This story is part of a trilogy, the first portion is more like a horror story, and the 2nd and 3rd portions have the TG in them.

"You're traveling through another dimension, a dimension not only of sight and sound but of mind; a journey into a wondrous land whose boundaries are that of the imagination. Next stop: THE TWILIGHT ZONE." - Rod Serling

***

A cursed mirror begins our trilogy of an evil, vain young woman's trip into the unknown. Ending somewhere between there and here, where the known and unknown intersect. Only to play itself out inside...The Twilight Zone!

Part One
-One-

"Out of my way, stupid old hag!" she hissed as she pushed the ancient woman aside, causing her to fall into the street, directly into the path of a coach as it made its way through the city.

Under the hooves of the horses the old woman was trampled, and then crushed beneath the great weight of the wheels. The attractive girl paused and looked at the destruction she had caused, only giving it a mere moment of her time. "One less..." she muttered under her breath, feeling no remorse for the death she had caused. Turning back toward her business, she motioned for the stunned shopkeeper.

"I'll take that one!" she demanded, pointing to the ornate looking-glass with the long handle and carved wooden frame.

As he handed it to her, she studied her reflection while primping her hair. His eyes again were drawn to the crowd as they gathered around the old one, bent and broken, alive no more.

"You going to..." he began to ask, pointing over her shoulder at the dead woman.

She glanced back and shrugged, then returned to examining her reflection. "She got in my way, for that, she deserved what she was given. The way I see it, I did her a favor!"

"A favor?" he asked as he patiently waited for her to pay.

"She isn't hurting any more...she has no more worries where her next meal will be coming from...it's a favor, and I'm glad I was able to help her."

The shopkeeper stood silently disgusted for several minutes, then after a few additional seconds he softly spoke, "That'll be..."

"I'll pay this..." she interrupted as she tossed the coin at his feet. The man bent down and picked up the coin.

He hesitantly glanced upward at the beautiful woman. "Well, I uh...I was thinking that it would sell for something more, like..."

She glared at him, her stunning blue eyes bespoke contempt of his lower class. "You'll be happy with what I pay, or you'll get nothing!"

Another elderly woman rushed upon the scene. As she neared, she collapsed to the ground in her grief, crawling the last few feet to her dead sister. She looked at each of those surrounding her for the answers to her sister's death. Each pointed toward the young beauty who was still admiring herself in the shop's many looking-glasses.

Slowly the ancient sister stood to her feet, helpful hands assisting her as she regained her balance. With as much of a determined gate, she walked toward the primping girl.

"Was this your doing?" she asked, barely understandable from the loss of her teeth.

The girl saw the ancient sister's reflection in her looking-glass and scowled, slowly turned, and she placed a kerchief over her nose. "She was in my way...she must have stumbled."

"She was pushed!" The ancient one pointed a gnarled finger at the girl. "By you!"

"She stumbled!" the girl insisted with a sneer. "She was already dead anyway, she just didn't know it! Now go away - your old decaying stench is making me ill."

The old one scanned around ignoring her insult, disgusted at the girl's lack of remorse for her sister's death. "You will pay..."

"Oh, fine." She pulled a gold coin from her clutch and tossed it to the ancient one. "There...now bury her. While you're at it, try taking a bath!" She turned her back on the old woman, but still watched her reflection through the glass.

The withered old woman pointed a finger at the girl, "You caused her death, yet you do not feel any remorse for it!" The girl only laughed her response, not even turning to face her accuser. The ancient one continued. "You seem to be so entranced by your own reflection that you fail to see what goes on around you...so will be your sentence!"

The beauty laughed as the old woman continued. She was still pointing, speaking as loudly and as clearly as was possible without teeth. "Each time, wide eyed that you face your reflection...any reflection, a tiny little bit of yourself will be ebbed away until you are nothing more than a withered old shell like that of myself and what was my sister! Your very essence will be locked away in that looking-glass you seem to admire so much! And there it will stay until the day when it can be used on someone who might appreciate it much more than yourself!"

"Go away, old hag, you're bothering me!" She pushed her purchase into her clutch and scowled at the elderly woman. "I'm immune to your silly threats! They mean nothing to me!"

The old one glared at her. Even with the onset of blindness, seeing only mere shapes and shadows, her look seemed to bore right through the much younger woman's body, directly into her very soul. "Then...it begins." From far outside of the city, a low rumble of thunder could be heard.

-Two-

"What is the matter, child?" the nobleman asked from his seated position, as his daughter entered the room. "You seem troubled..."

She sat down her purchases and frowned, "It was nothing, Father."

"Let me be the judge of that, Constance. Sit down and tell me what is troubling you." He motioned for her to sit on the couch opposite where he was resting.

The girl sat down. "An old woman was struck by a coach today - it was right before my eyes!"

He sat up, "You poor dear!" Quickly moving to his daughter's side, he took a seat upon the couch. "Tell me of it."

"She stumbled... Completely lying about her involvement....and fell onto the street. It was so horrible!" The girl, Constance, began to conjure up tears to sell her lie. "I tried to aid her, but it was already too late!"

"At least you tried to aid her." He sighed as he hugged his daughter, slowly giving her back a reassuring stroke. Behind them, in walked a young man.

"Did she tell you, Father?" he asked as he flopped down in the chair that his father had been sitting in earlier. "Did you tell him, Constance?"

She quickly glared over her shoulder at her brother. "Of course I told him!"

"Oh?" he replied with a smile, "Did she tell you...that many of those who witnessed the entire tragedy accuse Constance of pushing the old woman into the street?"

She wheeled upon her brother, "They lie!"

"I'm just repeating what they're all saying," he shrugged his indifference.

"They're all lying! They just hate me because I'm beautiful!" she hissed, the pure hatred of all people she considered beneath her, spewed through her words. She stood quickly and ran from the room, and her sobs were heard echoing down the richly decorated hallway.

The father sighed, "What do you think happened?"

Her brother stood, shrugged and dropped a coin to the table. "After it happened, Constance tossed this at the dead woman's sister. She told her to use it to pay for the burial. Most there considered it blood money and would not accept it, let alone touch it. I found it still lying on the ground where it fell." The young man stood looking at his father. "I think she was involved in the death of the old woman."

The older man's shoulders slumped. "The old woman...the sister you say, can you see to her aid?"

"I already have." His young son sighed. "I've taken care of the burial on behalf of our family." He scratched the back of his head. "Father, how can someone who is as beautiful as Constance, be so evil toward others?"

Under his breath, the tired man sighed, "I ask myself that same question, each and every single time she does something like this...something evil...or wicked!"

-Three-

Constance was still seething as she slammed her bedchamber door closed, and in a huff she threw herself upon her bed. Her anger now was focused upon her brother for interfering between her and their father.

She sat up and punched a diminutive fist into her pillows. "Were I a man, dear brother, I'd give you a thrashing you wouldn't soon forget!" She raged and then stood. "You keep interfering where you should just keep your nose out!" She growled, as she leaned out the window to watch the passersby on the street far below.

As she stood watching, an evil plot began to form in her mind. Constance knew that she lacked the physical strength to harm to her brother, but with a few coins, she could find those who would do it quite easily. A wicked smile formed on her beautiful face.

She quickly made her way to the bed where she had thrown her clutch in her anger. Reaching inside, she withdrew the looking-glass she had purchased earlier in the day, and also a handful of coins. Setting the glass aside, she began to focus on the gleaming coins. One by one she began to count them out, gradually her eyes were pulled toward the polished surface of the looking-glass and her own beautiful reflection.

A shudder ran along her spine, and goose bumps broke out upon her arms as she recalled what the ancient woman had said. She only pondered a moment as she decided with a haughty laugh that her words were nothing more than idle prattle.

Constance smiled into the mirror and fluffed up the front of her hair, first pushing it one way, than another until each strand was resting perfectly in its place. "Stupid old hag!" She spat her contempt out like a foul taste in her mouth. "You deserve to meet the same fate as your ugly sister." She glanced toward the coins spread about the bed. "Hummmm...I wonder if there's enough to take care of both my 'dear' brother and that decrepit old bitch?"

There would be enough time for fine-tuning her plot, but for now, she returned her gaze into the reflective surface of her looking-glass.

-Four-

Two full days passed and although the commotion she had caused had died down somewhat, Constance continued to focus her anger directly upon her brother. She found him wandering in their gardens, trying to compose a letter to his fiancee.

"Well hello, dear brother!" she chirped sarcastically.

"Go away, Constance..." He replied, not even giving her the benefit of a glance.

"Oh, Eric, still trying to compose your vows for your wedding?" she laughed, and the venom in her voice made his skin crawl.

"I said go away!" he glared at her, covering his writings from his sister's view.

"What's wrong, brother dear? Afraid your little harlot won't be interested in you...especially now, since she already has another?"

"There is no other!" he snapped angrily.

"What would you call her brother, then?" she laughed.

"What are you driving at?" he scowled at his sister.

"It's obvious that she has been experimenting with her own brother...at least that's what I've been telling everyone!" She broke into a fit of evil laughter. In anger, Eric picked up his paper, jar of ink and quill.

"I must find a place where I can be alone!" As he stood he smiled, took the jar of ink, and poured it over her head, then laughed as it rolled down her face. "Now your face is as black as the window to your soul...dear sister."

Constance bolted to her feet as her brother walked away; ink rolled down her chin and dripped upon her best dress. She balled up her fists in anger and stormed toward the garden's fountain, knowing that if she hesitated too long, the ink would set and stain her skin and hair. Furiously she washed her face and hair with chemicals that were strong enough to strip paint. As she did so, she became determined to enlist the aid of a street thug to put her brother in his place.

