The Bequest: Archie’s Mirror

Dynamic is not how I’d describe my abilities to publish. This piece is an example of that. Written in 2016 and still requiring five chapters to finish.

Why this is the basis of the first BlogBattle prompt of the year is down to a Christmas movie called “Christmas She Wrote” starring Danica McKellar. Remember her? The girlfriend of Kevin Arnold in “The Wonder Years.”

In this movie she plays a romance writer whose column is axed just before Christmas. We then find out she started writing a book that never got finished. The upshot is the man who fired her, Trip, goes to find her after his boss threatens to fire him for sacking her. He then forges a friendship that becomes more.

Not a particularly cracking movie, but the resonance was his ability to make her finish that book. It got me thinking about mine. Looking in the mirror, so to speak.

“The face is the mirror of the mind, and eyes without speaking confess the secrets of the heart.”

St. Jerome

“I envy people that know love. That have someone who takes them as they are.”

Jess C. Scott

This is another short story for this months

BLOGBATTLE prompt word Dynamic

The Bequest: Archie’s Mirror

Emma Strickland’s late father was a professor of archaeology and modern day Indiana Jones, specialising in the occult. The family home, MarshBank House, fitted his interests closer than imagined. It collected the past, stored it and waited. His latest acquisition was a strange mirror.

Adrian “Ade” Johnston was a bright kid that mixed with all the wrong ones after his parents took their eye off the ball. Easy to do moving from toddler to adolescence. The former days are cute. Maybe not at the time, but looking back Pamela and Carl figured those preempted “Get out of my bubble” and “What do you know?” The omnipresent realisation every new teen cracks open. Older folk were always old and don’t know the minds of teenagers. How could they? They’re old.

Ade knew this to be true. After all his generation were the first to actually be sixteen ever. Thirty seemed past it, unreachable, never going to happen. People older than that were just wrong. They were the ones running the world and screwing it up. They should all be put into homes until they were too decrepit to have a say. Might be the rest would just get along fine then.

Only grandparents knew stuff. Well, they had when he was a kid. Tales of the war, real stuff from history that even the Internet knew about. Gramps had been in it. Really in your face, up to the eyeballs, proper in it. He had medals too and that way of avoiding details which, to an empathic minded child, said “Hey, you really were weren’t you.” As opposed to the hyperbolic crap most of his current mates said. Teens for you though. They all did it and they all knew they did it and that was just fine.

What was not fine, in his parents view, was how they had managed to watch good grades slump in the key years leading to examinations that counted. Ade knew though. Love was money. It bought him stuff as a surrogate. Bespoke room that, in fairness, was the envy of his mates, but when he needed help a new video game or bag of sweets didn’t cut the mustard. Then again they were in the age bracket that should be in homes to safeguard the planet.

When you looked at it like that then what could you expect? The age of got to have the latest gadget, car, or “just so” house. Any fool looking at 24/7 news could figure it out. Spend more get less, earn more do less. Wasn’t rocket science. Not to him and his mates at any rate. Politicians sucked, world leaders sucked and idiots that voted were sheep indoctrinated like religious folk. Dare to say something was wrong and boom. Off they went in the rhetoric of what the heck would Ade know at his age. They did though. Ade and his pals. They knew plenty. After all they were the first kids ever to be teenagers.

It started going off the rails when gramps passed away. Nothing sinister or untoward. He was just old. That didn’t make it hurt less because of all the people in his family who ever gave him any time to talk about stuff gramps was the only that chewed the fat. Ade thought that was a war thing.

When you saw that up front it was bound to change you. A mate blown to pieces right in front of you. One you had the crack with over breakfast, gone in seconds. There one minute, gone the next. Get your head round that people. The smell of fresh rain on mud, the chill of the air blowing a gale in wet clothes, boots full of water rotting your feet, the actual smell of flesh lacerated with bullets and screams of soldiers lying in the dirt waiting for medics that were just too damn busy.

If movies came with smell-o-vision punters would be chucking up all over the place. Ade saw it all in gramps eyes and the way a rustic index finger tapped the side of his nose when a question got too close. They were like a mirror into the past. Gramps remembered the carefree days before, then the bloodshed after. They were there. Ade felt it sitting in the living room when he visited.

