Maeryn Lamonte Copyright ©️ 2024

So I’d bought one. It’s not as if I have a lot of people in my life, so the Christmas present budget is light. Sad, I know, but then it means I can splurge on me a bit.

I’d wanted one since they came on the market, but could never justify the expense. At least not until this year. This Christmas they had a sale with a humongous seventy-five percent off. which still put the price tag at a grand, but that was just inside my budget.

As long as I skimped elsewhere.

I wrapped it as soon as it arrived to keep me from temptation. It was taller than the tree, but then that wasn’t hard since it was one of my savings. That and my TV dinner Christmas lunch.

Mum had been big on Christmas lunch and always put on an ‘all the trimmings, cook from scratch’ extravaganza. She was gone now, and I was sure she wouldn’t mind.

I’ve never much cared for turkey. It’s dry and bland with its only redeeming feature being there is so bloody much of it. Which would mean weeks of turkey sandwiches, turkey salad, cold turkey and chips, turkey curry. It doesn’t matter how you dress it up, it’s still bloody turkey, until well into New Year.

So, smaller cheaper tree, cheaper, less exciting Christmas lunch, the only other present under the tree was from Dad, who’d pretty much given up on life since Mum passed. I’ve tried to invite him over for the day so many times, but he’s slipped into a sort of deep melancholy. I mean, I suppose he does remember to send me a present, but from the size and shape of the package, it’s most likely just socks again. Same as I buy for him. Kind of an unspoken thing between us. We’ll buy each other a gift to remember the season, but no obligation to try and think of anything special.

Sad the way we’ve drifted apart, but you can only maintain a one sided relationship for so long. Kind of a Shawshank situation. You know, get busy living or get busy dying? No prizes for guessing what Dad’s chosen.

Beyond that, I’m an only child so no siblings, I’m self employed and work largely from home in a business that doesn’t have that many opportunities to meet people, so no business contacts.

The closest thing to a friend I have is the barista at my local coffee shop, and that’s only because he remembers my order. Not that that’s anything special. Double shot latte with walnut syrup.

Hey, get on with it! What did you buy yourself?

Yeah, sorry. I get kind of caught up in myself sometimes. Life hasn't worked out quite how I planned, and I get lost inside my own head. I guess I can understand why Dad’s the way he is.

Yeah, yeah, I’m getting there. Let me take you back to Christmas morning.

I make a leisurely start to the day. No sense in getting dressed, just head to the kitchen and make myself a coffee. Not as good as the coffee shop, but still okay. Cinnamon syrup for a change, because, hey, it’s Christmas.

It doesn’t take me long to open my gifts. The socks have a pathetic Christmas motif. I put them to one side and tear into the wrapping paper on my present to me. Carefully, but that’s because I know how delicate the contents are.

Less than a minute later I have a plain cardboard box. Six feet tall, three feet wide, no more than three inches deep.

A couple of minutes more and I have it out of its box. Apart from the thickness, it looks like an ordinary full-length mirror. There’s a stand in there too which folds out neatly. No tools necessary, minimum assembly required and I have my mirror free standing.

Oh yes, and there’s a lead and a plug. It’s heavy, but I carry it through to my bedroom and plug it in. A menu appears on the reflective surface with a keyboard beneath it. It only takes a minute to connect it to the internet, but then it has to go through a lengthy process of updating itself.

I go rescue my coffee, which still retains enough warmth to be drinkable. I’m really not that interested in the words dancing across the mirrored screen, just waiting for when they’ll stop.

I fix myself some breakfast and a second coffee. Back to walnut syrup this time. Cinnamon is okay but only occasionally.

Muesli, yoghurt, fruit. Tastier than it sounds. I eat then carry the coffee back through to the bedroom.

The progress bar reads ninety-eight percent. I’ve never been able to figure out why computers take at least as long to complete that last two percent as they do to run through the rest of the installation.

So what’s the big deal about this mirror, do I hear you ask? Why would I spend all that money on it? I’ll show you in a minute.

The progress bar inches forward, ends its journey. The words, ‘Installation complete,' flash up briefly and I face a screen asking me to put in my details.

Gender: Rather not say

Title: Preference none

First name or initial: G

Last name, address, etc. It’s not a long list, and it’s done soon enough.

Then there’s the voice recognition part. I create two voice profiles. One for my normal voice and one with the pitch softened a little. I don’t know if it’ll be able to differentiate between the two, but just in case.

We’re ready at last. I slip off the dressing gown and the red cotton nightdress I’ve been wearing underneath it. Now I’m just wearing knickers and a bra. Too little up top, too much down below, but apart from that...