With dripping hair and soaked dress, she stormed into the house and up to her bedchamber. Once inside, she tore her dress from her body and hurled it into the corner of the great room. She crossed to her dresser and picked up her looking-glass to see how much of the ink had stained her skin. Thankfully, there were only a few areas where the ink had darkened enough to remain. Those she expertly covered with pale facial powders.

Her hair was another matter entirely, because once rinsed, it appeared that there were several strands of hair that were almost bleached white, intermixed with her pale blond. She tightened her jaw and fumed, as she looked upon the result of her brother's anger. She groaned when she noticed that her newest corset had also been stained.

She dropped the glass and pulled off her ink-stained corset and undergarment. She walked naked to the closet where she kept her belongings; there she paused before the reflective surface that covered her doors. As she gazed upon her lovely body, a form she never tired of looking at, she noticed a black dot of what appeared to be ink, on the inside of her thigh.

She frowned, then stared at it. Under the vast amount of petticoats and the thick material of the dress, there was no way that the ink could have gotten past them. She ran her finger over the area.

What she thought had been ink, turned out to be a huge dark mole! She shuddered, touching it from where it extended out from her soft thighs. It must have been sticking out almost a quarter of an inch away from her skin. Surely since it was as large as it was, it had been there for far longer than she remembered. Somehow she had missed it during her recent baths.

Constance immediately decided that she would meet with her father's physician and schedule a removal of the hideous mole. As uncomfortable as its presence was, she made an effort to put it from her mind. She bent down to pull a clean corset from her drawer and was strangely taken back by the odd way her breasts swung.

She stood and looked down at them. They both seemed to be elongated and sagged uncharacteristically for her young age. She hefted them and then released them. Both flopped down against her chest, like those of a woman her mother's age.

She pushed the closet door closed and studied them in the reflective surface of it, and then she noticed that a small flabby pouch seemed to be collected behind her once flat stomach. "What is happening to me?" Constance gasped with uncertain fear.

She quickly threw open the doors once again and pulled the clothing she needed, trying to avoid seeing how her beauty seemed to be evaporating before her eyes.

Dressing in a hurry, she flopped down upon the bed. The effort to get dressed alone caused her breathing to become labored. It was as if she had raced up a many flights of stairs. "What's wrong with me?" she said, panting for air.

She suddenly remembered the words the old woman had said, and like a bolt of lightning she raced toward her looking-glass. "No!" she cried at her reflection, seeing darkened bags that lay beneath her tired eyes.

Closer inspection made her heart leap with fright! Gone was the crystal blueness that had once been the admiration of many, replaced by a watery gray color. It almost looked as though one eye was slightly clouded over, as if it were the precursor of a serious eye ailment. "This isn't possible!" she screamed, throwing herself upon her pillows.

Constance struggled upright, slowly working her way off the bed. Grabbing her clutch, she headed for the door. "I have to find that old witch before its too late! I have to convince her to reverse these changes!" she exclaimed to herself as she limped down the stairs.

-Five-

The day wore on, but Constance could find no trace of the old woman. Her fears began to build as she remembered the thug whom she hired only a day prior, perhaps he had already done his job and pushed her crippled body into a bog just outside of town!

As darkness fell, she made her way home and found herself laboring as she climbed the stairs toward the bedchambers. About half-way up, she met her brother coming down.

"You look...awful!" he commented as he saw his sister. "Are you ill?"

"I...I'm...just tired," Constance gasped, worn out from her climb...and only half way to the top.

"Let me go get Father. He will summon his physician!" Eric replied with genuine concern.
"Don't you dare get father! I'll be fine," she snapped back. "Just help me to my room!"

He took hold of her arm, supporting her as they slowly made their way up the steps to her chambers. Eric couldn't help but wonder at the frailness of her grasp, almost as though she was years older than her true age. There was also a strange odor, a pungent mix of sweat and something he couldn't place his finger on...almost the heady smell of decaying flesh. He scowled, trying to hide his reaction from his sister. "How can she not smell it too?" he thought to himself as he assisted her up to her room.

As they reached her chambers, she fell into bed without even removing her garments. "Now go...and leave me so I may change!" A puzzled Eric lit candles for her and exited his sister's room, hesitantly pulling her door closed. In his heart, he was unsure if he should go and get their father from his bed or do as his sister wished.

Once her breathing steadied Constance sat up, using the corner post to assist her into a seated position. Her youthful hands were aching with arthritis, as she fumbled with the dress, struggling to unbutton the buttons which held the collar and bodice closed. As they fell open, she was taken back by the stretched skin that pulled down at her breasts. It seemed that she somehow had aged at least 30 years since morning!

She stood and pushed her dress down, and gingerly stepped out of it. She began to work at the strings of the corset, fumbling with the knot at the top. As she dug with her pained fingertips she yanked against the knot, her hand came free and struck her mouth hard.

She sat back upon the bed and waited for the room to stop spinning. Slowly the knot gave way to her efforts and she was able to remove the corset, throwing it down onto the floor. A drop of blood fell onto her pale thigh; she wiped it with a finger and then touched her lip where she had struck herself. There was no blood coming from her lip. "Where then?" she wondered aloud.

Taking her finger, she traced along the inside of her mouth and felt a strange chunk of something. Using her tongue, she worked it out and spit it into her hand. It was a tooth!

She felt her body tremble as she sought out the gap with her tongue. Another molar rolled forward, followed by yet another! She spit them into her hand, which now contained three in total. Trembling, she raced toward her looking-glass and looked inside of her mouth. A great gap was in her mouth, almost an inch long from the third tooth on the right...back toward her molars.

As she began crying, another tooth fell onto her dresser, this one had been on the very front of the right side. This left only a two teeth on the upper right side of her mouth, the second one from the middle, and one at the very back.

Her crying became harder, and bloody drool fell onto the dresser, "Why?" was all she could ask, and her voice sounded weakly hoarse. Yet Constance knew the reason for all of these events. She then tried to straighten up, but her back ached so much that it caused her to hunch in pain, making it almost impossible to straighten up.

One by one, she removed the pins from her hair. Gone was the silky feeling - it was replaced by a dry and brittle feel. With her trembling hand, she picked up a brush and began to pull it through her hair. With each stroke, more and more hair remained in the bristles of the brush.

As her arm moved, she noticed more of the little moles gathered under her pits and on the side of her breast. A quick check revealed several more on the other side. Each armpit had a thin long hairs growing outward, oddly white and like that of an elderly person. "Nooo!" she cried, throwing the brush across the room.

She spun away from the mirror and threw herself down upon her bed, the effort knocking the wind from her body. Constance lay gasping for air, and slowly her breathing returned to normal with the onset of sleep.

-Six-

Morning found Constance laying crossways in her bed; beneath her lay the looking-glass. She struggled up into a seated position, and wiped the drool from her cheek. She glanced downward at her naked flesh; breasts now hanging almost flatly above her flabby waist; her breasts resembled that of an eighty-year old woman! Her upper chest was covered in wrinkles where her breasts pulled at the skin, dragging it down with what looked like years of weight. Beside that, she found she was covered with a mass of freckles and brown spots that made her begin crying once more.

Her thighs had become very skinny, and appeared to be more bone than flesh. The knobs of her knees made an obvious bulge in the middle of her leg. Beneath them was spindly and bereft of muscle or mass. There were several more protruding moles, seemingly coming up like mushrooms between her thighs. She covered her face in terror, not understanding the power of what was happening!

Constance drew her hands to her face, and through blurry tears she could see that they were also now covered with the strange dark spots like those upon her chest. Both had become gnarled and withered with painful arthritis. One foot had become bent from the deformity of a great bunion, pushing her toes out strangely and to the side. Constance knew she had to find the old woman if she were still alive! Finding the old hag was the only chance she had of reversing the powerful curse the woman had placed upon her. As quickly as she could, she hobbled toward her closet. Her knees and hips ached in sheer pain as she moved.

She grasped the edges of her large doors to her closet, and her loose skin sagged down between her elbows and armpits. In her reflection from the doors, she gazed upon a woman looking much older than she had been. While she could still see a resemblance of herself, she now appeared to look more like her maternal grandmother.

Her jaw was set; a slight indent was apparent where she had lost even more teeth last night. Slowly she parted her lips to reveal the sight that set her stomach to lurching. A ghastly amount of festering disease covered areas of her gums, and what teeth did remain were dark and decaying!

"Nooooo!" she hoarsely cried, and her knees gave out, causing her to fall to the floor. The sound of her voice was lacking the youthful timbre that she once had, making it sound like that of a ship straining against its mooring!

"What has that old witch done to me?" The words were hard to distinguish, sounding much like the toothless ranting of an old woman. Constance knew what she had wanted to say, but what came out made her sound almost deranged.

Constance tried to stand, using the door's knob, but instead, crawled to the post of the bed where she was finally able to get to her feet. Once standing in a semi-erect position, she picked up the hand-held looking glass and studied the wrinkles upon her face. It, too, was covered with the brown spots of age - her nose and upper lip had grotesque moles protruding outward. Sparse hairs grew from different areas of her upper lip and chin, giving her the appearance similar to that of the old woman she had pushed. Her ears too had become elongated at the lobe, about an inch past where they once had been.

Using the post, she tried to straighten up further, yet her shoulders slumped forward greatly, like that of an old woman. "That…that witch...she's stolen my beauty! She's made me like her and...and her sister...a...a hag!" she cried out in painful rage.

Forgoing the corset and countless petticoats, she dressed in what would fit and limped down the stairs. In her hand was the looking-glass. She was determined to locate the old hag, and beat her to death with it. Thankfully she met no one as she limped out of the house and began to hobble down the street, wearing an ill fitting gown made for a much younger woman.

-Seven-

Constance knew there would be no chance that anyone would recognize her now. She kept to herself as she paused from time to time to catch her wind! After several hours of searching, she found her way to the area where the old woman had been killed. As she rested on a bench beside a shop, she spied her reflection in a giant barrel of rain water.