Living room. That always threw him too. So quiet, bit like a morgue with just a clock ticking the time away until the moment to drop the coffin came. He often wondered if you could ever really come back after an experience like that. Yes, Ade sure missed gramps a whole heap of ways.

That was when Rowena the Goth found him. One afternoon after lunch at school when he was leaning on the railings at the furthest edge of the playing fields. Having some time out away from everything, lessons, mates, people. Space to just say “Cheers gramps and thank you for being the real parent, the one that cared.”

“Go on then,” came a soft voice behind him. 

Ade took no notice. He was there to be alone. Besides girls didn’t speak to him outside class very often. The owner he couldn’t place anyway.

“Are you gonna jump the fence or not?”

“What?” Ade hoped that had some proper clear off irritation in it.

“I’ve seen you here everyday for the last two weeks at least. Figured you were working up to blowing this joint.” She was still behind him.

“Yeah, well I might just do that. Life’s a bitch then you die.”


Gramps cut him up there. Young un, t’aint  her fault. It rolled round his head for a few before he replied. “I didn’t mean bitches as in girls. It’s just stuffs messed up a bit.”

He turned round and things changed. Rowena the Goth as he’d never seen her before. Well, he had, just not paid any attention to her in school uniform. Her reputation was after hours. The black gear with silver bangles and purple highlights. Not forgetting the nose stud. Here she was kinda normal, uniform in the uniform and, well, gorgeous.

“I know that one Adrian.” She smiled.

Damn, she knows my name. A freaking girl knows my name. Gramps tailed away. “What do you know about it?” Imbecile, why did I say that?

“This and that. Being the weirdo that everyone laughs at for a start.”

“Do they?” He was looking into her eyes. He liked the way they stared back. More than that though, they reminded him of the light in Gramps. The one that said I know more than I let on young ‘un. Hadn’t someone once said the eyes were the mirror of the soul? Or was that windows?

She laughed and he was hooked. “Yes they do.”

It may have been the glisten of tears in his eye that moved things on. Nobody cared before and Rowena the Goth was hope.

“I lost my grandad not long ago. Best friend I ever had.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to intrude.” Except she moved closer. He saw her arms move in the way his mums once had when he was upset.

“No, don’t apologise. I’m glad you did. It’s just hard with parents that don’t give a toss.” There, he’d never told anyone that before. It felt good.

Next he knew she was hugging him. Rowena the Goth, weirdo extraordinaire was embracing him, Ade, by the railings at the furthest point from school you could get without going truant. He clutched her back. Get your head round this people. Me and a girl…a real live girl.

“If you ever need to talk Adrian,” she left it unfinished. Not that a sentiment like that needs terminating. It is what it is. An offer of friendship, maybe more. The school bell ended lunch. They walked back holding hands until they neared the main buildings where they separated. Not cool to be seen with a girl during school. That’s a tease job waiting to happen. Sixth form acceptable, but a year too early.

Sod the world, he thought, that’s crap too, like the lock up ages.

He reached back, took her wrist and slid his fingers back into place. Rowena smiled and schoolwork went out the window.


Archibald Cleethorpes hated his name so went by Archie Thorpes. That was, more or less, all he really did hate unless you counted a predatory urge to hunt. Not that Archie owned a gun, or had any interests in shooting, or fishing for that matter. Instead, he was a collector of antiquities. In particular anything to do with the occult. A fact that explained his residence on the east side of town and a solid friendship with the late Professor Benjamin Strickland.

Once upon a life ago they travelled the globe in search of rare objects, collecting anything. Granted Archie never had the financial clout to buy much and his friend was two decades older at fifty five when they met, but that didn’t stop him picking up the odd trinket.

The Prof, on the other hand, ran a business alongside his lecturing. He did have the clout, not to mention a mansion with a history befitting a fellow oddball. Archie had a garage. This was decked out with racking containing multifaceted drawers and boxes that were really useful. Each contained documents, trinkets, coins, tablets, a few bones, a variety of carvings and some masks that might have been fashioned from dried human skin. In fairness, as a collection, and to the right buyer, it was worth a small fortune. Maybe a six figure sum.