I keep my hair long and I shave my whole body regularly, so the reflection isn’t as grotesque as it might seem.

“Fancy dress costumes,” I say to the mirror in my soft voice. “Dorothy from the Wizard of Oz.”

The mirror flickers briefly and overlays the costume onto my body. I mean I’m still just standing there in my underwear, but my reflection has the works. Gingham dress, puff sleeved blouse, pop socks, ruby slippers. There’s even a bow in my hair, and it looks so realistic, as do Judy Garland’s auburn curls that have replaced my own rather straggly, mousy hair.

“Snow White,” I say, and the costume changes. It’s not perfect, because there’s no feel of the clothes. Then again, what is perfect in this life. I go through dozens of other costumes. Glinda, Cinderella, both pre and post fairy godmothering, Elsa – yes I do sing that bloody song – both Mirabel and Isabela Madrigal. I’m feeling in a Disney mood today. Yeah sure, apart from the Wizard of Oz. Each new look has me feeling more and more gooey inside, and as my expression softens, I realise I don’t actually look too ridiculous.

“Alice in Wonderland.”

There I am. Blue dress with full skirt, white pinafore apron, white stockings, black patent leather shoes, black velvet bow in my hair. I actually look cute.

‘Purchase made,' flashes up on the mirror.

“What?” I say out loud. “Hang on, I didn’t authorise any purchase.”

‘No, I did.’

“Who are you?”

A grin appears in the mirror over my shoulder, then by degrees, a cat’s head and body. Purple and pink stripes and a bushy tail.

‘New Year’s Eve. Wear the costume. Make sure you look this good. Come to the New Year’s party down by the river, and be there by eleven.’

“And if I don’t?”

Image after image of me wearing, or appearing to wear, all the costumes I’d picked out fill the mirrored screen.

“Why should I care? Nobody knows me around here.”

‘They will after they see these.’

“Look, who the hell are you?”

‘I’m the person who hacked the smart mirror interface. Why do you think they cut the price by so much?’

“How?”

‘A magician never reveals his secrets. Same goes for a hacker.’

“What do you want from me?”

‘I want you to go to the New Year’s party down by the river, in costume. You know you’re going to.’

“And afterwards?”

‘I guess we’ll have to see, won’t we?’

The text disappears and the mirror takes over, now flickering between outfits considerably less suitable for younger viewers.

It takes me a moment to realise what’s happening. I mean how long does an image have to appear on the screen before there’s something there to download? I step out of the mirror’s field of view and pull the plug from the wall.

This was supposed to be great. I mean I can’t help the way I am, and this was supposed to be a harmless way for me to get in touch with that part of me I’ve spend so much of my life trying to hide. Christmas is supposed to be about dreams coming true, not nightmares.

I pull out my laptop and search for security issues relating to my smart mirror and the screen fills with stories about the hack. The company hasn’t figured out how it’s been done, but suspects it has to take place during the downloading of updates. They have a secure site for downloads now. If a customer, such as me, realises they’ve been hacked, they should reset to factory settings – instructions shown – decline the update on first startup, then enter VPN details so updates can be sent without being compromised. I should also change my account password as soon as I’m up and running safely.

I follow the instructions and step gingerly in front of the mirror. The damage has already been done, so I figure I might as well try a Santa Baby outfit.

I look cute, but all the joy has gone from the experience now. I start toying with the idea of sending the mirror back for a refund.

My phone buzzes. I have an anonymous email.

I open it to see a picture of me as Alice. Underneath it is a short message.

‘This in real life on New Year’s Eve, or this virtually everywhere on New Year’s Day.’

None of the images that follow are the cute Disney costumes. Virtually has to be a play on words, and I hate to think how Dad would react to his son in a skimpy nurse’s uniform. It definitely doesn’t hide that I’m male.

I’d been so looking forward to the week following Christmas. I’d imagined hours of pleasure in front of the mirror. Once I’d run out of costumes, I’d have had catalogues from just about every fashion house and clothing outlet on the planet. I could have gone manga for a week, or tried costumes from different places in the world, or throughout history. For all that I’d never have been able to feel the clothes, I’d have been able to see how I looked. It would have given that part inside me a release, the way wearing a nightdress gives me a release, without upsetting the people I meet every day. However much transgender is accepted these days, officially at least, my generation is still a long way from being okay with it, and no-one I know in my parent’s generation has shown any sign of even trying.

This ruined it all though. I tried things out in front of the mirror, telling myself that the hack had been fixed, that my tormentor no longer had a ringside seat to my darker indulgences, but his invasion of my most private life had left me unsure. Just looking at myself with pretty clothes overlaying my underwear filled me with a self-loathing to match the disgust I imagined other people would feel if they could see my like this.

