a hundred pounds. He hurried back to the Newsagent to get the cash.

      “It’s your lucky day.” said the shopkeeper, “perhaps you should try the lottery.”

      “Do you know I think I will.” he said, handing over a one pound coin. “One should be enough I think.”

      Jack returned to his home with a strange feeling. He seldom did the lottery, but never before had he purchased just a single ticket, and yet this time he was quite positive in wanting just the one.

      When he opened the door to his flat he was a little surprised to find an envelope on the door mat, addressed to him in a very fluent hand. The card inside; very elegant and stylish, was written in red: blood red.

​

                  ‘Don’t forget our deal’, it read. ‘Sign here’.

 

      A quick look to the bottom of the card revealed the signature Nicholas. Jack dashed to the bathroom and to the shaving cabinet, where he knew, he just knew, that ‘Uncle Nick’ would be waiting for him.

      He was.

      “What’s this?” he asked without preambles or pleasantries.

      “Our agreement.” smiled Uncle Nick.

      “What agreement?”

      “We have an arrangement in which you have everything to gain; and nothing to loose but your soul. You can have everything you ever wanted. Live out you life in luxury, and be the envy of everyone who you meet. All we want is your soul. Not much to ask.”

      Uncle Nick had a contented smile on his face. “Of course you’ve had a little win today. Call that a gesture of goodwill. Yours to keep old boy.” His smile became a chuckle and then a laugh, and then a guffaw. “But if you sign that letter in your own blood, come Saturday your life will be transformed.”

      He was trying to talk as he laughed, his eyes streaming, but gradually he regained control. “And that will be just the start. Go on; what’s stopping you?”

      Jack was at a loss and many thoughts sent his mind into a whirl. He had won a hundred pounds it is true, but so what. “That’s not going to change my life.” he mumbled,    “And what if I don’t want to sell my soul.” he finally managed to say.

      “Well your life will remain just as it is, except that you will always remember what it might have been.” Uncle Nick replied. He leaned forward until his nose was nearly sticking through the glass.

      “And there’s something else.”

      “Something else?”

      “Come; come closer.” the avuncular relative beckoned. Jack moved forward until they were almost nose to nose. “What do you see?”

      The image of Uncle nick had gone, leaving Jack looking at himself. “Only me.”

      “Exactly!”

      “So.”

      “You see what you are today. But now what do you see?”

Almost without him noticing the reflection in the glass had changed into that of a wizened old man, infirm, dirty, and bound very shortly for a visit to a mortician.

      “Well?” The face in the mirror had not changed, but it was the voice of his uncle that Jack could hear. “What do you see now dear boy. Never mind, I’ll tell you. That is you in ten years time - if you make it that long.”

      Jack shivered, but the voice from behind the reflection continued, “But take another look.”

      In a trice the familiar image of uncle Nick was back again, fat and affluent, well dressed and groomed, smiling, and quite clearly enjoying the mental anguish he was inflicting on his nephew. “Now what do you see?” he asked again.

      Jack was most relieved to see his uncle once again, after the unexpected, and unwelcome preview of what life had in store for him.

      “Well, it’s you Uncle Nick.”

      “No no no. What you see is you, or what you could be now, or in ten, twenty, thirty years.”

      “Really; are you sure?”

      “Sure as the devil. All you have to do is sign that paper; any kind of scribble will do; nothing to it, so long as it's your blood.”

      “But my soul?”

      During these latest exchanges Jack had edged away from the mirror, and once again his uncle gestured for him to come close again. “Look here,” he almost whispered, “tell me when you last used it; and what are you going to do with it when you are dead?”

      “Well I suppose it will be wanted,” Jack stopped for a moment, uncertain about what he was saying. “Up there.”

      Uncle Nick roared with laughter. “Up there.” he repeated, amidst another outburst of near hysterical glee. “Up there! Not in a million years. You’d never get near the place, never mind through the gates.”

      “I’ve not been that bad.” Jack said, mortified at his uncles insulting innuendo.

      “Take my word, I know my way around on this side, and I know everything about your life. You don’t stand a chance.”

      Jack remained silent for a long long time, his uncle likewise, perhaps aware of the mental contest being waged within his nephews head; the eternal fight between good an evil, right and wrong. Gradually Jack’s face changed; a different mood seeming to overcome him. He got up and left the bathroom. When he returned a few moments later he had Uncle Nick’s card with him.

      “Does it have to be blood?” he asked.

      “Yes, as long as it’s yours. Just a pinprick in your thumb will do then dab  it on the paper. Dead easy.”

      “Don’t I have to write my name?”

      “No, need dear boy, that’s only for the dramatists - you know what they are like. Don’t worry; we’ll know it’s you; just a jab and a dab; that’s it; well done.”

      Jack felt dizzy, and sat down on the only seat available; the toilet. He looked around. Everything seemed the same, but somehow he knew that everything was different.

      The following Sunday had the television reporters breaking the news of a massive win on the lottery. There had, for reasons that no-one could explain, been a massive increase of tickets sales this week, more  than in any other week since the lottery started. Not only that but there was only one winning ticket. A record thirty nine million pound Jackpot had been scooped by one man, who has, it is claimed, bought that winning ticket.

      The headlines the following Morning however were somewhat more sombre. The Headlines across the screens and the newspapers were simple statement, brief, and to the point.

      ‘Big Lottery winner dies of heart attack!’

      The photograph which accompanied that stark headline bore a remarkable similarity to Uncle Nick.