Oscar grimaced. “I didn’t like the feel of the bedroom at all. Let’s try the parlor, and if that doesn’t work, we’ll hit the bedroom.”
It probably didn’t matter that much, given Ullman seemed free to roam the house. “Sounds good.”
The three of them trooped to the parlor, while Tina monitored them from the dining room. At night, the scattered furniture made sinister shapes in the dark. The moon was just rising, but cloud cover blotted out any light it might have provided.
“Mirrors act as portals, so it might be easier for him to come out of the one on the wall and straight into the one on the box lid,” Nigel suggested. “Let’s clear a space around the mirror.”
Oscar dragged furniture out of the way while Nigel got the SLS running. Its screen mapped a stick figure over Oscar as he moved around. “SLS is working.”
“Great.” Oscar unzipped the backpack and took out a canister of salt as well as the Devil’s Toy Box. “I’ll do a voice over about the equipment later, just in case anyone is listening in.” In other words, no need to tip Ullman off if he was lurking around. And, of course, assuming Ms. Montague let them use any of this footage in the first place.
Oscar positioned it carefully in front of the old mirror, then lifted the lid. The Devil’s Toy Box was a simple device, which made its extravagant name even more annoying in Nigel’s opinion. It was a small box with every interior surface lined with a mirror. The theory was that since ghosts could use mirrors as portals, any ghost inside with the lid shut would only be able to bounce from mirror to mirror.
Nigel wasn’t entirely sure he bought that explanation. He was sure the silver backing on the mirrors served to create a Faraday cage, which would keep the ghost contained inside once the box was closed.
Oscar put two D-cell batteries into the box, then sat down cross-legged on the floor with the box between himself and the mirror. He unclipped the digital recorder from his belt, switched it on, and put it down beside him. “Is everyone ready?”
Nigel’s nerves tingled, as they always did at the prospect of ghostly activity. He patted the pocket of his cargo shorts with one hand, making sure the ziplock baggie of salt was still there. Hopefully nothing would go wrong, but if it did, he’d be ready to jump in and protect Oscar.
Silence settled over the parlor as Oscar centered himself with three deep breaths. Facing the antique mirror, he said, “Seth Ullman, this is no longer your home. You’ve lingered too long. Cross over and trouble the living no more.”
His voice rang with authority and sent a shiver of a very different kind through Nigel. He shook it off and refocused.
A faint creak sounded from above, but that was the only response—assuming it wasn’t just the house shifting as it cooled off.
Oscar was undeterred. “Seth Ullman! Your time in this world is done. Leave this place and trouble the living no more!”
On the screen of Nigel’s SLS, a second stick figure flickered to life.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-SIX
“He’s in the mirror,” Nigel warned.
Oscar had turned off his head light to keep it from reflecting back into his eyes. He searched the mirror’s depths—was that something moving, or just a shadow?
He looked back at his own reflection and had to choke off a cry.
Another face was now superimposed over his features: black hair slicked back from a haughty brow, the harsh line of a jaw, small eyes narrowed in rage.
Then the face began to change. The teeth grew larger and larger, mouth splitting open to accommodate them, and the small eyes burned a sickly yellow.
The temperature plunged, as though the season had changed from high summer to the depths of winter. A low growl sounded from the direction of the mirror, and waves of fury pounded at Oscar, seeking a way in.
Oscar focused on keeping his breath steady. These feelings weren’t his; he let them lap around him, like water around a stone. “He’s very angry,” he said. “As usual.”
What a terrible way to spend an afterlife. Filled with rage, clinging possessively to The Cottage even as it crumbled around him. Unable to let go and suffering because of it.
Perhaps he could convince Ullman to move on without using the Devil’s Toy Box. He envisioned a glowing portal beside the mirror, one that would take the angry ghost to the other side, presumably beyond the cares that had trapped him here. “It’s time to move on,” he told the twisted face in the mirror. “Your suffering is at an end. Release your anger and?—”
A chair skidded across the floor and struck him in the back.
“Oscar!” Nigel shouted, but he held up his hand. His spine hurt from the blow, but it hadn’t been that hard. In the mirror, Ullman’s fang-lined mouth gaped open in a silent laugh. A terrible sort of pleasure infused the rage—Ullman enjoyed inflicting pain.
Oscar was truly starting to dislike the man. Being angry because there were strangers in your home was one thing; liking to hurt people was quite another. What had he gotten up to in life? Was this why Gloria hated him so?
“You aren’t going to get rid of us,” Oscar told him. “This isn’t your home anymore. Leave this place!”
