The Mirror

The ghosts were getting restless. Roxas had been living in the house for a week before they finally started making their presence known. The filtering of ghost anomalies didn't reach Roxas until one lazy Sunday afternoon.

The blonde had eaten a heaping helping of spaghetti at Hayner's house for lunch, and decided to call it a day and go home. He wanted to lay around, maybe watch a movie before drifting off for a nap before dinner.

He lay on his bed sideways, his pillows stacked up behind his head for support. He had finally gotten his television to work, after many curses and bad backs later. He felt like watching a horror movie, feeling like it was fitting to what he lived in and around. He knew living in the house would only heighten the scare factor of it, and decided to watch it.

The DVD player popped the disc in, and the television flared to life as Roxas turned off the light and shut his bedroom door, feeling it would keep his peace of mind if his door was closed while watching this.

The menu screen popped up, and he clicked play, the screen going black before the movie started. It was about a monster, but one you couldn't see or hear. You never knew who the monster possessed until it was too late, their insides torn apart and displayed for all to see.

One scene had Roxas on his toes, his body up, his face a foot away from the screen. He had the main guy pinned as the monster, the one terrorizing everyone. It fit, didn't it? He was always there when the others were taken, always putting on a horrified face when they were eaten. Roxas sighed, his brow furrowed as he realized it couldn't be the guy. Someone was going to be eaten next, but who?

The camera turned into a particularly dark room, a figure huddled in a corner, rocking back and forth like a pendulum. It was shaking and moaning, shuddering in pain. It panned in even more, showing the beautiful main girl, hair sticky with blood, her face beat up and bruised. Her face suddenly melted, her mouth dripping flesh onto the floor, her eyes wet. The monster pounced at the screen, and Roxas jumped away from the screen, his eyes wide.

"What in the hell?" he scrambled to think straight. "She's the monster?"

A deep chuckle resounded from his left that caused him to jump. He looked at the wall and didn't see anyone. The mirror didn't show anyone near him. "Who's there?" Roxas called out, lowering the volume on the television so he could hear.

Nothing.

Roxas' face furrowed in confusion. He swore he heard something. He shrugged it off and turned the volume back up on the television, turning his attention back to the movie. The girl was hugging her mom, the monster apparently taken care of. The credits rolled, and Roxas sighed, turning the television and DVD player off.

He laid back down on the bed, his head propped up from the pillows. Roxas rolled over, taking a pillow away from his makeshift headrest, the pillow in front laying flat. He laid down on the pillow, staring up at the ceiling, the movie still on his mind, as well as the amused chuckle he heard near the mirror. What was that? he pondered, turning towards the mirror.

He saw himself, laying back on the bed, his gaze one of confusion. A speck of red, a bright obnoxious red, showed itself behind him. Roxas turned around to where it was, but nothing was behind him. He got up and turned the light on before turning his attention back to the mirror, moving to sit on the edge of the bed to get a closer look.

Hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, as he saw a lump of black leather laying on his bed in the mirror, tufts of red at the head of the lump. It looked like a person laying there, but when he turned around to look at his bed, no one was there. The lump moved, and Roxas jumped back, moving to the side of the bed.

It rolled over, and wild green eyes stared back at him, a smirk placed on what were the lips of the man laying there. "That movie was boring," he stated, his head propped up by his hand. "Why you got so scared I'll never know." An amused smile dissolved onto his mouth.

All Roxas could do was stare at the mirror in slight horror. He looked back and forth between the mirror and his bed, trying to decipher what his mind was seeing.

"I'm only in the mirror, blondie," the red-head said, answering the unspoken questions filling up Roxas' brain. "I'm chained to this mirror and can't get out. I'm stuck here."

Comprehension dawned on Roxas' face and he nodded. "How did you end up in the mirror, then? You must have gotten in there somehow." He tapped on the mirror to prove his point.

"An evil spirit coaxed me in here, and now I'm chained in this room. Whatever you can see in this mirror is all I can walk to." His tone had turned melancholic, and Roxas started to feel sorry for him.