The parcel arrived a couple of days after Christmas. Addressed to me, billed against my credit card. If he’d done it once, he could do it again. I called through to my bank to tell them I was worried my credit card details had been stolen. I didn’t mention the purchase of the dress, because they would have cancelled it, which would mean the costume shop would want their goods back and then I’d have nothing for New Year’s Eve.

I was going to have to give in to his demands, because I couldn’t risk those other images getting out. They were enough to give Dad a heart attack and, no matter how much he might want to end his life, I wasn’t ready to lose him yet.

So, the bank would just have to accept that I had chosen to buy an Alice in Wonderland costume in my size. It was flame faced embarrassing, but it didn’t hold a candle to that photo of me as a decidedly slutty nun.

I opened the package and removed the contents. They needed an iron, after which I put the dress and apron on a hanger on the front of my wardrobe door. I wasn’t ready to wear them just yet.

Well, maybe there’d be no harm in putting them on for a short time. You know, just to make sure they fitted. Which they did.

It felt odd standing in front of the mirror and not just seeing the clothes but feeling them as well. The AI in the system did its bit extra and gave me blond hair and rosy cheeks. I asked what makeup and hair dye I would need, and it suggested a few products. I didn’t much care for the added expense, especially since the outfit hadn’t been cheap, but I needed to look good, so I paid the money.

The gear arrived the following day. First job was sorting my hair. Turning brown hair blond wasn’t something you could do effectively with temporary hair colour, so I’d just have to live with the consequences until it all grew out. My barista friend might give me an odd look or two, but no-one else would know. Working from home had its advantages.

Next came practicing with the makeup. I’d wanted to do something like this for such a long time, but between the expense and not really knowing what I was doing, I’d never tried. This time I didn’t have much choice.

The mirror helped. It turned out there was an option where it could project two images side by side. What I was aiming for, and what I actually looked like, with the option to overlay them for comparison.

I tried it several times with progressively less disastrous results, and eventually had things the way I wanted them.

I couldn’t help myself. I had the makeup right and my hair an attractive dark blond. I had to see how the whole thing looked.

I dressed fully and examined my reflection. Seeing wasn’t everything. Feeling and seeing and smelling, that was everything.

‘Very nice.’

The words appeared over my shoulder like that cat’s grin. They chilled my blood. I thought I’d got rid of him.

'I’m in your system,' the words appeared as if reading my mind. ‘You don’t escape me that easily. I’m glad to see you’re taking this seriously. Only a couple more days to go.’

I pulled the plug out of the wall. Did that mean he’d been watching me over the past few days? I mean it wasn’t as if I’d given him any more damning material than he already had, but...

I poured myself a glass of wine. My hands were shaking so much, I nearly spilled it down my front, but I managed to navigate the glass to my mouth successfully. It came away with a smudge of bright red lipstick. All part of the full immersion experience, but I wasn’t in a mood to appreciate it.

This was really turning into a deep dive down the rabbit hole. Apart from my nightdresses, I’d avoided dressing up. I’d suspected the mirror might lead me to greater indulgence, but not like this and not so quickly.

The girly nightwear was one reason I never invited anyone back to my place, why I was such a Billy no mates. Being fully dressed, complete with makeup and underwear was a heady step forward.

One giant leap for me, but maybe only a small step for trankind.

I giggled at my own joke and took another gulp of wine. I hated that this unknown person could see what I was going through. I hated that he had a ringside seat into this deeply secret part of my life. I hated that there was nothing I could do about it.

I knew enough about blackmail to realise that now I was on the hook, the best I could hope for was to be played with. No promise could be trusted. I hated to think what he might have lined up for me after New Year. I had inadvertently given up control of my life, and was at a total loss as to what I could do about it.

With the wine calming my nerves, I changed back into my normal, drab everyday clothes. The makeup proved to be a challenge, but after some scrubbing, I manage to transfer enough of it to one exceptionally clogged flannel that I felt safe to go out shopping.

I didn’t need much. Mainly wipes to make cleaning off the gunk less tedious, and maybe...

I knew I’d seen it. Our local pharmacy had a small selection of perfumes. The gentle scent of the makeup had hinted at the idea. To go full girly, I’d need to smell right too. I worked my way through the selection of scents, unsurprised to discover that the one I liked most was by far the most expensive. I settled on my third favourite which was within budget. Along with the wipes, it earned me a sideways look from the cashier, but I was beyond caring.