Her hair was now almost entirely white, going in every direction but the way intended, all splayed in a confused array. The very top of her head was thinning and she could see through to the baldness of her scalp. No longer was she able to remain with her head steady, now it shook slightly from a palsy-like movement. Her jaw dropped at the appearance of her reflection, it seemed that her very beauty had been sapped over the past several days. A strange odor permeated the air around her, like that of something rotting in the breeze. The ‘once' beauty shuddered, because she knew the smell was coming from her own body.

Tears begin to form in the vain woman's colorless eyes as another blackened tooth dropped from her mouth and fell into the water, slowly spiraling toward the bottom of the barrel. Great veins climbed along her hands and neck as she sought to pull her gaze from her reflection. She feared what each look was doing to her, knowing the prediction the old woman had at their end result. The vain addiction she had to seeing her own reflection caused her to return again and again to its mirror-like surface like some drug which supported an evil habit.

She finally forced herself away from her reflection before it was too late and her very life was extinguished into the water. Once more, she struggled to her feet, only to then fall back onto the bench again. It was as though she were in her nineties, in her opinion she was acting like a tottering old fool.

As she struggled with standing, it was as though her very thoughts were being distracted...like a strange dementia was settling into her brain. She suspected that complete senility would soon follow, rendering her a mindless, withered shell as had been the woman she accidentally killed. She had to hurry before there was nothing left to save!

A young man came over and helped her to her feet, the fact that he helped without making a commotion over her smell, was a testament to his intestinal fortitude.

With not so much as a thank-you, Constance limped toward the shop where she had purchased the ill-fated looking-glass and met the old hag. Along the river's edge the path took her, what she saw brought her ancient feeling body to a complete stop. Only a hundred feet further stood the old witch who caused all of this to happen. The toothless grin on the old woman's face proved she knew what was happening to Constance.

Slowly the old woman made her way to Constance's side; the former beauty was struggling to maintain her shaky balance. "How are we feeling today, my dear?" she cackled and walked a slow circle around the transformed girl, now ancient and hunched over with age.

"You! You did this to me..." she gasped out her hate, pointing a crooked finger at the old witch. Constance was barely able to keep her thoughts on track, so rapidly was the senility overtaking her mind.

Unfortunately, no one would have been able to understand the ranting of the ancient toothless woman whom Constance now appeared to be. "I'm intending on beating you to death with the very looking-glass you placed your curse on!" the former beauty croaked. As she spoke, another tooth fell from her lip and rattled onto the stones. Constance glanced down with despair, as her once beautiful smile had been rendered to very few teeth.

The once-girl shakily raised the looking glass over her head. Her intention to strike the old hag dead with her own cursed looking glass... but, the much sprier hag grasped Constance's frail wrist, and wrestled the glass from her weakened and withered hand.

Constance staggered through the grass toward the old witch from the force of their struggle, her arms outstretched at neck level. Her mumbling sounded like a lunatic as she staggered forward. The witch held her at bay with her arm, pushing against Constance's chest. Slowly the witch turned the looking-glass toward Constance, whose eyes became unable to remove their clouded gaze from its polished surface.

Constance sank to her knees in the grass beside the water's edge. "Hold this, you tottering old fool!" the witch cried. "Since you've enjoyed your reflection for this long...you may as well enjoy it the rest of the way to your death!"

Constance was unable to remove her gaze. She sank to her side in the grass as more and more of her essence was ebbed from her body. Tears rolled from her eyes as her nose elongated further and became more bulbous, extending slightly past her lip. Her remaining teeth fell into the grass...her chin closed upward until her toothless gums met, distorting her face even more.

"I think you should live for awhile in the life you despised so much, even if it will be such a short one...old woman!" The witch bent down and took the glass from Constance. "Who's the ancient one now?" She smiled. "How does it feel to be a toothless, hunched-over, old senile hag...so precariously close to your own death? Embrace it now...hag, live the life you loved to hate!" She began cackling as she walked down to the water's edge, leaving the former beauty to lie in the grass.

Constance began struggling to her knees, the effort she experienced was even more painful than before. The old witch laughed at Constance's attempts, then turned her back upon her and threw the looking-glass as far out into the water as she could. Constance knew by now, that she could never return to her former beauty, and her blood began boiling in her ancient veins.

By the time the witch turned back around, the formerly beautiful girl was standing behind her. "Now, ancient hag...it's my turn!" Constance mumbled in her now toothless way, but the old witch heard her clearly enough to be very worried.

She grasped the witch by the arm and pushed as hard as she could. The old one clutched out desperately, grabbing onto the white wispy tendrils of Constance's hair, grasping them only as she fell backward into the water. The momentum pulled Constance off her feet, causing her to fall forward, following the hag into the water. As they both sank quickly beneath the surface, the ripples in the water slowly calmed; after several long seconds, they became less and less noticeable at all. By the time a full minute had passed, no one would have been able to tell there had been anyone standing along its bank at all.

This story is part of a trilogy, the first portion is more like a horror story, and the 2nd and 3rd portions have the TG in them.

"You're traveling through another dimension, a dimension not only of sight and sound but of mind; a journey into a wondrous land whose boundaries are that of the imagination. Next stop: THE TWILIGHT ZONE." - Rod Serling

***

Part Two

-Eight-

A young acne-laden teen sat beside his bike and watched the workers run the slip scoop at the water's edge. At 14, he looked forward to the day when he could get a job like the one he was watching. A local crew had been contracted to dig out a portion of the river so a suitable structure could be erected to span its width. The bridge was heralded to become a gem for the city, grand and gleaming for all visitors to see.

Micah was well out of the way, positioned high above the working machinery. He was seated on the edge of the sidewalk which actually spanned the entire work site. He had always held a fascination with the heavy equipment, but as yet, never dared to venture down near its operation.

As the enormous scoop swung around and deposited the mud and river soil at the edge, something caught Micah's eye. He stared for several seconds, and saw a sparkling glint among many, many pounds of murky slush. Gradually, almost secretly, he worked his way toward the pile. Staying hidden, he kept himself out of sight when the slip-scoop came back around, afraid that the operator might either see him or worse, hit him.

Micah was thankful that the object had slid toward the bottom, for its nearness made retrieving it and getting away that much more feasible. As he worked closer, he noticed that the strange object had ridden down the surface of the wet slurry further, and slid slightly out into the grass. Keeping hidden, he stole his way to the bottom of the pile and quickly grabbed the item. As soon as he had it in his hands, he raced out with it and returned to his bicycle.

He carefully examined the object. Filth-caked almost its entire surface, making it resemble a giant, muddy chicken leg...although it was flat, perhaps only an inch thick on its narrowest side. The slimy mud slid down onto the youth's hand, dripping in great plops onto the sidewalk beneath his feet. Micah carefully pushed his bike across the road to a gas station where he snuck to the side of the building. He turned on their garden hose, and began to carefully wash the grime from surface of the object.

After closely inspecting it, the handle seemed to be made from some type of wood. It was rotted from ages of resting beneath the water. As he carefully sprayed the handle's porous surface, it became evident that the object was crudely carved, but as yet he was unable to tell what it was.

He rolled it over and began to spray one side, when more of the soft, rotten wood was exposed, then he rotated it to the opposite side and began to remove the grime he found there. As he worked back and forth on each side, another boy rode up and stopped, staying just out of the reach of the water's spray.

"Whatcha have?" he asked as he studied the object in Micah's hands.

"I don't know, I found it," he said as he continued spraying.

The other boy sat silently and continued to watch. Slowly, its surface became exposed, yet it was still quite dirty.

"Looks like a chicken leg...run over by a dump truck," the boy laughed. "Where is it from?"

Micah smiled, "A chicken leg...that's the same thing I was thinking." Finally he dropped the hose and turned off the water. "I found it by where they are building the new bridge."

"So...now what?" the boy asked.

"I guess I'll take it home and try to figure out what it is." Micah tried to push it into his pocket, the strange object was too wide at the top to go in one way, and too long to ride in his pocket the other way comfortably on the bike. He ended up pushing it into his belt, leaving it hang out of the bottom like a sword. "I guess that'll work," he said to himself.

"You know..." the other boy said as they began to ride, "it looks sort of like my mom's hand mirror, only it's a bunch bigger."

"It can't be, Ian, the glass isn't shiny enough! I think it's an old hair brush with the bristles missing," Micah decided.

"Those old mirrors didn't use glass. I remember reading in a book once that they used polished metals like silver or something for them. I'll bet that's what it used to be," Ian said, sounding to Micah like he was so sure of himself.

"Maybe. Can't silver be polished to a shine?" Micah asked as he slowed his pedaling down so the other boy could catch up.

Ian looked at the dullness of the object, "I think it may be too far gone. You may have to use one of those burnishes like we have in art class. You know the ones that those kids doing the jewelry have, that they rub on the metal to shine it up."

Micah shrugged; whatever he decided to use, would have to wait until he got home.

-Nine-

Micah entered the house and began to climb the stairs toward his bedroom with Ian, when his mother stopped him. "What are you two up to this time?"

"I found this at the construction site and wanted to clean it up." Micah held out the object he found.

"What do you suppose it is, Mrs. Kennecott?" asked Ian, eager to be proven right on his theory of it being an old mirror.

She took it from her son and turned it over and over in her hands. "I haven't the foggiest idea, boys."

"I think it's a mirror," insisted Ian.

"I suppose it could be, but the glass isn't reflective at all," she observed. "Although, I do remember the old ones...really old ones were polished silver or some such thing. You might be able to clean it up some."

Ian smugly grinned at Micah. "See...I told you so!"

While his mother handed the object back, Micah shrugged and grinned at his friend. She started to turn then stopped herself, "Before I forget again, Micah, your orthodontist called. Your appointment has been moved to next Friday. Doctor Guzman had to juggle his schedule a bit because of some personal matters."

