Shadows of Light and Dark

Neon lights advertising a variety of mystical services compete for space on the filthy window.

Opening the door, the man enters the run-down shop; a tinny jangle of bells announces his arrival.

He looks with disdain around the dirty room; old cabinets - coated with years of neglect, and wooden shelves groaning under the weight of musty smelling books.

The free-standing mirror, just inside the room, shows his graying hair and sagging features; a once athletic build, now gone to seed. He tries to smooth away the wrinkled skin, but the image in the mirror mocks him.

"That doesn't work; you cannot deny what you see - He turns toward the unmistakably female voice, the girl is young, he places her age somewhere between 16 and 20; mirrors are; she continues - the window into the soul, so say, Shakespeare, DaVinci, and the Regiment of Life, but there’s so much more, so much

"I was sent here...."

The girl interrupts, "I am aware of why you are here, but please, do continue.”

"I was, sent, he stops mid-sentence, I was, told, that which I seek, I would find here, and for services rendered, I could expect to pay from that, which belongs to me." He reaches into the inside pocket of his coat, removing an expensive leather-bound checkbook. "I am prepared to be most generous."

"She looks into his eyes. Hers, a swirl of Emerald's greens flecked with gold, his; a muddy hazel mix; of uncertainty. She shakes her head, sending her long Chestnut hair swirling; it settles back onto her shoulders. “Then you understand the terms?"

“Yes, I’m quite sure I do.”

"Are you?"

“Yes, and once again, yes; I understand.” He opens the checkbook, pen in hand, poised, and ready to write. “Tell me how much for the services' child." "I am a busy man and wish to take my leave."

The girl tightens her lips, smiles; her voice is quiet and tinged with amusement. “Child - am I, “How perceptive you are not."

"What, I..." “I don’t understand, its dark, and …”

"Your understanding is not important;” "Look, to your reflection, the final decision is yours; agree to the terms; but heed my words, “for to act in haste, is to repent at leisure;” “once said; it is, done."

“I accept your offer.”

"Excellent; then let us make haste; the timbre of her voice, now that of a young child, "For you, sir, are, she pauses, her lips purse, her eyes darken, her voice, little more than a feral growl, deepens, for are a busy man and wish to take your leave, and so shall it be; our business, is concluded.”

"But I..."

"It is done." "SO GO!" "Go now!"

She turns, and skips away into the shadowy recesses of the store, the man is alone.

"Fine; He yells after her "Bill me."

He marvels at his reflection in the mirror. His clothes, made for someone of considerable girth, hang loosely about his frame; he nods approvingly, at his sparkling, Hazel eyes, black hair, and smooth milky white complexion, (with just a touch of Rosé red in the cheeks) the well-toned chest and arm muscle.

The mirror darkens, as the shop door swings suddenly open, its tinny bells complaining loudly.

A bone-numbing cold enters the room. It carries upon it the smell of decay and death -trepidation and desolation- misery and despair; Anguish and Torment; lost innocence and childhoods end.

The man shivers despite his tailored made Chesterfield Coat, approaching the entrance; he opens the door; closing it sharply, as he steps outside. The night air is exhilarating, and as he begins to jog; down the street, he feels no pain in his joints, no chest pain or shortness of breath – just a renewed energy coursing through his body, as he slides behind the wheel of his waiting car.

He switches the radio from talk to Classic Oldies Rock- as the car rockets down the highway. He alternates singing and cursing as he weaves around slower vehicles.

Home; with practiced ease, he steers the car onto the circular drive, up ahead-the aged Tudor Mansion he inherited from his parents.

He yanks open the front door, Mrs.Helpher, the family’s housekeeper of some 30-plus years, (whom he also inherited) is standing just inside.

Before he can speak, her sharp eyes have traveled up and down his body. She clutches at the amulet she has worn since he was old enough to remember.

"What have you done, Robert?"

"Done, He snaps done?" "Have you forgotten your place?” What right - have you to question me?" "I am the head of this family and..."

"Robert," Her voice stopping him, mid-way through his rant, "What bargain have you struck?"

"Old woman, taking off his coat, he tosses it carelessly onto the hall table. If you must know, I am reborn, I have purchased a new me, a new lease on life "Look at me; I am young again."

"The woman sighs and clutches her amulet tighter. It begins to glow yellow, illuminating her hand until all the bones inside are clearly outlined.

"Robert, consorting with the dark is dangerous, and its magic, is not without consequence." "I ask again." "What bargain have you struck?"

"I agreed to give them a piece of myself." He stares into the expressionless wizened face, "That's all."

"Robert; what, has been asked of you?"

"Fine, and enough already - “they said I would be expected to pay from that which belongs to me." "Of course, they haven't told me how much money yet, but I will gladly pay whatever they ask; I can afford it.

"You are a fool, Robert." “Perhaps you are ready, perhaps you are not.”

Ignoring the slight, he looks past her, and into the empty parlor - "Where are Jennifer and Michael?" "I want to show them, New Dad."  

She shakes her head, perhaps not then..." 

Robert races up the stairs, taking them three at a time. He throws open the first door and clicks on the light. The empty bed looks slept in, "Jennifer." He calls out, "Jennifer, where are you?"

A bone-numbing cold enters the room. It carries upon it the smell of Decay and Death - trepidation and Desolation - Misery and Despair - Anguish and Torment; lost innocence and Childhood's end.

Turning on his heel, he races to the next room, throwing open the door, he clicks on the light, the empty bed looks slept in, "Michael." He calls out, "Michael, where are you?

A bone-numbing cold enters the room. It carries upon it the smell of decay and death-trepidation and desolation- misery and despair - anguish and torment; lost innocence, and Childhoods End.

Panic, fear, and with a dawning realization that something’s gone wrong, he races into the hall where Mrs. Helpher is waiting. "She speaks softly, "You realize only now what you have done?"

  "Yes, pressing his back against, the wall he slides down until his elbows are resting upon his knees. “It wasn't monies they wanted..." "I just assumed..." he gestures towards the empty rooms, his voice barely above a hoarse whisper. “I understand now." "Expect to pay from that which belongs to me." "God, help me."

"Mrs. Helpher turns and heads for the winding staircase, her shoes leaving soft impressions on the aged carpet, “For, once said; it is, done." “God has nothing to do with this