Demon Mirror

Demon Mirror

Redstones

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Apologies first, It has been a long time since I have written anything, and thus there is no true editor other than MS spell and grammar check This story is fiction, with a touch of non-fiction interlaced. Names have been changed. And everyone in it is over 18. If you have other constructive comments please leave them. Troll's messages will be deleted. I have another story ready for an editor. IF you wish to offer services. Email me. Thank you and hope you enjoy the story.

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The sun had set already by the time Becky pulled into the dinky old style strip motel on county route 17. She was hoping for a name branded hotel, but the sun had gone down. The Appalachian mountains have hundreds of these roads laid out by seemingly drunken road surveyors. True they have to follow the lay of the land, but the mix of hills and sharp curves cut out of rocky mountain goat paths is hard driving. Being able to reach out the car window and touch yourself on the shoulder as you went around a corner is stressful.

Phone service is non-existent and with and no idea how much farther she had to go to get it back. The chance of out driving the mountainous road at every dark curve, the motel was looking a lot better than the road. The motel looked like it has been neglected for years, Becky wondered if it was truly open for business. That is the problem with just driving and taking the roads less traveled so you can lose yourself. There is no planning you just run when you can hoping to get away from yourself.

The fluorescent red vacancy sign flickers in miniature electrical lightning strikes through the failing tube. Parking her vintage 1960's Volkswagen bug in front of the pealing office sign hanging over the door. As she looks around the parking lot there is only an old pickup truck that looks like it was put to pasture untold years ago. For the dozenth time since pulling in she wonders if it is worth getting back on the road. There might be something better further down the road. Between it being night where she can't see beyond her limited headlights, and exhaustion, there is no going further. Sliding out of the car and lifting the handle slightly so the door latches properly, she pats the car and says, "Behave yourself Ladybug, I will be right back."

With that she pulls open the office door. The clattering clang of the bell hanging above the door startles her as the sound pierces the otherwise deathly still night. Stepping inside the first thing she notices is the thick smell of stale cigarette smoke even though the door has a small no smoking sign on it. There is nobody near reception desk that stands just inside the door. A stained empty coffee pot behind the counter, and above it a sits a wooden key rack. Room keys hang from their worn yellow key fobs each fob is numbered, one through eight. Looking out the window she looks at her car, and then beyond to see that there are only eight rooms. The thought of making her way down the road now that she has stretched becomes more appealing.

Turning toward the door to go back out, an inner door creaked open behind the reception desk. A heavy set man steps into the office and looks her over from her stylish hair cut down to her expensive open toed shoes. With a slight smirking nod of appreciation as he stares at the candy apple red toe nails gleam, he says, "Can I help you?" Becky turns and looking at the older bald man standing with a cane, watches him measure her up. Thinking with disgust if she should just leave anyway. Instead she walks back over to the desk. The man looks at her and says, "A hundred a night or seventy fife for the week." Becky looks at him strange, as he lets out a gurgling laugh and without a hint of embarrassment he says, "My cousins own the closest gas station, and most of the stores around here. If you stay I get a kickback from them." Without covering his mouth he does a racking coughs, through rotten yellowed teeth, before continuing, "Makes up for room, and always good to have a car in the parking lot. Makes it look like I am a real motel, and open to customers. Cash only, which will it be?"

Looking at the man she opens her wallet and pulls out some twenties a ten and a five. The mans beady eyes glint as he mimics a bubble head, rocking up and down as the register tings and dings as the drawer pops open. Sliding the money into the till his free hand reaches behind him and hovers near the keys. His hand never actually touches the key rack, but a key seems to jump into his hand. His eyes drift to her breast and lower, as he looks her over more precisely aimed this time. His tongue slithers over those ill fitting teeth as he brings the key around and hands it to her. She tries to take the key, but he hangs on tight for a few moments longer. Letting go his eyes gleam as he announces as if dictating to someone says, "One week in Room three for Becky," and then looking her in the eyes says, "I hope you enjoy the room. You should find the bathroom is magical."

