The thing in the mirror . . .

I have to get away from it before it sucks my soul into its dark, inner chasm.

At first it showed me pleasant things: violets, mountain ranges, me with Eric. We're kissing, and he thinks I'm the most wonderful thing in the world. Later, the images get darker. Now I'm afraid I'll never see my 16th year.

I'm home alone tonight. Mom, Dad and Jacob have gone to the mainland to shop and see a movie. Then they're staying overnight in Richmond.

But the mirror thing wouldn't let me go; it made me stay home. I told Mom and Dad I had too much homework and studying to do. I had to pretend.

Of course, they didn't mind because they knew I'd be safe here on the island where everyone knows everyone else, and there are no strangers.

I sit here at my dressing table, transfixed, staring into the mirror and Malachai's empty eyes. I've lost my will. I do Malachai's bidding and that is all.

This is how it always happens. I am drawn to the mirror in my bedroom by images of Eric and me entwined on the beach. That pulls me in. Then when I'm hooked, Malachai comes through and takes possession of my soul.

At first I'd see Malachai faintly behind me in the mirror, two glowing red eyes, the rest of his face hazy.

Then his face became superimposed over mine. I don't know what Satan looks like and I'm not saying that Malachai is Satan, but he is surely one of his master disciples.

Now when I look in the mirror my face has become Malachai's.

Chapter One:

Three months previous:

Unfortunately, my family and I now live on Smith Island, this tiny pin-prick of land off the coast of Virginia. The only way you can get here is by ferry boat.

There is absolutely nothing happening here. One touristy seafood restaurant, one coffee shop, a corner grocery and a row of shops is about it. The economy is completely dependent on fishing and crabbing. Everything smells like fish.

It's the end of summer, so there are still plenty of visitors coming and going, but you should see what a ghost town this place turns into in the fall and winter.

There's a flurry of activity in December, what with people visiting the island to pick up some "quaint" Christmas gifts, but January brings a bleak, never-ending monotone of cold gray skies. This sounds shallow, but what I wouldn't give for a mall!

My dad's an environmentalist. He spends most of his time ushering school kids around on tours of the local habitat, or guiding eco-tourists who want to get away from their own grimy lives on the mainland and see some of our island wildlife. (But that's the real problem with the island -- there is no "wild life," if you know what I mean.) Ecology is all a great cause and everything, but at this moment I don't care.

Right now it's breakfast time, and Dad's off to a college symposium. He's off to college symposiums a lot. - - That's his way of dealing with small island life. He'll be gone for several days.

"Bye Jenna." He kissed me on the forehead. "What are you going to do today?"

"Matti and I are taking the ferry into town to do some shopping."

"That's good, honey. Do you want to ride in with me?" Dad was driving his own power boat.

"No, we're going to take the ferry a little later."

He grabbed his regulation LL Bean khaki backpack and was off.

I nibbled on my bran flakes and stared out the window at the hawthorn trees.

The social activity here is limited to Methodist church parties, and I'm not big on those. The only good thing about the church is the bell tower, which is a prime make-out spot . . . if you know how to get in when no one's there.

Mom's sleeping right now. She has a home craft business selling decorative soaps in one of the local shops and on a home-made e-commerce web page.

When she's not doing that, she's over at one of her lady friends' houses having their "cocktail parties" as they call them. The 1950's suburban housewife discontentment is alive and well in the 21st century on Smith Island.

Mom's friends are both transplants, women whose families thought it would be great to get back to nature, move to a small, boring town. Now they all hang out together, drink gin and lament their lives.

Most nights when Mom gets home it's off to bed, falling into a death-like snooze. That's her way of dealing with life on Smith Island.

The native women are another story. They are continually busy picking crab meat out of the shells or otherwise helping their husbands in their fishing businesses, so I guess they don't have time to think about the true repressive nature of this place.

What I mostly hate is that the Island is so small everyone knows your business.

Mom, Dad, Jacob (my obnoxious younger brother) and I left the civilized world of Manhattan and landed squarely in the sticks.

Still, it is beautiful here. Right around sunset when you go to the shore and watch the light filtering through the tall grasses, the birds catching their dinner, you think maybe it's not all so bad.

Matti was waiting for me at Smith Island's miserable excuse for a ferry boat. It was so small there wasn't even any room for cars. You could either get wind-whipped standing out on the deck or asphyxiated from exhaust fumes in the inner cabin.

Wearing jeans and a sweat shirt, Matti stood leaning against a post on the ferry dock. She was a tad overweight but had long black hair and a pretty face. Even though she was a native, she was different enough that we got to be friends. By "different" I mean that she was artsy and a loner, which I could definitely relate to.

