I looked closer at the new crack in the mirror hanging on my living room wall and scratched the split glass. A clean break with no off-shoots, just like the others were. I had no idea how they happened and wondered each time if some beetle smacked against it during the night. It was the middle of December and the South African heat drove all the Christmas beetles out around now. This crack made it a total of five since I brought it home from the antique dealer in town.
It had been in pristine condition, not like most of the stuff the guy had. No damage to it, except the random cracks that appeared now. But that’s what I got for buying something old against the express recommendations of my best friend Martha. But I couldn’t help it, the mahogany frame was so beautiful, decorated with a mural of sorts. It practically begged for me to take it home.
I ran my fingers down the new crack, trailing the almost straight line to the frame. Etched into the wood were women with spear-like fingers, fighting some men without faces. Some battle of the Amazonian warriors.
Beside the mirror hung the fantasy portrait of me that Kenny commissioned for my birthday. That guy understood me. And the artist’s talent was suburb, almost as good as whoever made the mirror’s frame. The painting looked like a photo almost, even the misty woods of the background were realistic.
I took a step back and ran a finger over my lips. I should’ve trash the mirror long ago but now was as good a time as any, before Martha came to visit in an hour. The cracks ruined the look of the décor and what use was it if I couldn’t see myself? That frame, though, it was too beautiful to get rid of.
With care, I removed the mirror from the frame and replace it with my portrait. After hanging it back up again, I took a step back. Perfect. The red of the wood complimented the olden-day blue gown the artist had painted me into, like something a princess would’ve worn to a ball. It fitted with the orange blossoms on my blue curtains as well. How had he made the painting so real?
Well, the combination was almost perfect. The wood didn’t work with that lamp far in the painting’s background. I stepped forward and examined it. That lamp wasn’t there before, was it? The frame probably brought it out more. I could have sworn it wasn’t there but, then again, I didn’t really pay much attention to things like that.
As I ran a damp cloth down the frame, a splinter hooked into my forefinger and a spot of blood mixed into the dark wood. The head of a woman in the frame absorbed it like she was drinking from the chalice she was holding. The wood must’ve been be thirstier than I thought. But with no stain? I’d heard of the magic of mahogany, just didn’t think it was this good.
I tilted my head to the side to take a proper look at the artist’s work. Aside from my likeness being the best part, the mist around and through forest background was life-like, alive if I moved my eyes quickly. I could hardly see the brush strokes. But the way he painted my eyes, it didn’t bother me before. They were fine. Now, though, they looked… off. Not that I’d said anything to Kenny, it would break his heart. Poor guy.
I flicked my eyes quickly from one side to the other to make the mist move again when the room rotated without me turning. I couldn’t feel the heartbeat that should’ve pounded in my temples when I grew faint, and I realised I couldn’t feel my hands either. Or anything. I couldn’t move or speak. What was going on? Some force pulled me back against the wall. I braced and waited for the frame to collide with my head. Except, it didn’t.
I stopped moving but I was still right up against the wall, not on the floor like I expected to be. I could still see the entire living room, which didn’t happen when I had fainting spells. Still, the disorientation was strong and I could see my body standing in front of me. My lips smiled but it wasn’t me out there anymore.
The doorbell rang as it always did at the worst times. Martha was early. My — no — her posture changed from a slight slouch to upright with shoulders back. With a swing in her hips, she — whoever took my body — walked to the front door and opened it. She acted just like me when she invited Martha inside. The same mannerisms and voice. Even her laugh was mine. Martha greeted her with our two air-kisses then walked to me and looked me up and down. She didn’t think this was strange, judging by her narrowed eyes, trained to study fine art.
“Betty, you were right. This painting is gorgeous! I didn’t even know anyone can paint like this. It’s so… real.” This painting. Oh, no. I was in the painting? With her finger, she touched my hair and I could feel it.
“Right? It’s purely divine how Zaccari captured me in there.” The one in my body winked at me. She did this but why? How?
“Wish Jeremy would give me birthday gifts like this.” Martha pouted, folding her arms under her bust.
I tried to scream, but I couldn’t move my mouth.
Martha narrowed her eyes again and came closer. “How does one guy have so much skill?”
The impostor stepped toward me, staring at my eyes. There was that crooked smile again.
“Rumour has it he made a deal with a demon or something to paint this good. I heard he seduced it then trapped it in a jar, like a genie.” She giggled and Martha joined her. This wasn’t a joke. I didn’t know for sure but it damned well wasn’t what happened.
They sat on the couch near the window and talked about the things I wanted to talk to Martha about. The impostor copied my thinking. Despite everything I tried to do, I couldn’t get Martha to realise I was trapped in here.
Before she left, she looked at me again. Her brows furrowed. “He got the eyes wrong, Betty. Maybe get a refund or something? Surely he could’ve got your eyes right, at least.”