That would require selling. Archie was not, by nature, a seller. Profound hoarder yes, and besides there was a large attic that could do with a conversion first. Loads of space up there, not to mention the two bedrooms he never used. He once had a yen to populate these with children. Alas the urge to accumulate junk, ex wife’s words not his, overran this ambition and shortly after hooking up with the Prof there was an acrimonious unhooking with the former bride.

He’d done OK though and his bookshop was ticking over with collectibles that seemed there in high demand thanks to the Internet. Genius idea that. A bookshop with a website. Not that he was IT savvy, but his young assistant, Maria was. Straight out of school and dead keen on using computers. The rest, they say, was history. Including the raise the new found revenue stream was bringing in. He was, of course, stuffed if anything happened to her. Inheritance only lasted so long and Archie wasn’t a seller so the six figure sum would remain in hypothetical fiscal dormancy.

On one particular trip to Rome the duo came across a shop that specialised in bric-a-brac. Within this establishment resided a mirror. Neither Archie or the Professor were eager to embrace coincidence, but on this occasion a small plaque on the back raised a couple of eyebrows and a silence that would make rain hang in mid air until normal time started ticking again. Etched into this were the words,

Presented to Albert and Elizabeth Beechworth

To honour their wedding on

14 August 1863


The name below had been scratched out in entirety.

“Is that…” began Archie.

“Indeed it is,” said the Prof.

“Oh,” came a rather weak reply.

Time restarted and, had it actually been raining then, the drops would have ceased defying gravity and continued on their way to wherever destiny decided they would land.

For the uninitiated that short exchange was highly significant because the owners of MarshBank House, back in the day were also called Albert and Elisabeth Beechworth. Well, before it was gutted by fire in 1875 for reasons unknown. Except the Professor felt the stories of missing girls and a catalogue of unexplained phenomena suggested something more mysterious and worthy of deeper research. So he bought it.

Now, here in another country down an historic street they had stumbled upon something that belonged elsewhere. Of greater interest was the way Archie found himself staring at it. Although from his perspective it felt more like the mirror was staring at him. Showing him things. The fire, for a start, and a cloaked man running away down the street. This quickly turned to a reflection of a woman dressed in a corset with breasts heaving underneath as she combed her hair and smiled. Right at him. A come get me lilt and a smile. The sort thrown across a bar when two people catch each others eyes and say “Hello there.” At that moment he had an overwhelming urge to own that mirror. The predatory urge to own things was back.

The Professor was ahead of him and by the time the sultry chest let Archie go money had changed hands and the dealer was approaching to enshroud the mirror in brown Kraft paper.

No, no, no was the thought rattling round his head. That’s mine. But it wasn’t. The Professor was smiling.

“Befitting don’t you think?”

“What is?” Archie was miles away.

“An artefact in a backstreet in Rome that belongs in my house is now returning to the place this mysterious etched out person first bequeathed it to the the homes former occupants who came to an untimely end.”

“I suppose it is.” No, that’s mine.

“Just think Archie, the sights this has witnessed. The questions that are unanswered. Why is it here? When did it emigrate? How did it survive the fire? Who removed it? And why…” there was a pause as he savoured the last bit, “…is the name on the back entirely defaced?”

Archie knew he only needed to ask and the mirror would tell him everything. What he really needed though was the woman with the smile. A fleeting vision, but the damage was done there and then. It’s mine.

But here, today, he was leaning on railings staring at the back of MarshBank House. The Professor was gone and the vans had long ago removed a great deal of his inventory. Archie had scoured the auction lots both by catalogue and, with the aid of Maria, online as they ran their course. No mirror. He knew it had been in the house. In the Profs. office propped against the wall. More than that, the mirror knew he was there too. It had stared at him again. Just like in the shop in Rome. He’d caught a fleeting glimpse of a woman in a room out of time. Why he thought that he had no idea. It just popped into his head on a whisper. He gave that no thought though. Just to see it again was enough.

“That’s mine,” he said to himself.

Elisabeth Awakens

Allan carried on, “What year is it?”
“1875 clearly,” was the surprised reply, “why what year is it by your calculations?”

27 thoughts on “The Bequest: Archie’s Mirror

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  1. The beginning had me quite confused. ‘Why are these sentences so weirdly structured?’ It didn’t read like any of your recent stories and it felt odd, at first. I guess I stopped being a teenager too long ago… It was a good way to portray Ade.