The local supermarket sorted me out with floral scented shower gel, shampoo and conditioner, along with a few other things like bath pearls and a new lip gloss in the same colour I’d been using. All the trial and error had depleted my makeup. Most things I still had enough of, but the lippy kept needing renewing, so I’d gone through it quicker. More odd looks at the checkout, but like I said, I was beyond caring.

And now it’s New Year’s Eve. I have a couple of hours before I’m due at my rendezvous. The mirror has remained unplugged. I have another week to decide whether or not to send it back. I’m strongly tempted to be done with it, but something’s holding me back.

Maybe tomorrow, when I discover the next hoop he wants me to jump through. Maybe once I decide I’m not going to play his game anymore, the hacked mirror might offer some clues as to who and where he is.

I start running a bath. Full body shave first, then a long soak in bath pearl scented water. Not too long though. I don’t have that much time and I want to avoid pruny skin.

The bath taps have a shower attachment, so my hair gets a good wash. It’s still been less than a week since I went bottle blond, so no dark roots just yet.

Wrapped in a towel, I dry and style my hair. This is something else I’ve been trying to get the hang of, and this time it works better, possibly because of something in the shampoo or conditioner?

Next comes the makeup, which I manage this time without the aid of the fancy mirror. Part way through my phone buzzes, but I’m deep in concentration, so I ignore it.

I ignore it on the second and third buzzes too, but when the fourth one comes through almost immediately after the third, I interrupt what I’m doing to see who’s getting Impatient.

The first three simply read, ‘Turn it on,' although with increasing amounts of punctuation. The fourth reads, ‘Do it now!!!’

It doesn’t seem wise to argue with three exclamation marks, so I stoop to plug the mirror in. I leave it to its boot up sequence and carefully paint a bright red Cupid’s bow onto my lips.

I inspect my handy work Just as the mirror stops flashing. The words, ‘very, very nice’ appear close to where I’m staring at my face.

“Mirror, mirror on the wall, who’s the biggest asshat of them all?” I murmur before reaching for my underwear. Knickers go on before I drop the towel, because frankly, I don’t want to give him any more of a show than I have to.

‘I’ll ignore that, this time. Did you get my gifts?’

They arrived yesterday and still sit on the sideboard, unopened. Addressed to me, but with no billing information. I’m pretty sure if I hadn’t sorted out my card with the bank, that whatever they are would have been gifts I’d paid for.

I don't bother mentioning this to the asshat. I slip into my bra and go hunting for the parcels. There’s a lot of tape, but a kitchen knife sorts that out.

Inside the first, smaller parcel is a petite purse with shoulder strap. Not exactly Alice accessories, but I have nowhere else to put my phone and wallet, so it’s a thoughtful enough gift that I find myself wondering if asshat might be a woman.

The second box contains what look and feel a lot like raw chicken fillets, only considerably larger and with nipples. This puts asshat very firmly back in the dude category.

‘Put them in your bra. There should be a couple of tubes, one of glue, the other of solvent.’

I go hunting In the box and retrieve the two tubes. They are clearly labelled as he suggests.

'Glue the breast forms to your chest. They’ll look more believable.’

There are instructions. I read them carefully before attempting to follow them. I don’t know about improving the look, but the feel of the weight on my chest is a new wonder.

Stockings follow, then the dress and apron. Finally, the shoes. I transfer my essentials – lip gloss included – to the purse and step in front of the mirror.

‘Yes, perfect. Time to head out.’

I glance at my phone. It’s barely ten o’clock.

‘You’ve time to get there on the bus. It’ll save you a few pennies.’

He has a point. An uber to Riverside would cost ten to fifteen quid. The bus will only cost three.

If I dare.

I look myself over in the mirror. I think I dare.

A couple of days ago I wouldn’t have had the courage no matter how good I looked, but today is different. It feels like I’m emerging from the other side of despair, and right now even I can’t see past the girl reflected in the mirror.

The bus leaves in ten minutes with the bus stop two minutes’ walk around the corner. I grab my duffle coat, turn off the lights and head out the door.

I recognise a couple of faces at the bus stop, but they’re too busy staring at my artificial assets, so I’m safe enough.

The bus is full – everyone is heading for the river – but one of passengers offer me his seat. I smile and thank him before settling down for a comfortable ride.

It’s dark out, except the streets are brightly lit with Christmas decorations. I climb off the bus and reach for my phone, but there are no further instructions. Now what?

That’s when I see him. Checked jacket, waistcoat, white fur everywhere else and, of course, a rabbit mask.

He notices me spotting him and pulls a fob watch from his waistcoat.

“I’m late,” he says and turns towards the river.

