Morgan stepped forward and into the mirror. Hannah followed, and they found that they were at the end of a corridor—where, in the other direction, they could see five mirrors, all on the right.
“All right,” Morgan said. “I’m officially out of fun. Let’s go home.”
Hannah had moved to the first mirror, which was a mirror they could see out of. She looked through it, and said “It looks like an old library or something. Very dusty. Not well lit. Let’s do one more.” She glanced at Morgan, he nodded, and she stepped out of the mirror. He followed.
They were indeed in an old, musty, poorly lit library, with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves on three sides, a big, open window on the fourth, several large chairs, and an enormous globe on a stand. There was a door on the other side of the room, and they moved silently toward it. It was then that an elderly woman jumped up from one of the chairs, throwing off a dark blanket at the same time, and let loose with a horrendous scream.
Then she pointed and shouted, “You came out of the mirror!! Witches!! Witches!! You came out of the mirror!”
And from outside the room, on what was clearly a set of stairs, Morgan and Hannah could hear the sound of loud, running steps, coming closer.
Hannah looked at Morgan with eyes that were wide with apprehension. “What now?” she asked.
Morgan needed only a second to consider their options, and he quickly said, “Back into the mirror.”
They turned, but managed one step toward the mirror when the door on the opposite side of the room swung open and a middle-aged man who smelled of horses pushed in. The old lady, once she saw them, pointed toward Hannah and Morgan, and shouted, “They came out of the mirror! They came out of the mirror!”
The man glanced at Hannah and Morgan with a hard scowl, and said, “Ma’am, that’s impossible, they probably came in through the open window.”
Hannah was quick to seize upon this option, and said, “Yes, we came in through the open window.” She moved toward the window to prove her point, and looked through it. Then she added, “Or maybe not…” Below—a full twenty feet down—was a gravel driveway, a team of large work horses, and two men—both of whom were staring up at the open window.
The elderly lady now threw a hand across her forehead and said, “I am going to faint.” Then, as she heard more loud footsteps running toward them, she screamed again and shouted, “Hubert! Get your shotgun!”
A young woman now charged into the room. She glanced at the elderly woman, who now—again with her hand across her forehead—had collapsed back into her chair. “Grandma,” the young woman started to say, then she looked at Morgan and Hannah and asked, “Who are you? And how did you get in here? Did Sawyer let you in?” She now looked at the middle-aged man.
“I did not let them in,” the man replied, indignantly. “They were here when I arrived and your grandma said that they came out of the mirror.”
The young woman now glanced first at her grandmother, then again at Morgan and Hannah. She started to speak, but an elderly man shoved into the room just then, holding a double-barreled shotgun—which was fortunately pointed toward the ceiling. The young woman turned her attention to him, and said, “Grandpa, what are you doing with that?” She reached out to take the weapon from him.
Sawyer was backing Hannah and Morgan into the corner with the mirror, and—just then—one barrel of the shotgun went off. There was loud blast, followed by a moment of stunned silence. Sawyer moved to take the shotgun from the old man, and the elderly lady again shouted, “I am going to faint.”
The room was now filled with a dense gray smoke, and, from the ceiling, a rain of paint chips and wood fragments showered down upon them, and Morgan could see a round circle that had been chewed in the ceiling. The shotgun, he realized, had been loaded with bird shot. The young woman had backed up when the shotgun had gone off, and was now between Hannah and the mirror. Morgan pushed Hannah into the corner beside the mirror, hoping she would turn and go through it, and—while he did—Sawyer grabbed the shotgun and the other barrel went off.
Another round pattern was drilled in the ceiling, more smoke swirled around them, and more paint and wood chips rained down on them. A third woman pushed her way into the room, and asked in a loud voice, “Esther, what is going on?” Then she looked at Hannah and Morgan and said, “And who are you and how did you get in here? Did Sawyer let you in?”
Esther replied, “Sawyer did not let them in, Mom! They came…” She paused, and then continued, “Grandma says they came out of the mirror.”
Both women now glanced at the elderly lady who was now lying in her chair, her feet up on a stool, vigorously fanning herself. Sawyer had the shotgun, and he opened the breech and let the twin barrels dangle down in front of him. This action, Morgan knew, was typical of an Englishman familiar with such weapons, and he suspected that they were somewhere in England—however, when was a big question. But, given Sawyer’s horsey smell, they were probably in England sometime in the past.
Esther had moved forward just a foot or so, but it was enough for Hannah to squeeze behind her. She caught Morgan by one arm, and then stepped back and into the mirror.
And immediately bounced back into the room, as another person came out of the mirror. This individual was a man, tall and dressed in a kaki wool uniform, wearing puttees, and with two stripes sewn onto his left shoulder and a white armband with a red cross on his right. He had a smell to him of dirt, sweat, and gunpowder, and had a dazed look—as well as a long, thin line of dried blood down one side of his face.
Esther, her mother, and Sawyer all stared at the new arrival with open mouths and wide-eyed expressions. Hubert, the grandfather, was now muttering something no one could understand, and his wife was still fanning herself. The newly arrived man, for his part, simply collapsed in a nearby chair. He grabbed Morgan by the sleeve, and mumbled, “I saw you two in that dark corridor after I went through the mirror. You’ve got to help me. I was in Belgium, and now I am…” He stopped speaking and stared around the room in amazement, then he muttered one additional word, “Josephine.”
Morgan was not at all prepared for what happened next. Esther rushed forward, knelt at the man’s side, and said, “Rodney, what are you doing here? You’re supposed to be at the front.”
Rodney looked at her with disbelief, and said, “I am at the front. Esther, Mrs. Watson, Sawyer… What are you doing here?”
Mrs. Watson now pushed her way to Rodney’s side and grabbed one of his hands. “We’re at home. In Yorkshire. You just stepped out of a mirror. How? Where?” Her words drifted off in confusion, and her expression said she was struggling to comprehend what had occurred.
Rodney stared at her, saying nothing, not understanding at all what had happened. Esther now held his other hand.
“I think he needs a doctor,” Sawyer said.
“I think he needs a drink,” Hubert said.
That brought Mrs. Watson out of her daze, and she moved to a small table next to the window, grabbed an ornate bottle and a glass, poured a large portion into the glass, and handed it to Rodney. He took it, without question, and drank about half of the liquid. Then he flopped his arm back down, spilling the rest on the carpet.
Mrs. Watson now stood, and looked around the room—and her gaze immediately fell on Hannah and Morgan. “Can you explain this?” she demanded.
Hannah was holding onto one of Morgan’s arms, and was standing directly in front of the mirror. Morgan considered what he should do, but—given the woman’s unrelenting stare and the utter strangeness of the situation—he decided for the truth.
* * * * * * * * *