“Kenny must’ve given him that photo from Gold Reef City where he frightened me.” She had my memories, too.
I needed to get out of here but none of this was even possible. It must’ve been a dream or something. A nightmare, more like it. It wasn’t real. Or that sleep paralysis thing I had read about. I had been stressed lately and gained some weight from what I saw. Did Kenny notice it as well? Oh, my hemel! Kenny. If Martha didn’t notice that wasn’t me, neither would he. The impostor was going to take him.
Once Martha left, she began to lay out the scented candles I reserved only for the special nights. Nee, fok. She couldn’t do this. I had to get out.
Hey, impostor. Look at me!
She turned to face me.
So she could hear me think like I figured.
With a graceful stride, she walked up to me. “Yes, I can hear you.” She looked over her shoulder at the sound of a car door shutting and grinned. “But no one else can.” She lit the last candle and closed the curtain before positioning my body on the couch. Kenny opened the front door, looked at her, then at me.
“Oh, good. You got rid of that mirror. Frame looks good on the painting.”
He didn’t see me. Neither did he notice the atmosphere she created. Had he forgotten my ritual just like that?
“Doesn’t it just?” The impostor got up and slipped her hands under his arms and over his chest, unbuttoning his shirt and licking his neck. I’d never have done such a thing. Kenny should’ve noticed at least that.
“Well, this is new.” Relaxing his shoulders, Kenny tilted his head back. “I like.” He liked that? But he always preferred being in charge, to sweep me off my feet. Why didn’t he tell me?
The impostor nibbled his ear and he moaned, turned around, and grabbed her. I couldn’t watch this. It was wrong. Everything about this was wrong. Wake up, Betty. Wake die fok up! Kenny screamed, which he never did, arching his back as the impostor had finished with him. He never could last long. This was actually somewhat amusing. I was glad we never got around to doing that porno.
They sighed at the same time and went limp. It wasn’t that great, was it? He never got me so satisfied to collapse before.
Alright, he’s asleep so now you can talk to me, impostor. Get up and give me back my body.
As though fighting to obey my command, my body writhed then stilled again. Long black talons rose from where my arm lay, detaching like souls did in movies. A woman much like those on the frame stood up and walked through my discarded body until she was in front of me. Her dark eyes stared as her plump lips parted to reveal sharpened teeth.
“You want your body?” With one of her talons, she pointed to it slumped over Kenny. “There it is. All yours, if you can get out of my prison.”
How? I didn’t even know how I got in here in the first place. Wait, where was she going?
“Enjoy eternity, and thanks for freeing me.” She laughed as she walked through the wall like it wasn’t there.
The candles burned out after a few minutes but they were thin things. I could hardly see anything with the light fading. Thank gosh summer days stayed light well into the evening.
Why wasn’t Kenny waking up? It had been hours now. I watched the clock on the wall, tickling down the minutes. He never napped this long. Wasn’t he hungry?
Sirens wailed in the distance, coming closer, and still he didn’t wake. It was probably Ma who called them. That was why the phone rang earlier. She was always so overprotective but this time, I was glad for it. The paramedics stormed inside and rushed to mine and Kenny’s bodies.
“Both are deceased. Call the coroner. I’ll get the cops—” Before the paramedic could finish, Ma burst through the front door and shrieked. Sobbing, she fidgeted with the collar of her blouse. I couldn’t make out what they were talking about but it was something serious because she had new tears every time the paramedic said something.
Ma would know I was in the painting if she just looked at me.
But she didn’t.
The cops came in soon after and took photos, hauling our bodies out on stretchers. Staring at the floor, Ma stood in the living room where my body was. Tears soaked into the carpet as they fell. She looked up at me and wiped her cheeks. Finally she saw me, now she could help me escape. Somehow or another.
Ma bent down and picked up my shirt, tucking it under her left arm. She walked over and took me down from the wall. This wasn’t the way it was supposed to go. This couldn’t be real. Maybe she knew someone, a sangoma who could get me out?
After placing me in the backseat, she got into her car and we drove down the road. She was talking, but I didn’t understand what she was saying.
Please, Ma, I’m right here. Talk to me?
The car stopped in front of a storage warehouse. It didn’t look like a sangoma’s place.
I’m in here, Ma. Still alive. Why don’t you take me home?
Cradling me, the painting, in the crook of her arm, she walked inside and navigated the corridors until she stopped in front of a storage unit. The door opened, shining light on furniture from when I was a kid. I remembered that cupboard where I kept my thatch dolls given to me by the tannie who lived across the street. Ma lowered me onto the toddler bed and shook out my shirt before covering it over me.
Wait, don’t go. Ma? Don’t leave me. I’ll be trapped for eternity. I can’t do that in the dark and alone. Mamma! I’m sorry I pushed you away. Please, hear me? I’m sorry...
Her footsteps echoed from the tin walls, getting fainter, until the door slammed shut.