Looking at him for a moment longer wondering if it is safe to stay here with this pervert running the place. She thinks about his last statement and remembers those stories of peep hole hotels. She turns with the clang of the bell over the door and goes to her car. As she climbs in she says, "See Ladybug, that didn't take too long." Moving the couple of spaces over to her room she grabs her overnight bag and climbs out. She looks at the house key dangling from the fob. The dull yellow with a faded black 3 on it. The three has a set of heavy scratches dragged across it like those of a large cat claw. Looking at the outside of the room the sun faded curtains are closed, and even in this bad lighting it is obvious that the whole motel could use a lot of paint.

Sticking the key into the well worn doorknob she unlocks the door she steps inside. The room itself is a lot nicer than the outside at least. Locking the door behind herself she looks around. Furniture from the early 1800's are placed about the room. All antiques in amazing condition considering the age, and that they are in an old distressed strip motel. Placing her overnight bag on the antique, cherry wood, four poster bed, The rails, curtains, which are scrunched to the four uprights with ties, the mattress and linen seem brand new. Instead of the normal store bought duvet covering there is a lovely quilt on top. She runs her hand over the top and she notices the signs that it is hand stitched not the mass produced machine stitches.

Looking around there is a small secretary desk on the one side with a mirror above it. Trained over the years on not trusting hotel owners she looks at the mirror carefully. Placing a finger in the corner she slides her finger about. By checking the distance of the reflection it is possible to see if it is a one or two way mirror. With the way that old lech looked at her, she wouldn't put it past him to have peep holes in the room. Although this mirror seems to be normal a tiny peep hole could be anywhere.

With a yawn she goes into the bathroom to splash her face before getting ready for bed. The guy was right the bathroom truly does look almost magical. All bright white marbled tile with a modern double bowl vanity, toilet and walk in multi head shower. The only oddity is the large wooden framed mirror hanging over the double sink. Two ornamental sconces, one on each side of the frame. It seems out of place for such a modern looking room, but it a beautiful antique piece.

Touching the bottom right corner of the mirror to check to see if it is a two way mirror, and the lights dim in the room. The sconces flame, causing a yellowish glow throughout the bathroom. Becky looks up to the overhead lights and see that they have dimmed to a faint glow. A shadow drifts within the mirror coming closer to the front. Feeling a tingle on her fingertip she glances back to the mirror. Shaking off the feeling she continues checking the mirror for two way sections where the silver is thinned or missing. As her finger slides to the bottom left, and the fingertip is lifted, the sconces go out, and the overhead lights brighten.

Becky's eyes flick back and forth from the mirror to the overhead lights. It is getting late and she is tired, taking off her shirt as she walks out the door. Two dim red orbs glow for a moment as she walks out the door. A gossamer finger on the inside of the mirror follows the path she traced moments before. As it reaches the end it fades to be replaced by two kids sitting beside a barn. A young boy and a girl wasting away a lazy summer day. As this image fades the two red orbs glow a little brighter, than fades to nothing.

Pulling the sheets back she reaches behind herself to remove her bra. Thinking about that guy at the desk, she checks that the front curtains overlap so nobody can peek in through. Once satisfied she lets the bra pull away from her breast. Folding it and putting it on the chair that her shirt is hanging from. She unstraps her shoes and then unfastens her skirt. The garter belt and french cut panties. Are next, followed by her thigh high nylons. All folded and placed on the chair, with the shoes next to it.

Taking the overnight bag into the bathroom she pulls out the few things that she did grab before fleeing the house. Some makeup, personal hygiene, a spare shirt, pants, and panties, which she lays on the vanity top. With a deep breath she pulls her stomach in and chest out, she looks at herself critically. Not as young as she used to be, her larger firm heavy breast, hang a lower than they used to. The tips touching lightly on her slight pouch that wasn't there twenty years ago, but now at 68, it is hard to hide. Staring at herself she leans forward looking carefully at her face for those lines her expensive creams try to hide.