But then he got another thought. "Wait - was that you I felt on the landing out there a week ago?" Roxas asked, pointing to the doorway where if you opened to door, the rail next to the staircase would show.

The spiky haired ghost shook his head. "That was just one of the other ghosts that haunts this place. There are four others besides me. They're lucky - they can at least roam all of this house," he explained, shrugging a useless shrug.

"So they died here? Those...those other ghosts?" Roxas asked tentatively, getting up and opening the door to his bedroom, almost as if he was expecting one to be eavesdropping on the other side.

"Yeah, they did, all in different time periods," the mirror-ghost said, watching Roxas from the imprisoned reflected glass.

"When did you die?" the blonde asked curiously, his gaze lingering on the stairwell as he spoke. He wondered when the ghosts would show themselves, now that the red-haired spirit had told of their presence.

The red-haired man closed his eyes before answering. "A long time ago, short stuff. A long time ago," the spirit said wistfully, as if it was that time period he saw behind his eyelids.

Roxas gritted his teeth at the slew of nicknames the spirit had come up with in the time they had known each other. He turned around and walked back to the bed, sitting in front of the mirror. "My name's Roxas, you know," he said conversationally, hoping the shimmering ghost would give his name in return.

"Good to know. I'm Axel," he introduced himself, tipping his head in greeting.

"Nice to meet you, I suppose," Roxas chuckled nervously, still feeling the shock that he was having a conversation with a ghost.

Axel grinned a cheshire grin, the ends of his mouth reaching the teardrop tattoos on his young face, and his green irises twinkling. "Nice to meet you too, Roxas."

The pair talked, sharing tidbits about themselves and where they came from. Soon enough Axel started to shimmer, and Roxas said a quick goodbye before he dissipated away. Roxas sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. He couldn't believe he had a civil conversation with a phantom of all people. One that was willing to talk back and converse with a living person.

Roxas got up off the bed and walked out of his room and downstairs, just wandering the house. He was curious about the house he lived in, for once. Now that he's talked to Axel, and he's mentioned other beings in the house, Roxas wanted them to reveal themselves.

He hoped they would so they wouldn't scare the 'ever livin' shit out of him', as his best friend put it. He didn't want them popping up out of nowhere, scaring him for their amusement. He was curious, but not that curious.

He walked through the various hallways, opening doors to look inside rooms. He'd flick lights on as he went, so he could see. A faint sound reached his ears, and it gained his attention. It was a faint strumming, like a guitar or other musical instrument.

The blonde tried to pinpoint where the sound was coming from to the best of his ability and followed it, his ears like an arrow on a compass, leading his way to where he wanted to go.

The sound grew louder, and Roxas' brain registered it as a guitar making the sound. The strums on it were a light, weaving tune, the notes rising and falling. He reached a doorway where the sound was at it's loudest, and put his ear to the door, listening to the tune being played. He opened the door quietly, and flicked on the light near the door before he opened it fully. The tune stopped.

The room was bare, aside from an old guitar, lying down near the back of the room. It's strings were broken, and it couldn't play anymore. No one must have bothered to check these rooms back here for anything before selling it, Roxas thought, moving his hands over the neck of the guitar.

He's bad news.

Roxas lifted his head up as if someone called him. Someone said something. "Hello?" he called.

"Don't talk to him," he heard from behind him. He turned to see a shimmering spectral, his dirty-blonde mohawk shining in the light of the room. Roxas could see him, but also see through him.

"Talk to who?" Roxas asked.

"The red-haired assassin. Axel. He'll pull you into a trap," his sea green eyes willed Roxas to believe him. He started shimmering, and he quickly muttered, "Don't trust him," before disappearing.

Don't trust Axel? Roxas thought, as he put down the guitar and walked out of the room. He seemed easygoing, and he was easy to talk to. That's what Roxas rationalized as he walked into the foyer.

Why would I not?