Yewgate Hall

 

 

Hannah Holland looked in her new mirror and was pleased with what she saw. She still thought of it as her 'new' mirror, even though it had occupied its space in the hall of the flat for a couple of years or so. It had intrigued her when she first saw it in a small dingy 'antique' shop in the town, and it intrigued her still. It was quite heavy for its size; only about twelve inches square, set within a wrought iron frame. But the thing that had taken her fancy was the curious inscription set in a panel at the bottom of the frame. Small white letters finely worked into the black panel proclaimed. 'To Yewgate Hall'.

      Hannah had never heard of such a place, and neither had her inquiries produced much in the way of worthwhile information. Unfortunately the little shop from where she had bought it seemed to have closed down so that didn't help, but another second hand shop in the town was a little more helpful.

      “An old hall some miles out of town; pulled down thirty years ago or more.” the man told her. "Everything that could be removed was taken out to be sold before it was demolished," he added. And then, as if to mollify her he smiled, "Things keep turning up."

      But as to the occupants of the old hall or its history he was very sketchy. It was thought that the last owners were named Wilberforce, the man told her, a coincidence of names perhaps for Hannah remembered that way back some of her ancestors had borne that name. Beyond that she had could find nothing.

"There had been," the shop man's final contribution, "an earlier mansion on the same site that burnt to the ground along with its occupants," he raised hid hands slightly. "The fate of many an old building I'm afraid."

 

No matter; she liked the mirror, and quite enjoyed the mystery of its origin. And one day - she had a strong feeling - she would find out about the mysterious Yewgate Hall.

      Somewhat surprisingly her husband liked the mirror too. Hannah had found this curious because like she, he was not overly fond of his appearance nor felt the need for constant reminders. Indeed, until Hannah turned up with this one there had not been other mirror in their flat. But another reason for her curiosity was because there wasn't much they agreed about these days.

      Their twenty years of marriage had not been a complete failure, but neither had it been all she had hoped for. Hannah had not been blessed with good looks; in fact some people of her acquaintance had been unkindly direct when referring to her lack of facial charm. So she had grown through her teens and her twenties with few expectations of finding romance until, somewhat unexpectedly, she met Edwin Holland. He, to put it bluntly, had even less to boast about when it came to the 'looks' department, but as they had both endured the same ordeal, the taunts, the snide remarks and the giggles, they found in each others company the comfort of not having to hide. Inevitably this turned into a kind of love and with equal inevitability marriage followed.

      In truth it was more of a platonic sympathetic relationship than the passionate romantic love immortalized in popular fiction. For one thing they discovered that neither of them were much interested in the other sexually, a fact borne out when they failed to produce any children. And indeed neither of them engaged in amorous adventures with anyone else. For them the relationship was one of companionship and social acceptance rather than of basic animal instinct.

      So they stayed together ignoring the only problem that emerged in their relationship. Namely, that although they were intellectually compatible their interests took them in different directions and they simply grew apart until they were living virtually separate lives. Nevertheless, since neither had romantic ambitions elsewhere they continued the pretence, combining the social advantages of the married state, a comfortable home, the absence of the financial pressures a divorce would bring. Also, perhaps most of all, the freedom to come and go as they pleased. It was an arrangement that suited them both very well. Unsurprisingly with such an arrangement, they developed a 'polite' indifference to each other, a politeness which often was heavily veiled with sarcasm and cutting wit.

 

      Hannah was still smiling as she looked into the mirror, its small size seeming to reflect her image sympathetically. More and more as the time passed she examined her face just as she was doing now, first turning to see her left profile, and then her right, before returning to the front view. 'There's no doubt', she was thinking, 'no doubt at all'. She had suspected it before, and each time she looked she was more certain, but still found the evidence of her eyes hard to believe. The outline of her profiles were definitely far less unsightly than they used to be, and her full on face looked younger; even . . . she hardly dared to think it . . .well almost, pretty.

      "Don't know why you spend so much time looking in that mirror?" It was her husband passing through the hall. "I hope you're not expecting a miracle."

      Hannah was exasperated. After all, it wouldn't hurt him to pay me a little compliment, she reasoned. Perhaps he feels a bit put out because he is showing his age so badly. Just the same, it wouldn't do him any harm to be pleasant, she concluded

      "Bloody woman." Edwin muttered as he sat down with the newspaper he had just retrieved from the letter box. "What's she torturing herself for? Can't she see that she is looking more like an old woman every day?" Noisily he turned to the back page. "Can't help feeling sorry for her though. She looks to have aged ten years in the past two."

      He stood up and walked to the bathroom, and was pleased when he returned to the hall to find that Hannah had gone. Now it was his turn to look at the image of himself. He smiled, and his smile broadened when he considered his reflection. At first he had found it hard to believe but there was no doubt. He could not ignore what he now saw every day. He looked younger, and the hard ugly lines of his facial bone structure were vastly improved. "You could pass for forty anywhere." he told the man smiling back at him. "Funny though that 'she' never mentions it. Touch of sour grapes I expect." he muttered.

      This situation continued for a long time while the gap between what they were, and what they perceived, became ever greater. But though they each recognized their own transformation, they continued not to acknowledge a similar change in the other. It seemed that neither was prepared to 'concede' the improving condition of their 'partner'.