She reaches out to the mirror to smooth the slight sign of crows feet developing in the corners. By touching the mirror she can believe it is the mirror, but touching her own face, she can not deny reality. As she touches the mirror the lights dim and the sconces light as before, this the skin tighten lines start to disappear. Her eyes gain a luster not seen in years and her face thins as her cheek bones become more defined. Still touching the mirror as she looks down at the rest of her body. Her breast seem to be lift and firm as she watches and the stomach also pulls even further in.

The surrounding area of the mirror fogs slightly, as her image brightens. She hasn't looked this good since she married her first husband as a teen. The more she concentrates on her new reflection, a shadowy figure moves from behind her mirrored image. The white marble background in the mirror shifts, spinning into a faint image of George her first husband. Her eyes are locked on the mirror looking from herself to the shifting images on the side. The image continues to fade, shift, swirl and slowly solidifies to the small attic apartment, she lived with George. The baby in a crib appears on one side of the room becoming more detailed causing her to smile. Her baby, so beautiful, but she goes from happy to crying.

George's image continues to shift, now holding a beer as a sneer appears on his face. His eyes start to turn a glowing red, a series of male figures enter at the edge of the mirror. Her own image shifts, as the image of George seems to toss her naked body splayed open onto a couch. The male figures never sharpen into view as one after the other drift over the couch and then away. Six packs of beer and bottles of Jack stack at her ex's feet. They soon reach up past his waist as Becky's screams rebound off the walls of the bathroom. Then everything shifts again in the mirror as she starts to vomit into the sink. Her hands press against the mirror holding her up from falling.

She looks at the mirror with hate for that memory until the images slow. One of the men flowing into mirror, pauses near her but never touches her image on the couch. He spins and a huge fist appears that sends George's image flying backward. The stacks of alcohol vanish, as do the men headed for the couch. As George stands back up one woman after another appear beside him. They kiss and soon George and the women are naked his 6 inch dick disappears within the women. All of the images vanish except for the one of Becky running as she carries the baby away. The images disappear as she falls onto her knees on the floor. Contact to the mirror is broken and overhead lights brighten as the sconces go out and the mirror silvers back to normal.

Except in the corner of the mirror, the image of a box truck traveling over a curvy road. Similar to the road she came in on, but her young self is driving. She never sees these images, because she grabs one of the hand towels and starts cleaning herself up. The image continues from one side, to the other of the mirror. The truck stops and the younger vision of Becky gets out of the truck. She is pulling out crates out and selling them to people up in the Appalachian Mountains. One of the many jobs she has done since leaving George. This image also fades except for one set blood red raccoon eyes peering out of a crate. Only to fade as she lifts her head above sink level to rinse out the towel. The red orbs are the last to vanish.

Becky rinses her mouth out and then staggers out of the bathroom to drop onto the bed and dragging the blankets over herself as she buries herself into the pillows crying her exhausted self to sleep. The mirror frame in the bedroom adjacent to the bed glows faintly. The shadowy image floats into the mirror as it comes closer the image firms slightly. Its gossamer hands resti on the inside of the mirror as if holding itself in place as the face draws near. Bright blood red eyes stare at her laying naked under the covers. Its tongue long and pointed slithers out of its mouth and drags across the inside of the mirror. As he concentrates on sleeping woman the covers slowly roll down and off of the sleeping Becky.

Her naked form laying face down legs slightly spread apart, are visible to her voyeur within the mirror. A slight moan escapes Becky's lips as her body starts to move. Minor twitches as she sleep deepens. Slowly her knees pull up toward her body causing her hips to rise above the mattress. The moans become more frequent and louder. Her head turns right and left as if she has no more control of it then she does over her hips rock forward and back again as if she is being taken from behind. The clarity of the mirror's image becomes more distinct. That of a man, eyes burning red the image moving forward and back, as his long tongue slithers about.

The blood red eyes brighten until the room is lit with a red glow. Her hips slam back and forth as the eyes focus on her, its tongue slithers side to side in a sensual dance of excitement. Reddened hand prints appear on her ass as moisture drips from her spread open wide labia. The shape sharpens to that of a man, but with long pointed fingers, bald bumpy head with a rigid brow line. Its teeth are long and pointed daggers, that gnash together as the tongue slips in and out of the mouth. The night rolls on hour after hour. Scratch marks rake across her back as she falls forward after so many orgasms rack her exhausted body.

