Today I fully intended to get back to blogging properly instead of fobbing people off with mediocre fiction, but this morning a man turned up at my neighbour’s with a ladder and a power tool, and I had to go spend my time bagging up the stuff he cut. You’ll probably hear about it on the news sooner or later.
So, you get my ‘G’ story, and I’m ashamed to say that I have absolutely no idea where the inspiration for this one came from, though I do rather like the concept of a mirror that reveals what dreams people are having, and I’m pretty sure the gay lovers got their names from characters in Poppy Brite’s Drawing Blood.
G is for GLASS OF NIGHT
The Glass of Night, fashioned by a necromancer, anointed in virgin’s blood and charged with particles of dark energy. It shows not the reflection of a man, but his hidden dreams and dark desires.
Trevor and Zach agree on a short holiday in the hope of saving their troubled relationship, time spent away from their ordinary lives and all the problems that are driving them apart.
They stay at an olde-worlde inn deep in the heart of the New England countryside, a place of gambrel roofs and cobbled courtyards, oak beams and flock wallpaper, each room stuffed with antiques, so that the whole looks like the stage set from some period drama.
Zach comments on the beautiful mirror in their room, a gleaming pool of glass framed in ornately carved ebony. He runs a finger over the surface, makes a connection. It feels cold to the touch, like frozen water.
Late at night Trevor wakes, moonlight streaming in through the open window. Uncertain why he should do such a thing, but compelled all the same, he gets out of bed and pads over to the mirror. It seems to draw him, to whisper spells of dark enchantment.
In the depths of the mirror he sees Zach and a man he doesn’t recognise. They are naked and splattered with blood. Their members are erect and their eyes seem to shine with secret knowledge, all the thousand and one things that are understood between lovers but never spoken. On the ground at their feet is a corpse, its throat slit. Trevor recognises the victim’s face as his own.
He turns back to the bed in horror, furious at this oneiric act of betrayal. That is not though why he puts his hands around Zach’s throat and wrestles the breath from him. What prompts Trevor to murder is the beatific smile on his lover’s dreaming face.