"Look over there." She inclined her head then turned her face toward me pretending not to stare at the object of her attention. "Eric," she whispered to me.

"Who's he? I've never seen him around here before. On an island of 180 people, I'd think that would be impossible."

"You've seen him, but he was a goofy little kid last year." Matti said.

"That's Eric Bradshaw?" I was flabbergasted. "He certainly has matured." Now I was looking at him while trying not to look like I was looking.

Eric had short dirty blonde hair tipped with highlights, and wore skinny little John Lennon sun glasses, white tee shirt, windbreaker and gray cargo pants. He was medium tall and his body had just the right amount of muscle.

None of the fisherman guys on this island would have their hair highlighted on a bet.

"He's not gay, is he? He looks pretty fashionable for a Smith Island guy."

"No. Here's the scoop. Mom said he's been going to school in Richmond and he has a girlfriend he visits there every week," Matti said.

"Wow! Amazing."

"Come on, Miss New York. Let's go make friends." She pulled at my arm.

"No, Wait."

"Surely you're not shy." Matti looked disgusted.

"No, I just don't want to be like a couple of goofy girls trying to make an impression. We have to be aloof and let him come to us."

Eric was standing on the bridge of the ferry reading a paperback, pretty much oblivious to us and everything else.

"You think so?"

"Oh yeah, there is no doubt in my mind.."

We spent the rest of the boat ride being aloof. He spent it reading his novel and never once looked at us.

"He's probably boring anyway."

"Yeah," I said smiling. "I can't have him either."

When the ferry pulled into its port, Crisfield, Eric was met by a couple of kids in a white convertible. Matti and I walked into town.

We wandered into a used bookstore. As usual, I was drawn to the occult section.

"Would you stop looking at that stuff," Matti said.

"I can't help it. I need something to jazz up my life. I'm not about to do drugs, and there's no one around to indulge me in wild sex."

"Oh, I think some of the local boys would oblige you." Matti winked.

"I don't really want to smell like fish, thank you very much." We both started giggling like a couple of teenage girls, which we were.

"Oh now here's a good one." I pulled a dusty tome that looked like about a hundred years old off the shelf and scanned the table of contents. "I want to do some of these spells."

"Oh, come on. What do you need, eye of newt, wings of bat?"

I glanced through the book. "No, this is mostly word spells. You just chant stuff. Anyway, the price is right, so I'm going to get it. Maybe we can cast some spells." I looked at her and grinned devilishly.

"You can count me out."

I knew full well that Matti would go along with anything I did.

We took the last ferry of the day back to the island. No Eric.

Back home Mom was at her afternoon soiree with her girlfriends, dad was at his symposium, and Jacob was off hanging with his kid friends.

We sat in my bedroom, which had whitewashed walls and a mission-style oak bed with a cozy cream-colored comforter. The other furniture included an oak dressing table, a large, freestanding oval mirror and a straight backed chair. The top of my dressing table was completely empty. I liked my room kind of minimal, so I didn't have a lot of stuff around, just the essentials like my Mac and about a million books in a bookcase that filled one wall of my room.

Mom thought I was manic because my room was always spotless.

Matti brought out one of her silly "girl" magazines. "How to get HIM to notice you."

"Matti, you've lived on this island your whole life; do you ever feel strange presences here?"

She looked up from her magazine and shrugged. "They say there are ghosts here, but I don't particularly notice anything. Do you?"

"Yeah." I shivered. "Sometimes when I'm up alone late at night I feel a kind of presence. Maybe I'm just imagining things, but it feels like a restless soul. I'm wondering if someone died a violent death here or something."

"I don't believe in that stuff, Jenna. I'd rather concentrate on what's real." She continued reading her magazine.

"So would I, but the feeling is so strong. I'm just curious, that's all."

"I think it's best to leave it alone." She looked directly into my eyes.

"I thought you didn't believe in it."

"I'm not sure." Matti shrugged.

"OK. forget about the ghosts, then. Let's do some kind of innocuous spell . . like . . . a love potient. That's pretty tame. What's worst that can happen? That it won't work?"

"I don't know." Matti looked away as though uninterested, and shook her head.

"Oh, Matti, please? Let's do Eric. Come on, what do you say?"

"Who gets him, you or me?"

"Let's flip for him?" I took out a quarter. "Tails." I flipped it. "Tails it is."

"Knowing you, you've probably got it rigged." She had this characteristic grin in which one side of her mouth curled up more than the other. It meant she wasn't entirely serious.

"Not a chance." I shook my head. "It's just plain fate."

Matti and I spent the next few days pouring over love spells. "We're lightweight witches," she said.

"Yeah, Cosmo witches." I laughed.

We both thought it was pretty harmless. But if I had known what the consequences would be, I would have stopped right then and there.