Suddenly her body flips over onto her back. Her eyes flash open, but only the whites can be seen as they roll back. She continues to thrash about moans screaming out of her. Her legs are spread wide apart in the air, as her hips start thrusting upward. Her labia are spread wide open with her clitoris enlarged as her cunt throbs and moisture splatters about. Those large firm breast sway with hard her hard pointed nipples slashing the air. Lusty bites form all over her body as she orgasms over and over again. Red hand prints appear on her breast. Her nipples are extended away from her body as if an invisible hand pinches them tight and pull hard away from her body.

Becky's eyes bulge as an invisible force pushes down on her neck, her body pelvis slams against the bed over and over again. A squirting orgasm sprays out coating the mirror as the red eyes stare on wickedly, the tongue slathering over the inside of the mirror. The spray that hit the mirror slowly disappears as if wiped clean from the inside. The gray predawn starts to rise as she finally slumps back to the mattress to lay still. The image in the mirror starts to fade as the blankets half cover her up. The last of the shadows retreat deep into the mirror as the sun rises high enough to brighten the room through heavy curtains, the light pushes away the evil darkness of the night.

Becky lay still as yesterday's drive and her restless sleep, slowly getting motivated to move as the hours slip by. Exhausted yet a strange glow resides throughout her mind and body. Looking about she momentarily wonders where she is as she looks at the antiques she is laying on and throughout the room. The hours of driving her Ladybug after fleeing out of the house, taking little with her, settles in. The Long, lonely, winding road and the derelict motel, even the manager, all comes flashing back to her. As she crawls out of bed, she realizes she is still naked. Her fine nightgowns abandoned in the rush to get away.

Standing she gazes into the mirror by the bed and looks at herself with a discerning eye. Her body is sleek, seemingly rejuvenated, highlighted by her toned stomach and firm high breasts. Not knowing there ever were marks, on her smooth toned skin as they vanished with the sun. Going into the bathroom she looks at herself in the mirror. She does look younger, even the age lines in her face and slight turkey neck has vanished. Reaching for her underwear she freezes as an images other than her own forms in the mirror. A gossamer arm reaches out from the mirror to wrap around her wrist. She tries to scream and pull away, but her body will not respond. The lights have dimmed and the sconces are lit as her eyes widen in fear.

The gossamer arm drags Becky's hand toward the mirror. Pulling her off balance falling toward the mirror the vanity edge is the only thing that kept her from falling against the mirror. Her hand is pulled until it rests against the mirror. There is only a slight hesitation before her hand starts to be pulled within. As her hand slides within her fingertips start to loose color. She stares in horror as the hand sinks in further, the skin fades so bones show. Different men flash briefly across the screen. Two people are on a motorcycle, a past boss and herself naked in a field, another on a bus then nude in an apartment. More images, start dressed then flash nude and then disappear.

Images continue to scroll across the mirror. A man, David, her second husband shows standing beside her own image. He holds a guitar, hammer, baby, then another woman. The images keep altering. Then a Camaro convertible, zooms across the mirror with George her first husband and Death, in his black robe and scythe riding beside. As she watches, Death floats out of the car and with an evil grin, Swings the scythe as an eighteen wheeler appears. Everything disappears as his head separates from the body and floats across the screen. Becky's eyes go wide, but unable to scream or even turn away.

Suddenly her image is no longer nude, but in a graduation gown, it fades quickly. A computer slides across the mirror, followed by a tall Rubenesque woman she used to work with. The clothing fades on her, but never disappears. Her large breast, and bubble butt, comes into view, one than the other with each swaying step. Becky's heart flutters. The gossamer image slowly comes into more detail as the memories flow. Her arm is still being pulled deeper into the mirror. Reaching up she puts her other hand on the mirror to brace herself and pull herself free. Only to find her other hand start to sink inside.