"That's fine, I'm in no hurry anyway," he replied over his shoulder, as Ian and he started up the steps again.

"So...you getting braces?" Ian asked as they pushed the door to Micah's bedroom open.

"Have to. Besides having an overbite, I got these four teeth that need straightening and one right here that's growing right over the other one." Micah pointed toward his crooked teeth on the bottom and the one strange dual growth on top.

"They'll have to pull that one like they did my sister's...man, that sure sucks for you!"

Micah sighed. "Now you know why I'm not in any hurry to have them work on it!"

They carried the strange item to Micah's desk. Micah handed it to Ian while he cleared off the items to make suitable working space. Ian stood quietly waiting and watching as Micah cleared the desk.

"Awww dude, are those your glasses?" he teased as Micah folded the ear pieces over and pushed them into a glass-case. Micah scowled at his friend and took his finding and laid it on the desk.

As soon as his hands were free, Ian retrieved the glasses from the case and put them on. "You must be as blind as a bat!"

"I'm not blind...jerk!" Micah snapped defensively.

"They're as thick as a magnifying glass!" he laughed and held out his hand before him, trying to touch objects nearby.

"I have an eye problem," Micah growled as he snatched them from Ian's face.

"You don't seem to be having any problems now!" Ian laughed as he watched his friend push them back into the case.

"I'm wearing my contacts. When I get to be eighteen, my mother said that dad and she will pay for me to have lasik surgery."

"Sure sucks to be you!" Ian kidded.

"At least I don't have any trouble seeing eye to eye with the girls!" Micah had enough of Ian's teasing and decided to strike back where it counted, his height.

"Bite me!" Ian snapped. "Mom says I'm just a late bloomer."

"Your dad's what, like 5'9 if he's lucky...and your mom is something like 5 foot nothing? Heck, your sisters only a tad shorter than you are!" Micah was laughing at his friend, "Your chances of growing much more aren't likely!"

"What the hell! You aren't any taller than I am asshole!" Ian folded his arms and glared. "Your mom is just as tall as you are now! And my sister is almost THREE inches shorter than me right now...jerk!"

"But my dad is over six feet!" Micah reminded him. "The chances are that I'll get a whole lot taller than you...when we're full grown!"

Ian continued glaring. "Butt face!"

"Asshole!" Micah shot back.

Finally after a giant moment of silence, Ian asked, "So what're you going to use on that thing?"

Micah shrugged, "I'm not sure...I may try some silver polish on the metal, to see if your theory is remotely correct."

"It is." Ian replied.

From down at the bottom of the stairs, Micah's mother called up. "Ian! Your mother has supper ready. She says you need to head home now."

"That blows," Ian sighed. "Talk to you tomorrow?"

"That'll work," Micah answered, "I'll let you know if I had any success with trying to clean this thing."

"Cool," Ian headed toward the door, "Tomorrow then?"

"After lunch," Micah replied without looking up from the object on the desk, the only reason he knew Ian had left the room were the softening steps going down the stairs.

From the kitchen he heard Ian say, "Smells good, Mrs. Kennecott!"

"Thank you, Ian."

"See ya later! Tell Mr. Kennecott I said hi!" His voice echoed as Micah heard the door to the outside close.

-Ten-

After supper, Micah was helping put items away for his mom, as his father was loading the dishwasher.

"I'm done," the boy announced.

"Thank you, Micah. You may be excused." His mother ruffled his dishwater blond hair and smiled. The boy began to walk away.

Micah paused, "Before I go...I was wondering if we had any chrome or silver polish?" His eyes darted between his parents.

"I'm pretty sure we don't have silver polish, but I think I have chrome polish in the garage...are you planning on cleaning up your bike?" his father asked as he closed the door to the dishwasher.

"Micah found an old thing down at the construction site and wanted to see if he could clean it up," his mother replied for her son.

"Oh? What type of old thing?" his father wondered aloud.

Micah replied, "It's like an old junky mirror or something. I just want to see if it's possible to put the shine back into it. So, where did you say that chrome polish was?"

"It's a small, white plastic jug on the second shelf of the cabinet, just above the motor oil." He then added, "Make sure it finds its way back there when you're done with it!"

Micah smiled, "I'll put it right back in the only clean spot on the entire cabinet...the exact spot it was taken from." Without any more words between them, the boy had disappeared behind the door to the garage.

His father looked at his mother. "Is that son of ours trying to say that my shelf is dusty?"

She snickered, "I do believe so, dear."

Finding the polish was no effort at all, and moments later Micah was standing before the object in his bedroom. He quickly read the directions on the polish, shook the plastic jug vigorously and then sat it aside. After a few minutes of scrounging, he pulled a pair socks with holes in the toes from his drawer.

Once again he returned to the table, shook the small jug and opened the lid. The smell was pretty intense, and it forced him to open up a window. With great gusto, he set all of his attention upon the item he found.

After almost two minutes of scrubbing the polish into the dull metal, he took the other end of the sock and began to wipe away the excess. The remaining solution was allowed to dry into a dull sheen, effectively clouding out any results. Impatiently, he waited the allotted time before he could buff it.

Putting everything aside, he hurriedly ran down the hallway and used the bathroom, figuring that would give him the time needed for the solution to do its thing.

About three minutes later, he returned to his room and took up the remaining clean sock. Putting it to the metal's surface, he began to rapidly buff out the dull chemical. When he was confident that it was gone, he removed the sock and studied its surface.

Unfortunately, he couldn't see any reflection. Before giving up, though, he thought he'd try polishing it, at least one more time.

Again he tried the process. This time, though, instead of an ordinary sock to wipe on the polish, he decided to use some very fine steel wool with polish on it. After another quick trip to the garage, he returned with a baggie full of the fibrous metal. Laying his find flat upon the desk, he then scrubbed hard at the metal's surface.

Waiting again was agonizing! After several minutes he picked up his wiping cloth and began to buff away the dried polish. He shuddered with excitement as he could almost make out his own reflection in its cleaner surface.

"Just one more treatment of that stuff in combination with the steel wool; and I think that'll do it!" He decided as he looked his treasure over.

-Eleven-

The garbage truck outside awoke Micah from his sleep. It was okay because the boy didn't sleep very well anyway. He sat up and ran his fingers through his hair, yawned and glanced out the window. Near the driveway was a large truck with a huge mechanical arm shaking out his parents' trash bin.

His sleep wasn't anything special, but he had a weird dream. He thought about it, trying to remember anything about it that he could.

He recalled a decrepit, old woman...a young and beautiful girl, and an old hand mirror like the one he found. The girl was a real piece of work - today many would just call her a bitch because that was exactly what she seemed to be. She had involved herself in a murder, and then played it off as it was nothing!

He looked toward the old mirror while he thought about his dream. The old woman had a sister who was a witch or something...and that witch put a spell on the girl's mirror. The spell was designed to sap the girl's youth and beauty and leave her hideously deformed. It came true as the girl slowly became a gross hag. She became so enraged by what was happening and ended up going after the witch, killing her, too, in the process. Both ended up drowning...and then the dream was suddenly over and he woke up.

Micah shrugged away the realistic dream, assuming it was brought on by finding the mirror only the day before. Deciding that the finding of the object probably made him have a dream in an attempt of explaining how he came to find it...it seemed a simple enough explanation, but it was highly unlikely.

Micah drew the curtain, then sat down on the bed and yawned. He stretched and scratched his scalp, then decided to go take a quick shower. With only a cursory glance toward the old mirror, he stepped into the hallway in his boxers and headed toward the bathroom.

He heard his mother downstairs. His father had already left for work long ago, so Micah was relatively sure that he'd be able to have a long, hot shower. He tossed his clean boxers down and pulled out a towel once he was inside the bathroom. He turned on the shower and waited for it to grow warm.

Looking in the bathroom mirror, he was slightly but happily surprised that his acne appeared to be clearing up. Micah grinned and deftly retrieved his toothbrush and planted a small dollop of toothpaste upon the bristles, and began to brush.

There is always a moment when you have finished brushing that you give yourself an exaggerated smile in the mirror, which Micah did this to himself. He leaned in closer to the mirror, and he noticed that his four bottom teeth that had been so crooked were now slightly straighter. The two big teeth at the top were even less overlapping than they had only been just yesterday.

"Cool!" Micah gasped as he studied his reflection. "If this keeps up, I won't have to have anything pulled!"

Micah's voice sounded a bit odd to his ears, but not really enough to concern him. He decided it must be from a combination of the powerful chemicals in the polish and sleeping with his window open.

"Hello....hello?" he said aloud, deciding that if it was anything, it may be only a tad higher.

"That's all I need... he said to himself as he stuck his hand into the shower to test the water. Reverse puberty!"

The boy scrubbed himself with his body soap, starting at his head and working his way downward. He quickly rinsed and gathered up the shampoo - it had a clean apple scent which he enjoyed very much. Squirting it into his hand, he flipped the cap closed and placed it onto the shelf inside the shower. In only an instant, his hands were coursing through the thick lather, building into a rapidly increasing helmet of foam.

He began to shiver, the water seemingly cool to him. Micah turned up the heat and pushed his head beneath the spray, scrubbing and rinsing the foam away as he did. As soon as he finished, he cranked the handles to the off position and opened the door.

On the outside, the bathroom mirror was covered with a vaporous fog, almost impenetrable to see through. Using a hand towel, he cleaned away the surface so he could see his reflection.

In the mirror, as he was combing out his hair he paused in mid stroke, noticing something strange about his underarm. He leaned in and examined the area thoroughly. His hair there was more sparse than he remembered, and what was there had become lighter...almost blond. A quick examination of the other one proved to be similar.

"What's the deal here?" he asked aloud, ignoring the strange softness evident in his voice.

