Graham Masterton - Mirror

'I thought you said you didn't like Ferraris.'

Morris went across the room and flicked two switches on the wall. With a low hum, a movie screen unrolled itself from the ceiling, and a 35-mm projector rose out of the middle of the coffee table. He pressed another switch, and the beige velvet drapes jerkily closed themselves, all the way around the room.

'Do you want to pour me a drink?' Morris asked Alison as he took the movie out of its can and began to thread it into the projector.

Alison went over to the liquor cabinet and fixed them both an old-fashioned. Then they settled down together on the beige velvet couch, and Morris pressed the switches to dim the lights and start the movie running.

On the screen, there was a brief flicker of numbers; then without warning the face of Boofuls appeared, slightly unsteady, slightly out of focus, but staring intently into the camera.

Morris watched this impatiently for a moment, sipping his drink, and then said, 'What the hell is this? Two hundred dollars I paid for this! A screen test!'

Alison patted his arm. 'Wait a minute, there's probably more.'

'There'd better be probably more,' Morris declared. 'Otherwise Benny Ito is going to suffer good, believe me!'

He was just about to switch the projector off when the voice of Boofuls came out of the stereo speakers, high and clear.

'You said you never wanted to see my face again, didn't you, Morris? You said you never wanted to see my face and you never wanted to hear my name.'

Morris stared at the screen in shock and then turned to Alison. 'Did you hear that? He's talking to me personally!'

Alison said, 'Morris, switch it off, please!'

'But he's talking to me, out of the screen, just like he's here! What the hell is that Benny trying to pull? A joke, already?'

'Morry, please — Alison begged him. 'That boy Lejeune -he's bad, Morry, he's evil\ There's something about him! Martin thinks so, too!'

'A kaporeh on Martin! Listen to this! Did you ever see such cheek? Benny must have gotten together with the kid and filmed this on purpose!'

' You said you never wanted to see my face again, Morris, never ever! Well, now your wish has come true! And you said you never wanted to hear my name again, Morris, and you shall have that wish, too!'

Morris stood up and switched off the projector. 'Did you ever hear such garbage?' he asked Alison. 'Two hundred dollars I paid for that! I'll strangle that Benny Ito, with my bare hands!'

Alison finished her drink.

'How about another?' Morris suggested. 'Then we'll go to bed. I finished that contract for MTM.'

He went across to the liquor cabinet, turned his back to Alison, and poured out whiskey.

'Are we going to the premiere tomorrow?' Alison asked him. 'I bought this beautiful gold dress today at Alluci's.'

Morris reached out for two cocktail stirrers. 'Spending my profits again, hunh?'

'Oh, it's beautiful,' said Alison. Til try it on for you when we go upstairs. It has a very low front, very daring, but a fantastic bow on one hip, and it's kind of split down the same side, all the way to the hem. It's very sexy but it's very chic.'

Morris turned around, a drink in each hand. 'Everybody's going to be looking at you, hunh?'

'Oh, Morry, you know it's all for you.'

'No point in doing it for me,' said Morris; and for the first time Alison caught the odd, tight tone in his voice. She turned and looked at him and at first she couldn't understand what he had done, but as he shuffled nearer with the two drinks, grimacing as he came, she suddenly realized in utter horror that Boofuls' mocking prediction had come true, and that Morris had fulfilled it.

A sharp cocktail stirrer protruded out of each of Morris' eyeballs. He had prodded one directly into the iris of each eye, as far as it would go, blinding himself instantly. Now he was groping his way toward Alison with thin glutinous runnels of optic fluid dripping down each cheek.

Alison screamed. A high-pitched genuine theatrical scream. 'Morry! Oh, God, Morry! What have you done! Morry, your eyes!'

Morris hesitated, stumbled, and dropped both glasses of whiskey. One of them rolled on the carpet, the other caught the edge of the coffee table and smashed.

'It was the only thing I could do,' he said in bewilderment. 'It was the only thing I could do.'

Alison stood up, but she was so appalled that she couldn't go near him. 'Morry,' she wept, 'take them out, Morry. Please, Morry, take them out! I'll call for the ambulance, please, Morry, Please!'

Morris groped forward, trying to follow the sound of her voice. 'Alison, honey, I -' But then he stopped and turned his head around, as if he were listening to something. And at that moment, the projector clicked and whirred into life once again, all by itself, frightening Alison so much that she screamed and screamed and this time she couldn't stop.

Boofuls' face appeared on the screen yet again, that white, expressionless face, and his voice whispered from the speakers. 'You have one of your wishes, Morris. You will never see me again. What do you say, Morris? What do you say? Don't you ever say thank you when somebody gives you what you want?'

Morris bent his head slightly forward and took hold of the sticks that protruded from his eyes. Shuddering, gasping, he drew them out, and when he did so a large clear glob of fluid swelled out of the punctured holes that he had made in each iris. Alison's screaming quietened to a high endless whimpering, but she couldn't take her eyes away from him, she couldn't move, she couldn't do anything to help him.

And all the time the high, childish teasing of Boofuls continued to pipe from the movie speakers, and Boofuls' bright face continued to stare at them out of the screen.' You couldn't be nice, Morris, you couldn't be nice! You couldn't be sugar and spice. Now you'll get it, whatever you want, blind as a bat and deaf as a post!'

'Shut up! Shut up! For God's sake, shut up!' Alison screamed, and rushed across to the movie screen and tugged at it and tore at it until it came rumbling down from the ceiling. Then she turned to the speakers, and lifted them up one after the other, and smashed them against the coffee table.

The projector, however, continued to run, and Boofuls' flattened-out face appeared on the back of the white-leather couch, silently mouthing the same words over and over. Alison hysterically threw herself at the couch and tried to drag the image of Boofuls off the leather with her fingernails.

Morris meanwhile had sunk slowly to his knees onto the white carpet. Between the finger and thumb of each hand, he held up the two cocktail stirrers.

'Alison, honey, I couldn't do anything else. There wasn't any choice, honey-pie.'

Alison threw back her head and sobbed, one harsh, strangulated sob after the other. 'Oh God, Morry, what are we going to do? What are we going to do?'

But Morris couldn't hear her. Morris' head was filled with the lisping monotonous voice of Boofuls, like an old silk dress being dragged across a floor, saying, ' You never wanted to see me, Morris; you never wanted to hear me. I can give you your wish, Morris! I can give you your wish!'

Morris slowly raised the two cocktail stirrers and blindly prodded them against his cheeks until he found his ears. Then he inserted the points deep in each ear, so that he could feel them pricking painfully against his eardrums.

Alison had stopped sobbing and was messily wiping the tears from her face with her hands. 'Oh God, Morry,' she told him. 'I'm sorry. I couldn't stand to see you that way. I'd better go call for an ambulance.'

She turned, and there he was, kneeling on the floor with his hands up to his ears, and a cocktail stirrer in each hand. His injured eyes were closed, so that he looked almost normal, and there was an expression on his face of curious calm.