      It could not go on. Clearly they could not maintain the charade of each believing that they were getting (or at least looking) younger, while at the same time asserting that their partners were ageing fast. It seemed that neither of them could see that they were heading for a personal Armageddon, and that sooner or later there would be a climax. 

      When the climax to their metamorphosis finally came the explosion was extraordinary.

 

On one of their rare outings together in the town, they came across the little antique shop. "Look there," Hannah said, "that's where I bought the hall mirror.”

      "Thought you told me it had closed down." Edwin sneered.

      “I come down here often enough; I could have sworn it had closed down.” Hannah replied curtly, though clearly puzzled.

Moments later she was through the door, Edwin following.

      "It's all junk." he sniffed.

      "But that's the fun," she retorted, "finding something worthwhile amongst the . . . “

      "Junk." Edwin finished the sentence for her.

      After a few minutes she stopped and pointed, for hanging on the back wall was a much larger version of the mirror Hannah had bought all that time ago. Hannah wanted a closer look and gestured to Edwin to go with her. The mirror, about four foot wide was large enough for them to stand side by side and to see to each other. But far from enjoying the shared experience they looked on in disbelief . It was as though they were seeing each other for the first time.

      For a long time neither of them spoke, for there in the mirror they stood side by side, a young couple seemingly at the start of their life together. She, a beautiful young woman with perfect features, her face framed by long curvy tresses of shinning hair. He, with a head of thick wavy dark hair, framing the face of a handsome square jawed man in his prime. They were seeing for the first time the reflections that each had been enjoying of themselves, but which until now had been denied to their partners.

      "I don't understand it." Hannah whispered, frightened, looking both ways. First at the young man in the mirror, and then at the old man by her side. In confusion she turned away.

      "It can't be true," Edwin responded, as he saw in the mirror his wife as the young woman he might once have wished for, but at the same time by the simple turn of the head, the wizened old lady standing by his side. "It must be some kind of trick mirror."

      But as he spoke those words, he knew that it was more than that. Much more. They both knew the images of themselves so well, but neither of them could reconcile themselves and their young partners who were staring back at them from the mirror, with those who were standing by their sides.

      But worse was to come. As they stood in silence trying to understand what was happening it was Edwin who first noticed. "Look." he said, almost paralysed, and pointed to the wrought iron panel where the inscription said, just like the one at home, "To Yewgate Hall" Indeed that was its main attraction, that it was a 'match' to the one in their hall. But as they watched the letters started to blur, slowly spinning like fairground fruit machine before becoming clear again but in a meaningless re-arrangement. Time after time the letters blurred and changed, blurred and changed. Together they watched and waited as though they had tickets in some kind of supernatural jackpot.

      So fascinated by the constantly rearranging letters that for a while their attention was drawn away from the mirror. So much so that they didn't notice that as the letters were changing, so were their reflections. It was not until the letters finally stopped spinning they saw it. For this time instead of a meaningless jumble of letters they spelled out a new and terrifying inscription. 'Gateway To Hell'.

      Two screams followed in simultaneous horror, for now they saw staring out from the mirror two wizened old hags, so old as to be incalculable; long dead yet somehow undead. They ran from the shop screaming and disappeared amongst the startled shoppers.

 

That was the last time that Hannah and Edwin were seen alive. Weeks later someone in the block of flats became concerned and contacted the police, and when finally they gained access to the Holland's flat Hannah and Edwin were found dead, fully dressed and on their respective beds.

      "It's a funny case to be sure," the Chief Inspector said to his junior colleague. “A couple in their late fifties probably, maybe sixties; but with nothing to indicate how they died. No sign of injuries or of fowl play. A tidy flat with all the doors and windows locked and no sign of forced entry. It's a real puzzle."

      "That's right," the younger man answered, "but my word, they're a couple of ugly buggers. Maybe they just scared each other to death."

      They both laughed at the joke, and soon the bodies were carried out of the flat. The young policeman of course could not have known the prophetic nature of his remark. Neither did he notice anything unusual about the mirror in the hall as he paused to comb his hair and adjust his quiff. He did notice its unusual inscription 'To Yewgate Hall.' but it meant nothing to him and he paid it no heed.

      When nearly everyone had gone, the two policeman, their jobs done and waiting only for the locksmith to make the flat safe, they were chatting.

      "Wonder what the rent is for this place?" the younger man asked his Chief Inspector. "My lass and me are looking for a flat; this would do us grand." 

       Neither of them saw the mirror react. Even if the young constable had known it would not have occurred to him that his was the last face to be seen in the mirror and that it still retained a feint facsimile of PC Charles Wilberforce's image, quiff and all.

      But something had happened! The mirror had reacted, something had caused the inscription to start spinning. Gradually it had changed to match it's larger 'twin' still hanging on the back wall of the little shop. Now they both bore the legend 'Gateway to Hell', and now both were displaying a faint image of PC Holdsworth.

      He did not know that he was a fourth cousin twice removed from The Hon. Wilfred Wilberforce, once of the first Yewgate Hall, and was similarly linked to the late Hannah, whose body was now on its way to the morgue. Her grandmother was also a Wilberforce.

       Come  on Charles, give up looking at yourself in that mirror. You might finish up like those two poor buggers. He had now idea how prophetic his words might be.