Shaking his mind free from its newest puzzlement, he began to dry himself off. When his towel arrived at his legs he again paused, what met his eyes was also oddly different from the dark hair he remembered prior to his shower. Now each follicle seemed thinner and lighter blond in color. His eyes quickly bolted into the mirror, toward the hair on the top of his head. There was a strange wave to it, and it definitely was lighter! Micah hurriedly drew his boxers up his legs and draped his towel around his shoulders, and headed toward the bathroom door.

As he stepped out into the hall, his mother had been vacuuming and was now unplugging the cord from the wall. Micah stopped in the hallway and waited for her to coil up the cord. "Mom, do I look any different to you?"

She let her eyes drift over him, "Have you been getting into my hair lighteners again? It looks nice, honey, but you should ask before you use them the next time" She bent down and hung the cord from the handle. "Now Micah dear, if you don't mind...I have to lug this back downstairs and finish the living room."

"Sure Mom, okay." He sighed as he turned and walked toward his room in confused silence. Behind him, his mother carried the cleaner down to the first floor.

When he returned to his room, he stood before his mirror and sighed. "What's happening? Maybe...I'm just imagining things. But...mom saw it too!" He grabbed his cutoffs and quickly pulled them up his legs where they just barely covered his boxers.

Micah walked over to his dresser and picked up the mirror, it seemed to not be as damaged as it had appeared just yesterday. It actually looked somewhat salvageable to the boy. Micah rotated it over and over in his hands - the dried wood seemed to have become more rigid as it dried that almost seemed like new. He rolled it back over and looked into the reflective surface. He had really worked wonders on it last night, his image in it was much clearer than he remembered.

He sat it back down and pulled a shirt from his dresser, which was directly beside his desk. The tank top he chose fit loose, the arm holes extended almost to his waist.

He shook his head as he sat down at his desk, absently running a finger over his lower lip while thinking. If he and his mother could perceive the subtle changes, what would happen when Ian came? Would his best friend give him grief about them?

He rolled his eyes and drummed his fingers against the desk, trying to decide what he should do. Again, his eyes were drawn into the ancient mirror. Micah picked it up and examined the edges where the reflective surface was held into the handle's frame. As his gaze scoured the edging of the mirror, he couldn't help but return again and again to his face's reflection. Something about his eyes seemed different? But what was it?

Suddenly he knew, and his eyed widened in shock. "Oh, God!" he gasped. "My eyes are blue now!" He quickly laid the looking-glass down and pushed it away. "No way in hell do I have blue eyes…" Hesitantly he returned his gaze into the big mirror upon his door; he needed to know for sure. It was true; his once brown eyes were now a pale and stunning, crystalline blue!

Micah gripped the door and leaned inward, his blue eyes questioning and troubled. "How is this possible?" he cried out softly, too shocked to think!

He began to pace, from time to time returning his gaze into the mirror on the door. "Shit! How can this be happening?" he squeaked, his voice becoming frantic and shrill with fear. "It's freaking impossible!"

Micah leaned against the door's glass in frustration, his forehead resting upon its reflective surface just below his arms. Looking back at him was a pair of the clearest blue eyes he had ever seen, framed within expressively long, curved dark eyelashes. The hair upon his brow had equally lightened up to match that which made up, his now wavy hair.

He backed away, still leaning against the mirror but trying to take in his entire face. "My...my hair looks longer yet!" It was true; his hair was just beginning to touch his shoulders, curling slightly at the ends, where it came into contact with his skin! "No freaking way!" He cried as his gaze was drawn to his arms, most notably his underarms.

"Now I'm stinking bald in my armpits!" he gasped, backing away further. He held up an arm and looked into the mirror with panic; he had no hair anywhere on his armpit. "Ian will think I've shaved!" he cried out once again to his reflection.

Running his off hand over his smooth armpit, he felt his heart skip with fear. Even his fingernails had changed, becoming more oval and sticking out, just slightly past his fingertips.

"Okay...okay...okay... he stammered, trying not to hyperventilate. I've got to calm down. There has to be some sort of logical explanation...I just have to figure out what!"

From the stairwell, Micah heard his mother's voice calling, "Micah, honey, Ian is here!"

The youth sighed deeply, "Maybe Ian will have an answer."

-Twelve-

"Hey dude, what's..." Ian stopped short, placing his book-bag filled with video games on the floor as soon as he saw his friend sitting at the end of his bed.

"Close the door; I don't want my mom to see..." Micah frowned and pointed behind Ian, toward the open door.

Ian quickly pushed it shut and slowly walked toward the bed, "What the hell is going on, Micah?"

Micah looked up at his friend, a sadness showing in his eyes that Ian had never seen before. "I was hoping you could tell me..."

An enormous amount of time passed as Ian studied his friend. Finally the boy spoke, "When did you start..."

"Changing?" finished Micah.

Ian's eyes drifted down his friend's smooth legs...then, quickly away and toward the window. "Uh, yeah."

"I first noticed them this morning!" Micah frowned and stood, folding his arms in frustration. "The changes have been coming on pretty regular!"

Ian didn't say anything. But inwardly, he believed that Micah's legs resembled those of a girl! Even since he arrived, the muscle tone on his friend had become more slender and feminine.

"What the hell am I going to do?" Micah cried and turned away from Ian so he wouldn't see him cry.

"We'll figure it out, Micah!" Ian responded, but he didn't believe it. Even now, Micah's hair was now more blond than it had been only moments earlier. His complexion had completely cleared, making his skin smoother and more radiant looking.

Ian realized that he had to get Micah out of the house, before any further changes happened. He pushed the changing boy his sandals, "Put these on. We've got to go over to my house!"

"I'd have to ask my mom first," Micah sighed again, looking toward his door.

Ian couldn't help but notice how soft Micah's voice had become since they'd last spoken yesterday. He realized that Micah couldn't face his mother like he was, afraid that she'd rush him off to the hospital as soon as she saw him.

"I'll go down and talk to your mom, and you grab your stuff and get ready to go!" Ian started for the door and paused, "You work your way outside...I'll see if I can get permission for you to spend the night!"

"What about YOUR parents and sister?" Ian asked.

"They left this morning for the lake. Dad wanted to get one last day of fun in before he had to bring in our boat." Ian quickly stepped toward the door and placed his hand on the knob and hesitated, looking back at his friend caught somewhere in the middle of an unexplainable transformation. He wanted to have the answers for his friend, but nothing came to mind as he waited for Micah to leave with him.

Slowly turning to face the mirror, Micah sighed at his reflection. "God help me..."

As Micah passed him and walked into the hall, Ian picked up the mirror from where the overwhelmed boy had left it. For some reason, he thought the answer to Micah's problem might just be the mirror...and if there was any way for his friend to return to normal, they just might need it. He quickly pushed it into his book-bag, zipped it shut and slung it over his shoulder, following Micah down the stairs.

Micah's mother was busy vacuuming the floor. After very little begging, Ian got the official 'okay' from Micah's mother to take him to his house for an afternoon of gaming. After a quick kiss from her son while she was still preoccupied with the chore, the two friends quickly left for Ian's house.

-Thirteen-

While they rode their bikes toward Ian's, Micah shuddered at the unfamiliar feeling of his longer hair blowing from the wind caused by their ride. He knew he had to figure out how to stop the strange changes from happening to him!

Once inside the house, the boys headed toward Ian's bedroom. As soon as the door closed, Ian turned to face his friend. "I know you don't want to hear this, but we've got to see how far you've changed."

"I can tell you right now," Micah replied fearfully. “Too damn far!"

Ian pointed to the tank top that Micah was wearing, "Pull it up some." Micah did, revealing his waist.

"Has it always been skinny?" Ian asked, pointing toward Micah's narrow and tapered waist.

"Yeah, but not like this!" Micah was completely baffled. "What could be causing it to happen?"

Ian studied his friend with extreme scrutiny, "You said that all of this started this morning?"

"Yes."

"Maybe it has something to do with that old mirror?" Ian reasoned.

"I guess anything's possible...at least, I believe that now!" Micah ran his hand through his hair in frustration, and walked toward Ian's mirror and studied himself further.

Micah sighed and walked back to Ian's bed and sat down. To him, he couldn't help but notice that Micah's legs were even more feminine than when they were back at the other house. His fingers too were seemingly more delicate, with shapely oval nails extending past their respective tips.

"It's the mirror...I'm positive of it!" Ian spoke with certainty.

"It's just an old mirror!" Micah groaned afraid to admit that he thought it too.

"Maybe it had a curse on it?" suggested Ian.

Micah recalled his dream and the fact that in it, the old witch threw the mirror into the lake. Could it be that it wasn't a dream, but rather a bizarre retelling of the mirrors storied past?

"Do this...stand up facing me and wait for sixty seconds," Ian asked his friend.

"Why?"

"Just do it - I want to test out a theory." Ian's voice was sure and confident, so Micah stood up and moved to where Ian was pointing at the floor.

"Face me." He reminded Micah. The boy turned to face his friend; there he waited out the sixty seconds.

After the allotted time passed, Micah shrugged and sat back on the bed. "Okay, what was that all about?"

"Okay, you just stood there and faced me for sixty seconds and nothing happened. Now try facing the mirror for the same time...but keep your eyes closed."

Micah gave his friend a strange look but moved in front of the mirror, then closed his eyes. Again he waited the allotted time before sitting down. "Satisfied?"

"Nothing happened, but hang on...we're not done." He again motioned for Micah to stand where he was pointing. "This time, for the next sixty seconds…stand here facing the mirror. Keep your eyes open though." Ian reminded him.

