The Mirror (5)

The mirror was busy. Or, more accurately, whoever or whatever was on the other side was busy.

Strange objects were frequently to be found on the floor in front of the mirror. I found a note, written in a strange language, that's if it was even a language, it looked more like a mess of ink. 

In reply I pushed through a printout of a Wikipedia page about Adenomus, the drawf toad. 

More objects appeared over the coming weeks. Leaves of strange plants, strange carvings made of strange wood, strange metal objects, and a photo. A photo of a man. 

I threw a picture of myself through the portal. Taken five years previously, on a beach holiday. I was suntanned, young and happy. 

Outside the house the world continued to go round. There was an election and a war and a protest. There was a change of government yet the government seemed unchanged. The man with a vase more valuable than the whole of England died. It transpired that he had left the vase to me in his will and that it was worthless.

My company grew. I employed over two dozen staff and cleaned over fifty houses. Mrs Aspeth was the only one I did myself now, because of the danger of the mirror. Good rota staff are hard to replace and I'd hate to lose them to another realm.

I didn't say anything to her, not a word, nor did she ever once see me do anything other than dust carefully around it.

But she knew.

One day she poured me a sherry and told me to sit beside her.

"If you see him," she said, "Tell him to come home. It's been too long."

"I will," I said. "If I see him."

She gave me a photo, an old photo. 

"You don't mind?" I said.

"You've been a good cleaner, she said. "The best. And more besides. You're free to do what you will." She paused, long enough for us both to take swills of sherry, it was good stuff, much better than anything I could afford. "You're sure?" she said. 

I nodded. There was a long silence. You could fill entire libraries with words that went unsaid.

"What's it like?" I asked finally.

"It's different every time dear. Sometimes good. Sometimes bad. But you could say that of moving to a new town. I knew a woman once who moved to Milton Keynes and never regretted it. 

I finished the sherry. 

"I feel good vibes from the other side, if you're ready," she said.

"I think so. Do I need anything?"

"Just your shoes and your wits, and I know you have those. If you see him, tell him ..."

I nodded. And clutching my fist in determination I stepped though the mirror, with no idea what awaited me on the other side.