No prizes for guessing what my next move should be, except I’m getting fed up with this nonsense.

My phone buzzes. I don’t even have to look at it, and I’m not yet ready to stand up to asshat. I follow the white rabbit.

He leads me a merry chase, and of course we’re pretty much the only ones in costume, so we’re cheered on wherever we go. I’m not sure if the crowd are helping him more than me, but I have the impression the guidance I'm offered is intended to mislead rather than help.

After a long and frustrating chase, I find myself down by the river. A laser show is being displayed on the side of the castle on the opposite shore, and distorted music is blaring out of a chain of loud speakers on poles. There’s quite a crowd down here, jostling me, almost spilling beer from their plastic cups. It’s hard to express just how much I hate this sort of thing.

“I can’t believe it’s you,” I voice says near my ear. I spin on the spot, feeling my full skirt twist around me. For the first time in nearly an hour, I’m fully aware of how I’m dressed, and how many people are about.

The white rabbit is standing behind me, close enough to punch, and I’m sorely tempted.

“Do I know you?” I ask instead.

He lifts his mask briefly, but long enough for me to recognise my barista from the coffee shop.

“Wait. You’re the hacker who’s been blackmailing me and making my life a misery this past week?”

“What! No!! I mean, hell no! Wait. You’re being... What?”

The confusion is genuine, or I never met a better actor.

“Then what are you doing here?”

“I had an anonymous parcel sent to me at the coffee house. It said, ‘Wear this to Riverside at eleven o’clock on New Year’s Eve. Don’t be late.’ I thought it was a playful sort of joke, you know because the rabbit always says, ‘I’m late.’ Anyway, I didn’t have anything better to do, so I figured why not?

“I had no idea what to expect, then I saw you, and you took my breath away.”

“You know who I am?”

“Double shot latte with hazelnut syrup.”

“And you’re not freaked out by this?” I wave at the dress.

“I think you look amazing. I’m bisexual, with a malfunctioning gaydar, so it’s kind of hard finding anyone suitable. I couldn’t think of anyone more perfect than you. What’s this about you being...?”

He’s drowned out by the sound of the countdown. The laser show has started painting numbers on the side of the castle and the crowd is doing the obvious thing. My phone buzzes in my purse. Yet again, I don't need to read the text. Nor do I need the encouragement. After all he is pretty good looking.

“What do you think?” I shout in his ear as the countdown reaches three. “I mean it is traditional.”

He takes off his mask just as the numbers reach zero and the cheering starts, pulls me in close and kisses me.

We miss most of the fireworks.

He drops me off home at about one with a promise to call.

There’s a message on the mirror.

‘Have a good time?’

“Yes, no thanks to you. What are you going to get me to do next?”

‘Nothing. I won’t be bothering you again. Have a good life.’

“Wait, what? I mean that’s it? Just what kind of hacker are you?”

‘That’s not a bad question. We all start out wanting to prove we’re better than everyone else, but eventually we want something more.

‘Some turn into crooks, others turn into activists. My New Year’s resolution is to become the second kind.’

“And how exactly do you think you’re doing that?”

‘An activist is someone who stands up against society when they see that it’s in the wrong, right?’

“Riiigght?” I mean I agree, I just don’t see where he’s going with this.

‘Society tells you that you’re all wrong and you should hide the real you away, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah...?”

‘Do you still feel you should after tonight? ‘Cos if you do, I’m going to have to cancel my last gift to you.’

“What gift?”

‘It’ll arrive tomorrow. My way of saying sorry for what I put you through. Only now I hope you’ll stand up and stand out. You’re a beautiful person and the world should get to see that.’

The mirror lights up briefly with all the incriminating pictures he’s taken and an animation showing them all flying into a bin follows. Of course, it could just all be for show, but I think he means it.

The following morning, I’m woken by the doorbell. I answer the door in my nightdress to be met by a delivery driver unloading box after box on my doorstep. He takes pity on me and carries them into my living room. One of the boxes is marked, ‘look here first,' and I open it while the driver carries in the rest.

The one I open has winter clothes. Knitted dresses, woollen tights, that sort of thing. I find a green one I know will go with my blond hair and resolve to wear it down to the coffee shop. They’re opening today for a few hours to welcome in the New Year. I can’t think of a better way to introduce the world to the new me. If all these boxes are clothes, I doubt I’ll have to buy any for a while.

Collin smiles at me as I walk into the shop. “Double shot latte, walnut syrup,” he says and sets about making it.

There aren’t many people here just now, so we get to chat.

Neither of us notice the shadowy figure in the corner close down his laptop and head out the door. In search of his next ‘victim’, no doubt.