As Micah stood before the mirror, he studied his overall image. Reflected in the mirror was some sort of effeminate boy. As he focused, he noticed the wall behind him moving slightly upward; each second that passed it moved a fraction of an inch higher. The appearance of the wall's movement would have been imperceptible to Micah normally. However, when he fixed his eyes upon a specific area of the wall, he could actually see its movement!

"The wall is moving!" he said aloud, to the reflection of Ian in the mirror. Ian looked backward toward the wall behind Micah.

"It isn't moving..."

"Ian, I'm seeing it with my own eyes! It's moving!" Micah responded sharply. "You have to be blind if you aren't seeing it!"

Ian turned back around and studied Micah's reflection; if it were possible, it almost appeared that Micah was slightly shorter, by almost an inch. Ian stepped up and glanced toward his clock. "How long has it been?"

"Forty seconds," replied Micah.

From the position Ian was standing, he could see into the side of Micah's tank top, right where the elongated arm-hole was located. Impossibly to the boy's eyes, he could actually see the beginnings of a girlish nipple expand! Behind it built a layer of fatty tissue! Together neither would have been noticed, but it altered at the very moment that Ian's eyes came into contact with it.

Ian quickly pushed his friend away from the mirror. "Dude, it's your reflection! If you don't see it, nothing happens...when you see any part of your reflection, you change! It's happening whether you are aware of it or not...and only when you're facing your reflection with your eyes open!"

"Like hell!" Micah snapped, hoping that what his friend suggested wasn't possible! After several moments he pushed past Ian and purposefully stood before his reflection.

Once again, his nipples started to expand further before Ian's eyes! He pointed it out to Micah. "There!"

Micah froze in stunned silence, as before his very eyes, his nipples began to gently push out his clothing! The longer he faced the mirror, the more they made known their presence! By the time he collapsed onto the bed, he was somewhat smaller than an 'A' cup, more like a prepubescent girl!

"It's my reflection?" he cried into the covers. "Do you realize how impossible it will be, to not look at my own reflection?"

"Pretty hard..." agreed Ian with a sigh.

"Impossible!" Micah cried even louder.

Ian reached for the door, "Stay here...and don't look at the mirror! I'm going to cover all our mirrors in the house!"

Micah watched his friend exit the room. Sitting up he stared into the mirror as it was reflecting back the closet doors, away from where he was seated. Glancing down, he could tell that nothing was happening. Slowly he stood up and inched his way toward the mirror, almost as if he were sneaking up on a wild animal.

Nothing happened until just a slight sliver of his arm appeared reflected in the mirror's surface. Once again his chest began to rise slightly! He quickly retreated toward the back of the room, well out of the way of the mirror's reflective reach.

Finally Ian returned, "There, I think I got them all."

"Not all..." Micah replied softly and somewhat sadly, pointing toward the big one in the room.

Ian quickly removed a cover from the end of the bed and tossed it over the mirror. He then turned again to face Micah. "I think you're safe..." The words trailed away almost as if the volume was turned down on a radio.

Before him sat Micah his longer wavy blond hair was slightly touching his shoulders. His sleek legs were tucked under him, as though he was trying to cram himself tighter into the corner for protection. Finally under the safety of the covered mirror, Micah slowly inched toward the edge of the bed, drawing himself closer with hands resembling those of a female...each nail extending almost a full eighth of an inch past the tip.

Micah stood up, and his cutoffs and boxers sliding to the apex of his hip. He mumbled, "My shorts don't fit me anymore."

"Mine won't fit you any better." He glanced toward his door. "As I see it, you need a bit smaller size. Mine or Dad's won't do..."

"Don't you dare say it!" Micah softly hissed.

"I have to, and you know it!" Ian snapped. "You have your choice of two, my Mom's or my sister's..."

"No way!" Micah cried. "I'm not going to wear any girl's clothing!"

He tried to push past Ian, but the first step he took; his shorts fell around his ankles and caused him to fall flat on his face. Ian said nothing; he just helped his friend back to the bed and left the room.

In a couple of minutes, he returned. "Here, put these on."

Micah looked down, and saw that Ian held his sister's jean shorts and underwear.

"No way!" he growled back. "You’ve GOT to be kidding!"

"I only wished I were! As I see it, the only one who'll know is me...and I ain't telling!" Ian tried to reassure his best friend.

Gingerly, Micah removed the items from Ian's hand. "I'll wait downstairs. Come down when you're ready."

Micah slid the unfamiliar items up his legs, they settled upon his hips like they were made for him. The only real difference they had was the higher cut upon the leg. He briefly paused as they finished their climb, even his own penis was hopelessly tiny in size, almost appearing like that of a 4-year old boy. With a deep sigh, he slowly drew up the jeans, "I'm turning into some sort of weak, sissy looking freak!"

-Fourteen-

Ian sat at the end of the couch flipping through the television channels with the remote, when he heard Micah coming down the steps. The flip, flip sound of his sandals announced his entrance. Glancing up he saw his friend's long, shapely legs as they descended the stairs, then slowly Micah entered his view. He was in trouble, big time! Micah’s hips had altered enough that they were nicely proportioned with the spectacular legs his friend had!

"Shit..." he sighed to himself.

Micah crossed the room and flopped at the other end of the couch, "What the hell am I going to do, Ian?" He threw his arms out, "I look like a freak!" His soft voice carried so much emotion that he even started to sound like a girl.

Ian said nothing, as his eyes were drawn toward the opening of Micah's tank top. There the unmistakable beginnings of breasts were forming, almost as they were waiting for the great onslaught of feminine hormones to build them into spectacular womanly orbs they seemed destined to become! He forced himself to look away, focusing upon the game on the TV after throwing the remote upon the coffee table.

"Cubs will lose..." Micah mumbled under his breath.

To Ian, Micah's comment seemed as an attempt to distract himself from the changes his body was going through. Even though it may have been intended as a distraction, it reminded Ian of what Micah had once been...sounding much like he used to, gave Ian a ray of hope. His friend responded in the only way he would have been expected to under the circumstances, "They always do..."

The two sat in silence and watched the game unfold. In the 8th inning, the Cubs had runners on the first base and third base with no one out. Ian glanced again toward Micah. He was watching, but seemed strangely disinterested.

After a while, Micah scooted toward the edge of the couch and sighed. Ian looked up. "What is it?"

"I don't know...the game just isn't interesting to me anymore." Micah put his elbows upon his knees and hung his head forward, resting it upon his hands.

Ian watched the TV again, by the 9th inning, the Cubs were leading but the Cardinals were threatening. He glanced toward his friend. "Shit!" he exclaimed and quickly pushed Micah back into the couch and shoved the coffee table away from them both.

Micah looked up, "What?"

Ian fell back into the couch, despair evident on his face yet he could say nothing. Before him sat his friend, with long blond hair almost to his waist! His breasts were very shapely and almost mirroring those of the young girls his age!

"The coffee table...the glass; you are watching your reflection!" Ian sadly observed in shock.

Micah looked down, his hair cascading toward his lap and over his breasts that protruded beneath his shirt. A cry caught in his transformed throat. With one hand covering his mouth he bolted for the door; as he threw it open, Ian tried to stop him.

"Micah! Wait, everything will be okay...don't leave!" His words echoed between the houses as his friend raced down the street. Ian felt his heart drop, for somehow he knew that the Micah he had known was gone for good, the changes would continue until the mirror's curse had run its course.

Ian searched the neighborhood for Micah. After several hours of searching in vain, he went over to talk to Micah's parents, describing to them what had happened, saying that Micah ran away, and he didn't understand why! He told them that something had been troubling Micah, causing him to suddenly run from the house. Inwardly, Micah knew his friends reason for running, but kept the strange secret to himself.

Micah's parents were stunned. They raced into Micah's room to see if he somehow slipped past them and was hiding there; he was not, nor was there any sign that he had been inside the house at all. Ian was really worried for his friend, because even more so, it seemed likely that his best friend was so distraught over the changes, he had resorted to running away! Now Ian's own desperation was setting in, he had to find his friend before he had an opportunity to harm himself! As Micah's parents were contacting the police, Ian slipped back outside to search for Micah once again. He knew there would be many questions, and he was prepared to answer them all...but would take great pains to not divulge the mirror's secret.

Ian raced back to his home, searching for Micah all along the way, yet found no sign of his friend. Once inside his house, Ian quickly climbed the stairs to his room and promptly hid the mirror in a gap in the floor...as far back as he could reach, just under a register vent. He often used this as a hiding place for his money, keeping it safe from his sister.

Ian knew the police would be checking his story, and he didn't want any chance of being linked to a suspicious disappearance like Micah's. He returned to the downstairs and began to call his friends. Desperation hounded him as he called one after another looking for Micah with no success.

Ian was afraid for Micah's safety, but also afraid of his own involvement in his missing friend. Even though he had no part with what had caused Micah to bolt for the door, nothing he could possibly say to Micah's parents would ease his fear of their anger, causing them to blame him.

In desperation, Ian slipped out in the cover of darkness later that evening, determined never to return to the community again. He felt blame in his part of Micah’s disappearance...deciding that without his friend, he could never come home again!

This story is part of a trilogy, the first portion is more like a horror story, and the 2nd and 3rd portions have the TG in them.

"You're traveling through another dimension, a dimension not only of sight and sound but of mind; a journey into a wondrous land whose boundaries are that of the imagination. Next stop: THE TWILIGHT ZONE." - Rod Serling

***

Part Three

-Fifteen-

After being away from home for several weeks, young Ian returned and faced Micah’s parents, divulging all of what had happened to their son. They were quite upset, but with additional information they redoubled their efforts to find Micah.

Embarrassment for his own involvement in Micah's disappearance, Ian packed his backpack and set off to find his friend. His searching led him far and wide, but the boy found no clue as to where his friend had gone. Sadly, he returned home after being gone for several weeks only to find that Micah's parents had moved away during his absence.