    The second part had me excited. ‘What kind of adventure are we going on?’ The mirror sounds creepy and has me on pins and needles!

    1. Good spot Sam. This was written in 2016 before I encountered the Amanuensis. For him I changed my narrative voice dramatically as his personality is more punchy and cut to the chase. After that my style adapted to Dragon Stone. I’m also hopeful that my writing has improved since back then too.

      The other problem I’ve seen is down to writing and moving on then. Very little has had post write reading by me.

      Going back to the Amanuensis, I do try to alter style to characters. I don’t want to simply write with the same style to prevent them going flat. I agree sentences here can be tighter. I think that’s what you spotted.

      Ade I like though. He keeps me in tune with my own youth. He led me to what I consider as my best piece, Of Wine, Nature and Elegies in Oak. That was a memoir.

      Back to here, the mirror is very creepy, well maybe not the physical mirror, but the people it manipulates. This one is more horror than either Corona or Dragon Stone.

  2. Ah, it’s good to read something from you again, Gary!

    You have a style that feels like home.

    As this piece is part of something larger, I’m sure some features went over my head. But despite feeling a bit lost, there were so many significant bits that stood out to me. The description of the house collecting the past was particularly gorgeous. As someone who turned 30 last week—eek, I feel like a “proper” adult now—I can’t help but nod along with Ade’s opinion of the older ones running and ruining the place.

    Considering how the “living room” is a misnomer was brilliant. I loved Gramps being in his head, guiding him and correcting him. The human skin part made me think of Evil Dead’s “inked in blood and bound in flesh” quote. The pausing of time and having rain hang mid-air was perfection. And, lastly, Archie’s internal insistence that it was his—despite all logic pointing to the contrary—was uncanny and unsettling.

    As great as I remember, Gary. I hope you finish this soon.

    I’m always here if you ever need someone to read the manuscript and offer feedback.

    (Well, not always here on BB, but you know what I mean!)

    1. I expected that Joshua. This is very different to what most on BB have read. This is part of our world but linked into Dragon Stone.

      Its my fault if folk get lost here too. It was more to kick me into finishing it. The sequel I did in a Nano write at the expense of this one. That said I’ve now read both books and am working on my first novel form where it all spawned. The Paradox Man.

      The others being The Bequest (this one) and Black Marsh (sequel). What you have in this snippet are my two favourite characters, Ade and Rowena.

      Marsh Bank House itself is steeped in horror. As is the marsh itself. I could easily send you the story so far in this bit if you’re interested. Just send your email via the contact form. Be nice to see what another writer thinks.

      Might even poke the publishing sleeper too haha.

      And happy birthday that was too. Might have missed it on FB, but I haven’t logged into that for months.

  3. As a new visitor to this part of the ‘Gary-verse’ I was most intrigued. The moving through times, places and characters was quite seamless. Two narratives going on and yet I had a feeling there was a connection, even though it’s not obvious at this stage for a ‘newbie’.
    I agree with everyone, you’ve described perfectly that angst and anger teenagers feel as they move from childhood, starting to feel nascent adult thoughts without realising that’s not the full story.
    And from my late arrival on the scene I am wondering do Ade and Rowena meet Archie, or do the lives run parallel?
    And then there’s Emma.
    Fascinating threads.

    1. Not late as such Roger. As I said to Abe this is a 2016 write that never got finished. I did its sequel Black Marsh but never quite got round to the final chapters of this one.

      Always connections too… I may keep them quiet apart from a hint that everything cross-links. The Amanuensis has visited Ade from his Prison of Ice.

      I’ll put up another piece of this soon too. These two are probably my favourite characters. Along with the paranormal brothers and a rather aged barkeep. This zone is also where the Paradox Man lives too… or did…

      Archie is the antagonists foil. This extract was more to say to me write the final chapters numpty 🤣🤣

        1. Oddly I have just been editing the original manuscript. That one has the paradox man (our world) falling in love with someone from 1875, getting married, having a child and disappearing from our time before he’s born. Currently he’s recuperating in the mansion of her (our time) as an aged woman in co-residence with one half of a twin whose circumstance he feels guilty at creating. Made worse as I believe it’s just been let slip she’s his grand daughter. Little wonder his best mate who happens to be more than just a bar lord, ensured all he had to wear during convalesce from a psychic attack by a necromage was a Dr Who T-shirt.

