But of course, there could be only one answer.
He listened, and from elsewhere in the house there came a banging and a crashing and the sound of whispers. Creeping along the walls like a spider, he followed the racket to the old drawing room, where Mary and the boy stood at the mantle, looking at the mirror, he appearing sullen and she confused. Keeping to the shadows, Friedrich went unnoticed.
“Are you sure this is it?” said the boy. He was tugging at the mirror but was unable to remove it from the wall.
“I’m sure,” said Mary. “It’s always that one.”
“Well how does he open it?” said the boy.
“I don’t know,” said Mary. “It just opens.” She hugged her bare arms. “We should leave. The sun is down. I don’t want to be here.”
The boy did not turn around, intent on his work. He had cracked the mirror with a small hammer and was prying loose some of the glass shards, hoping they would reveal the mechanism. “We’re okay, he’s dead. I’m sure of it.”
So intent were they on the task that neither noticed Friedrich approach. Naturally, he cast no reflection for them to notice either.
“I’m not. We should have opened the curtains and let the light in.”
“But what if that started a fire?” said the boy. “We don’t know. I promise we’ll burn this whole place down when we leave, but first we need to find the money. Besides, he’s got to be dead, I mean, did you see that thing?”
“But he always looks like that,” said Mary. Her voice trembled. “Do you know what it was like, living here my entire life, knowing that just down the hall that thing was waiting, that any night now it might decide to…to…”
She seemed about to cry, and the boy put his arms around her, and it was then that they saw Friedrich. “Grandfather!” said Mary. The boy jumped, swallowing a scream, pushing Mary behind him as if to protect her, though his legs lurched toward the door and he stopped just halfway toward bolting.
“Grandfather,“ said Mary again, backing away, affecting a smile and a cheerful tone as best she could. “You’re awake.”
“Oh yes,” said Friedrich, taking a step forward. “It’s so very hard, isn’t it, to find the heart if you’ve never tried before?” The boy blanched.
“I’m glad you’re up,” said Mary. “There are so many things I want to talk to you about.”
“I’m sure there are,” said Friedrich and, moving faster than they could see, he sprang at them. He went for Mary but the boy was in the way, and the two of them fell, tangled in a heap. Friedrich was stronger but the boy caught him off guard, grabbing two handfuls of Friedrich’s white hair and smashing his forehead into Friedrich’s face. The boy’s nose broke and blood splashed both of them. A few drops spattered Friedrich’s dry lips and his hands came up, seeking to crush the boy’s throat.
“Mary!” the boy screamed. “Run!”
Mary ran, but got only as far as the hall. Where to go? Where could she possibly be safe? She bolted for her room and locked herself inside. She went to the window, but hesitated before climbing out; it would be a long drop…
She heard a thump on the other side of the door. Her legs were jelly but she forced herself to stand, reaching under the bed, grabbing something, standing in the middle of the room, just in front of the doorway. “Grandfather!” she said.
A pause. “Yes?” his voice was deeper than usual, not so frail and uncertain.
“Please,” she said, “let me explain. I did it for you.”
Another pause. “Ehn?”
“I knew you needed it,” said Mary. “To kill, I mean. And I knew you wouldn’t do it unless I helped you. And it worked, didn‘t it? Don‘t you feel better now?” Her arms were raised back over her head. She would only get one chance for this…
“Oh yes,” said Friedrich, voice muffled through the door. “So much better. But I find that now I’m in the mood for more substantial fare.”
A thump at the door again and a strange sound, like air escaping a balloon.
“Wait!” said Mary. “Please, don’t do this. I…I love you!”
“Do you?” said Friedrich’s voice, seemingly from nowhere. “Well, that settles the matter.”
She saw just the outline of his body, reforming out of mist in front of her, a kind of hazy, half-idea of a person, and as soon as she saw that she brought the axe down, aiming for the place where the neck met the shoulder. If she was even a half second too early the axe head would pass through nothing at all and bury itself in the floor, and a half second too late and it would simply glance off of his skin, but if she timed it just right…
There was a wet thunk, and Friedrich’s eyes went wide, and she saw his mouth open in a shocked O, face frozen in a look of confusion and terror. Wetness splattered the carpet and ran down his body. Mary’s arms hurt, and she let go of the axe, and it remained stuck, cleaving Friedrich’s body halfway. He tried to pull it out, but fell to his knees instead. He tried to speak, but gargled blood. He looked strange to her; not quite young, but not old anymore either. His hair was black, and his skin was ruddy. So much blood came out, pouring from him. It pooled at her feet.
She watched him grow weak, no longer groping at the handle of the axe. He swayed a bit on his knees, and his eyes closed halfway. He made a sound a bit like a sigh. Mary got on her knees, to look him in the eye. She wiped away tears. “I’m sorry,” she said. He seemed to nod. “I’m sorry,” she said again. When he seemed too weak to move she went to hug him one last time, and then —
Friedrich’s hand shot forward and ripped her throat out.
Mary gasped — no, she tried to gasp, but could not. Her head swam with the intensity of shock. Friedrich collapsed, facedown, in front of her, his body already dwindling away bit by bit, but she could only just see it. Everything in the room looked gray, and now it looked far away. She realized that something warm and wet was spilling down the front of her and she wondered, absently, how she would ever get the stain out of her dress…
She was on her side now. She did not remember lying down, but here she was. She was eye to eye with Friedrich, though there was little left of his face now but bits of dry, crumbling flesh flaking away from the worn remains of a skull. Blood still pooled under him, soaking the carpet. The smell of it, hot and vile, stung her nostrils. It crept closer, spreading, drenching everything in the room. She felt it on her cheek. She felt a drop on her lips. She felt…
In the mirror, in the corner of the room, she saw the reflection of the two women, saw their bright eyes and bloodstained skin. Who were they, she wondered? They had never told her. They had come to her in the night, years ago and warned her, telling her the truth about her “grandfather.” Now they pointed, in the mirror, to Friedrich’s body, and the blood spilling everywhere. One of them made a gesture, placing cupped hands to her lips, and Mary knew what she was being told to do: Drink.
So she drank.
***
Mary looked into the bathroom mirror and saw nothing. She marveled, running her hands over her face, feeling her features. Do I look different now, she thought? But she would never know.