Ian graduated high school, moved after the sudden death of his parents and began living with his Grandmother. He started college in the town where he was living, up to that point, there had been no contact with his former friend...but all that was to change on a warm and sunny day at a nearby college campus.

***

Ian had been studying the young girl for several minutes as she sat in the grass reading a college book “This seat taken?”

She glanced over, then removed her purse and sat it into the grass beside her, “Nope, not any more.”

Ian smiled and removed his backpack, setting it in the grass next to the bench as he took a seat. “That book looks interesting. What is it?”

She smiled as she glanced up toward him, pulled it closed slightly as she spoke, “It’s called ‘Transitions of the Soul’…required reading for a course I’m taking.

“That’s cool.” He replied as he listened. “Is it about ghosts and haunted places?”

She laughed, “It’s about how people are able to feel assured that a person’s human spirit doesn’t end in death but survives and lives on.”

“As a ghost?” Ian said with a smile.

“Something like that.” She laughed, collecting straying hair and trapping it behind her ear.

“Interesting.” Was his reply, “I’m Ian.” He offered his hand; she glanced over to it and then gently shook it with her own.

“Michelle.” She said as she studied his face for several seconds. “I had a real good friend when I was a kid that was named Ian.”

“I’m glad he wasn’t an enemy…you know how people associate names with bad memories and all.” Ian replied honestly.

“No, he was a good memory.” She smiled and again chased after her straying blond hair in the soft breeze.

“A boyfriend?” He asked as he watched her expression for any signs of being spoken for.

She smiled and giggled slightly, “No boyfriend…just a friend.”

“That’s good.” He looked around at the students that passed by, several were tossing a Frisbee to each other in the grass. He noticed that she wasn’t reading again but still looking at him intently. “What?” He asked aloud, curious that she was still studying him.

Did you ever by chance live in ‘Seaside’?”

Ian smiled, “Grew up there, why?”

She smiled and leaned forward, placing her slender fingers upon her knee where it crossed over the other, and her sandal dancing off the end of her foot. “I thought so...the goatee threw me off a bit.

“You like that?” He said stroking it like he was a famous doctor. “I started growing it during high school.”

“I have to say it’s interesting.” She laughed and tugged against the hem of her shorts, the movement brought Ian’s eyes instantly toward her gloriously tanned and flawless legs.

“So you telling me that you’re from Seaside?” He said with a laugh, “I’d have been hard pressed to have missed you when I was living there. Do you still live there now?”

“No. I moved away from there before I started high school.” She again studied him intently; after several long seconds passed she tilted her head slightly and cleared her throat.

“Do you remember a boy named Micah?” She asked suddenly.

It caught Ian off guard, “He was my best friend. He disappeared and while I was out trying to find him, his parents moved away. Why? Do you know Micah?”

She smiled, “I can give his number to you if you want it.”

“Want it? Hell yes I want it!” Ian retrieved his phone and handed it to Michelle, “Just put it in there, I’ll save it and give him a call.”

The beautiful girl did as he requested, then handed the phone back to Ian. “Go ahead, give him a call.”

Ian smiled and took it from her, hit send and waited. “It’s ringing…” He whispered to the girl beside him as he held it to his ear.

“Oops…hang on Ian my phone is buzzing in my pocket. She stood and fished it out and walked several feet away from the bench where Ian sat. “Hello?”

“Hey Micah! Is this really you?” Ian happily asked into the phone.

“Ian?” The voice replied…the strange echo caused Ian to glance to where Michelle was leaning against a tree. “What you been up to buddy?”

“Not much…how about you?” The voice responded to the question but all the while Ian’s eyes were fixed upon Michelle’s face, her mouth mirroring the words he was hearing.

Ian stood suddenly, his arm falling to his side. “Oh shit!” He gasped as his phone slipped from his hand and hit the edge of the bench, the back falling off and dumping his battery onto the lawn.

“M…Micah?” Ian stammered.

She lowered her phone, closed it and returned it to the pocket of her shorts, “I go by Michelle now.”

Ian sat down upon the bench hard and watched his one time best friend walking toward him. “I…I tried to get hold of you Micah. I...I lost complete track when your family moved away!”

She glanced toward him and smiled wryly, “About two weeks after I ran away I got into contact with my folks and explained everything…and proved to them that I was who I really was. After that, we all agreed that in order for me to move on with my life, we needed to relocate.”

“I’m so sorry Micah…” Ian lowered his head and cried in relief of finally finding his friend.

She slid to his side and gave him a hug, rubbing his back gently. “I don’t hold you responsible…we were friends once, we can be again.”

Ian nodded and stared off toward the couple playing Frisbee. “Ian, you know my real identity…everyone here knows me as Michelle…we have to keep it that way.”

Michelle stared across the lawn, here or there were bright yellow dandelions smattering the field of green. “What happens now?”

Ian glanced off to where she was gazing and then slowly turned his face toward her, “We’re friends; we’ll let that take us wherever it takes us!”

Michelle slowly nodded to his response as all those lost years came racing back into her mind.

***

The young man carried the boxes from the rented moving van, inside to their new home. His much smaller wife, Michelle, held a handful of clothes still on their hangers. Helping her was their daughter Megan, a young girl close to six. Both the girl and her mother headed back toward the bedrooms. From the way she was walking it was apparent that the woman was pregnant.

"Hang on Gregg, I'll help you!" Ian called out to his twelve year-old son. He walked to the back of the van and helped set several boxes onto the lawn, then lifted his baseball cap and brushed back his hair. "We'll take these straight up to the attic," he told him as they off-loaded several more boxes.

"Looks like we'll have more stuff in the attic than in the actual house!" the boy teased his father as he began to lift another box, double-stacking them so he could carry more.

Ian looked up as Michelle stepped out of the house; behind her was Megan. Every time his gaze locked upon her, he would get the same wonderful feeling as the day they met early in college. Even with her expecting she was stunningly beautiful; he could see that Megan too, would follow in her mother's footsteps and be quite pretty herself.

"What?" Michelle said laughing, noticing that he was staring. She waddled slightly toward the moving van, "You've got that goofy look on your face again."

"Just admiring my girls," Ian said as he caught her arm and redirected her into a loving hug. She kissed him and pulled his hat forward, until it covered his eyes.

He pushed it back up, laughed and playfully swatted her bottom. Trying desperately to ignore his parents, Gregg removed a box from the lawn, rolled his eyes, shook his head at his parents' loving behavior, and headed into the house. His sister, Megan, lifted a small box from the lawn, stacked another about the same size on the top of the first, and followed her brother inside.

Ian smiled and leaned against the long ramp of the truck, "Megan's sure going to take after you!"

"Is that so bad?" Michelle asked as she wrote on the top of one box. "There’s enough of you in her too, you know!"

"There should be! What I meant, though, is she's going to be quite beautiful as she gets older!" He removed another box and sat it on the ground. "I'm not sure I'll be ready for it when the time comes."

Michelle laughed and brushed her beautiful hair aside, "Believe me; we've got some time yet to get used to it!"

"Yeah, I suppose," he sighed then laughed. "A pretty daughter is a father's nightmare, you know! There will be boys coming..."

"And you think mothers don't worry? You have a son who'll be a handsome cuss as well!" she replied playfully.

Ian didn't hear her, his mind was preoccupied. He had paused thinking of what might have been, "I just wish my folks had been here to see the kids!"

Michelle sat down her marker and gave her husband a hug. "They probably knew them before they were born."

He smiled at her comment and looked down at his wife. "Too bad they both passed just after I graduated high school. They would have loved you!"

She gave him a squeeze then kissed him thoughtfully. "I wish I'd have known them better, Ian...you honor their memory, keeping it alive for all of us."

Ian straightened up slightly, "I...I'm sorry, Michelle. I didn't mean to be talking about my parents..."

She smiled, "I understand, Ian. You miss them." Michelle gave him a hug, "Its okay, I love hearing you speak about your family...I wouldn't have it any other way!"

"Do...do you ever think about your own folks?" He was sitting down, using a desk for his bench. Michelle settled next to him, gently supporting her belly as she took her seat.

"I...I love my parents," she sighed and gave his hand a gentle touch. She looked away, brushing her hair from her face. "I think about them all the time."

"Even though you didn’t really get to live the life that you should have?" he asked, placing his arm around her shoulder.

"Even though..." Michelle whispered, her voice trailing away. "...but our children are both our destinies…without us, there never would have been a ‘them’."

Ian sat quietly and gazed into his wife's clear blue eyes. She smiled, causing him to smile as well. "Come on, honey. We're not getting anything done sitting here reminiscing!"

Ian nodded and stood to his feet, helping Michelle up as he rose.

"So...where do you want this box put?" He held it out, Michelle smiled and picked up her marker and wrote on the boxes top. Her smile was rewarded by a wink from her husband.

-Sixteen-

With his foot, Gregg pushed open the stairs door, which led to the attic. Behind him walked Megan carrying her boxes. She had been interested in something shiny that was in the top box she had been carrying. As her brother placed his boxes down, he indicated for her to set hers on top, which she did.

He started to turn and noticed his sister lingering. "Hey dork, what you getting into there?"

She ignored his insult and pried open the interlocking flaps on the top box. "I just want to see something!"

"That's dad's stuff...better keep out of it!" he warned.

"Dad has a hand mirror, like this?" she asked as she removed it from the box.

Gregg shrugged, "Maybe it was Grandma's?"

Her eyes lit up as she stared at the ancient looking-glass. "Do you think he'd let me have it?"

"Oh, he'll give it to you all right...just not the way you'll want it!" He indicated with his head toward her bottom.

"I'm going to ask. It never hurts to ask!" She reverently carried the ancient item back down the stairs and through the living room.

As they walked toward the van, Megan stopped her father just as he placed a package on the ground. "I found this in one of the boxes...is it Grandma's?"