          It’s about done my head in 😂

              1. I had that problem.
                The guy told me, he could handle it better if he was seen to bungle the business and survive; gave him more depth.
                Don’t you hate when your characters know better than you do?

                1. Its why I call myself a biographer rather than author 🤣🤣

                  Mind you the Amanuensis had a go at me in an interview too. “Get on with it fool…”

                  You can’t win

                  1. When it comes to writing fiction, in particular Fantasy or character based SF that’s seems to be a given.
                    I like to idea of being a biographer- now my own work starts to make a lot more sense🤔.
                    They never were plot-lines!

                    1. Think bigger… if you get crap reviews it’s the best scapegoat there is. I didn’t write, I was just ghosting what I was told to. Might persuade characters to stay out of it next time 😂😂

  4. Interesting setup here, although I think I’m a bit behind the times on this particular story line. Early in the reading I thought Ade was some kind of relation to Prof Strickland, like the other grandfather he never met. But then we learn about Archie, and I’m curious now how these two characters come together. Your portrayal of teen thinking was quite relatable – both as being teenagers ourselves and rearing them later. 🙂 I liked the line ‘Any fool looking at 24/7 news could figure it out.’ Seems like ‘fool’ is the operative word! Archie’s obsession with the mirror, and the woman, have the definite feel that something sinister could soon be afoot. Hope we see more of these characters in the future!

    1. Not behind Abe, I haven’t put much of this up for years. It’s a book extract from an unfinished tale that I’m trying to wrap my head round to finish. Emma is related to the Prof. Ade as you realised isn’t haha.

      Archie is indeed obsessed with both mirror and Elisabeth, the woman you refer to. Except in “our” time she’s been dead for over a century.

      The teen thing is perhaps the flaw Ade puts up. Adults tend to forget what it was like. Him and his goth girlfriend are actually my personal favourite characters. I’ve re-read this and a finished book where the are integral for, would you believe it, the first time. I actually write chapters but never have I read them all back in sequence until last week. TBH I actually enjoyed it too.

      I may try and dig a few choice bits out just for you now 😊

      1. What an honor! 🙂 Yep, I think part of the reason teenagers tend to have issues with adults because there are many of us ‘old folks’ who don’t remember what a challenge it was.

        1. haha, in that case you will like these two even if the stories rubbish. Mind you with the bit in the intro I’ve re-read a lot of my dust bunny books and I’m editing them now on the re-read. Actually enjoying it too. Not things I’ve actually read properly before either. Generally I write then move on intending to proof later in a manuscript format. Tempus Fugit and all that.

  5. Ahhh…..Ade & Rowena. You know I love this young pair! Once again, you reminded me of their tale and how it connects with the bigger story! I love the threads of each tale coming together 🙂 Once again, such good writing 🙂

    1. Thank you! These two are probably my favourite characters. Especially after a re-read of this story up to where I stoped. That and the follow up Black Marsh which I’ve read fully for the first time outside of writing each chapter

  6. I love this Gary ! I remember reading’Ade’ and Rowena the goth before but I don’t remember the part with the mirror. I was gutted when i realised I’d finished the extract. Please finish the other 5 chapters so I can read the whole book!!
    I also rather like a not so good Christmas movie 🤣 I hope yours inspired you . ( scrolling Netflix thinking oooh haven’t seen that one 🤶)

    The lonely teenager was very insightful had me pondering what would become of him as an adult.??

    1. Thanks Hayley. I’ve only posted snippets of this one. The mirror is fundamental to the main plot but I tended to focus on Ade and Rowena as they are two of my favourite characters. Oddly the sequel is written and the ending of this one features in the prelude to that. I’d almost forgotten until I saw that film TBH. 2016 is a long way off now. I can hardly remember where the plot got to.

      Thus far I’ve only taken Whitaker forwards on reflecting his past as mind doctor. I was hoping to include the two here in future writing 🙄

      1. 2016 was obviously a good year for writing. Do you think if you read it back you’ll be able to pick the plot back up? It seems a terrible shame not to finish it.

        1. I hope so. I’ve been meaning to finish it ever since completing Black Marsh. I can’t even remember now why I stopped apart from NaNoWriMo that year!

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