Michelle glanced up; her eyes froze upon the strange, but familiar object in her daughter's hand. Before she could get a better look, Ian and their daughter began to slowly walk toward the house. Michelle's heart began to beat wildly, her face felt flush and she leaned against a stack of boxes for support. Her hands trembled and she felt ill, perspiration began to bead upon her lip.

"No...not now!" she gasped as she supported the weight of the child within her womb.

***

Ian felt his heart fall into his feet - it had been years since he had seen the object that dramatically changed his life. With a trembling hand he took it from Megan. "No honey...it once belonged to a friend of mine."

He slowly rolled it over in his hands, its reflective surface facing away. Ian crouched down so he could be nearer to eye level with his daughter. "Let's put it back in the box, right where you found it...please don't ever touch it again. Okay?" he said as gently as possible as he ushered her inside.

"Sure...sure dad," she replied softly, unsure of why a strange old mirror would be so important to her father.

"Told you so..." Gregg reminded her as they parted company, one returning upstairs behind her father with the mirror...the other outside.

Ian led the way up the stairs and placed his boxes down, watching as Megan crossed to where she had left the box open. Inside of that box, she placed the mirror and struggled to return the flaps to their locked position. Ian gently hugged Megan and waited until she had backed away, then he re-closed the lid in the manner it had been earlier. She watched as her father sat the box up very high, then he turned toward her and gave her a reassuring smile.

"Promise that you won't touch it again?" he held out his hand, littlest finger toward her.

"Pinky swear?" she groaned softly, hoping to have been able to avoid the dreaded pinky swear.

Ian nodded toward Megan. She sighed deeply and interlocked her own diminutive pinky to his. "Fine..."

As they were descending the stairs, Gregg raced into the doorway, "Dad! Mom's collapsed on the lawn!"

Ian raced for the door, rounded the corner and headed across the living room. Almost stumbling down the stairs, he followed his son into the yard. There in the grass, Michelle was struggling to sit up.

Ian quickly examined his wife, and he noticed that sweat dappled her flushed cheeks. "Megan, get your mother a glass of ice water! Hurry!" She didn't need to be told twice and at once, raced into the house as Gregg and Ian helped Michelle inside to the couch.

"I knew you were trying to do too much!" Ian scolded. "I should be beaten about the head and ears for allowing you to do that much!"

Megan returned with the water, "Here, Mommy!"

Ian took the glass from his daughter, and held it so Michelle could drink. After several sips she pushed it away. "I...I'm fine!" Ian ignored her and took his hand and removed some condensation from the outside of the glass, wiping it onto her forehead. "It...it must be the baby..."

"Sit there. Don't move. The kids and I will put the rest of the stuff away!"

-Seventeen-

Night had fallen, and almost everything had been put away or at least been placed into the garage. Ian sat in his chair quietly chewing the pizza that had been delivered for their supper. As he sat chewing, Michelle studied his strong profile.

After several minutes he noticed her intently watching him, "Feeling better?"

She inhaled deeply and rubbed her temples. "I’m about as well as can be expected, under the circumstances!"

"It'll get better...once you've had the baby!" He reached out and caressed her leg, Michelle's gaze stayed upon the area he touched.

Silence consumed the air around them, upstairs the children could barely be heard. For several minutes, nothing was said. Ian began to drop off in sleep, and soon his soft snoring permeated the room.

Michelle struggled to her feet and approached the stairs, slowly she ascended them one at a time and using the rail for support.

She bypassed Gregg's room, because she saw that he was busy putting his belongings away. Michelle paused at Megan's doorway. "Honey?"

"I'm putting all of my things away...do you want to see?" She bounded to the doorway and took her mother's hand and pulled her into the room. Michelle smiled and stroked her daughter's face lovingly.

"It looks good honey. You're becoming such a big girl!" Her daughter beamed with pride. Michelle sat at the foot of her daughter's bed. "Megan?"

"Yes, Mommy?" Megan paused as she was placing items into her play box.

"That thing you were showing Daddy...?" she paused, searching for the words.

"The mirror?" she said with a smile.

"Yes, honey, the mirror." She gave her daughter a nervous grin. "What did he do with it?"

"Daddy had me put it back in the box. He put it high, out of my reach!" She pointed up into the air. "He made me pinky swear that I'd never touch it again."

"Can you show me the box, honey?" Michelle stood up slowly, her swollen belly not allowing her to stand too quickly. She held out her hand to Megan. "Show mommy."

Megan led her to the attic stairs, together they climbed them carefully. Once inside, Megan pointed the box out for her mother. Gingerly, Michelle stood on her tip-toes and brought it down to a lower level. It was like opening the cage to a wild animal, and tears began to collect in Michelle's eyes as soon as she saw what it contained.

Michelle lifted out the looking-glass and slowly sank to the floor, tears streaming down her face and falling onto her blouse. Megan sat stunned by her mother's sudden sadness and scrambled down the stairs to get Gregg.

In moments, Michelle heard someone coming up the stairs. Ian, still in his stocking feet stood at the doorway. "Kids, I'll take this from here...you two go back to your bedrooms."

They watched with confusion mounted upon their faces, but they were obedient, and they drifted back down toward their respective rooms.

"I...it's just a mirror, Michelle," Ian whispered to his distraught wife.

She looked toward him, tears clinging to her chin. "How...how did you get this? I thought I had lost it long, long ago!"

He sat on the floor beside her, "When you ran away, you left it at my house. I hid it...it can’t really hurt you anymore!"

Michelle looked down at the floor. "Why did you keep it?"

He replied, "I thought...maybe someday I could figure out how to reverse what it did to you! It’s been in that box, hidden away in the garage for all these years…I forgot I even had it."

They each grew silent, shrouded deeply with their own thoughts. Finally, Ian looked at his wife. "I never wanted to ‘trap’ you in this life..."

She nodded, "I have never looked at myself as being ‘trapped’! I’ve come to accept what happened to me and I always thought you did too?"

Ian leaned his head against several boxes, looked up toward the ceiling, and a laugh escaped from his throat. "I accepted it too…I always thought that if you wanted that out...I’d gladly give it to you, if it was possible.” He smiled at her and gently took her hand into his and gave it a gentle squeeze. “And by the unforeseen forces of sheer luck...we meet on a campus almost a thousand miles from our homes. I ended up marrying you...giving you your last name!"

He turned toward her; she was looking at him. Her long lashes framing her captivating crystalline blue eyes, "It's a good name," she whispered.

Ian's face grew silent, no expression was visible. Finally his fingers touched Michelle's beautiful face, "I didn't think of the ‘old you’ when we first..."

"Made love?" she whispered, finishing his sentence.

He nodded, his face growing red from embarrassment. "Yeah..."

"I’m glad you didn’t...I was a woman through and through, by then." She took her small hand and turned his face toward hers. "I wanted you, and I didn't want it any differently!"

"If it's any consolation...it’s all I thought about from the first day when we met..the second time." he said with a smile.

"Oh you dirty boy...” She said with a laugh.

She gave his hand a gentle squeeze, "Remember when you were younger, I always teased you about being small?" She waited for him to nod, and then she continued. "You grew to be over six feet tall...neither of our lives played out as I would have initally imagined."

Ian grew silent, his mind became as troubled as his expression. "Michelle?" He frowned, pursing his lips in thought. "What will we tell Gregg and Megan?"

Michelle smiled, "The truth..."

"Oh?" he whispered, concerned. “Are you sure?”

She continued, interrupting him, "That their mother and father met in college, fell in love, were married and because of their love for each other, had them." She waited to see how her words would play upon his face.

Ian smiled. "So...we're still okay? I don’t want you to be mad for me keeping that mirror."

Michelle leaned toward Ian and wrapped both her arms around his arm that was closer to her. "We're more than okay, Ian!"

He stood and looked down toward Michelle's upturned face, using his left hand, gently stroked her stomach. "Knowing who we were, and now are, I can't believe this is possible!"

"Sure it's possible!" She removed one arm's grasp from him and placed her hand upon his, moving him to a spot upon her stomach. "Feel that?"

"The baby...it's kicking?" he said smiling.

"We did that! Without you being who you are, without the transformation from who I once was, into who I am now, none of our children would have been possible!" She smiled up at her husband, tears collecting in the corner of her eyes. "If I would have had the choice whether or not to look into that mirror and start the transformation again...knowing what I know now...I'd do it again in an instant!"

Ian cleared his throat. "Uh...do you think there is any danger in that mirror's reflection again?" he asked, looking at it in her grasp.

She looked down at it, her smiling face reflecting back from its polished surface. "I don't think there's any magic left in it. I feel pretty confident that it was all used on me that first day."

"Megan wants it...she thinks it belonged to my mother, I told her it once belonged to a friend of mine." Ian said with a laugh. "Should I give it to her?"

"I think it would be safe enough...but I'd wait until she's quite a bit older."

"That's probably a pretty good idea," he said as he took it from Michelle and laid it back in the box, refolded the lid and returned it to where she had retrieved it.

He turned back toward his wife, "You about ready to go to bed?" he asked as he helped her to her feet.

She smiled. "Oh...I'll go to bed, but I'm not really that tired."

"So, do you want to watch some TV?" he asked as he turned off the light and they started down the stairs.

Michelle paused, looking slightly over her shoulder. "No...I think I'll go to bed."

Ian frowned, with a confused look on his face. "I thought you said you weren't sleepy?"

She turned to face him at the bottom of the stairs, and leaned against him. "Who said anything about sleeping?"

******

Was it a curse? Perhaps the young woman, who caused the death of an ancient one thought so. Maybe even Ian and Micah believed it was...but that was long ago. Twisted and transformed through the looking-glass' spell, Michelle and Ian found a destiny they were never really looking for. A destiny which could only be contrived within...THE TWILIGHT ZONE!
The End