Mirror Superstitions

The Halloween Spirit has visited me a second time, sooner than I thought he might. 'Course, I wasn't sure when, or if, he'd come again. I'm not even sure what his true purpose in visiting me is. I can guess, and I may be right, but that raises the question then of Why me? If his purpose in taking, showing and telling me the things he has and has promised to in the near future is to help get me in the spirit (no pun intended) of Halloween, then he needn't bother. I've never had trouble, once October comes, getting into it. I even have my own Halloween (not the film series) movie collection, which never ceases to be fun watching year after year. Besides which, I'm sure there are others more in need of getting into "the spirit" than I am. So it can't be that.

Maybe it's to show me that Halloween doesn't have to be or isn't necessarily about mythical monsters, although they are part of what makes the holiday fun and scary. To help me remember my time with him, and what the spirit teaches me, I thought I'd write each encounter down, because this is a most extaordinary experience--one that doesn't happen everyday!--and to see what insights come from our nights together.

He came late a couple of nights ago my Spirit of Halloween did. I was sitting in the oversized mahogany leather armchair in the living room, curled up next to the warm golden glow of my favorite lamp as is my wont, immersed in my reading. (I have a nightly habit of reading for a bit before I go to bed; it's my way of unwinding for the day. It's quite relaxing too! I highly recommend it.) Even though I was raptly in the middle of a siege and an attempt to rescue a kidnapped faerie or elf--I was reading Artemis Fowl by Eoin Colfer then--a succession of yawns and eyes beginning to water signaled I should finish my current section or chapter as quick as I could and head for bed.

Taking my glasses off, I swiped at the tear tracks slowly making their way down both cheeks with my sleeve. Just seven more pages, I thought. You can last that long.

But as I went back to the spot where I'd stopped in the book I held, I became aware of a noticeable drop in temperature. Shivering in reaction, I put my book opened face down on the round side table to my left and rose to check the thermostat. I didn't take more than a few steps, however. For, hovering in the wide doorway and coming closer, was a white ghost ball--I can't describe it as anything else--slowly pulsing and trailing a small tail of energy behind it. Its light added to the lamp's illumination, dispelling a few more of the shadows near my corner of the room.

My eyes widened, my jaw slackened. Within my chest, my heart skipped a beat or two then rocketed into overdrive. Speechless, I stood immobile, unable to even blink. Unable to think coherently. It was as if I'd been turned into a statue.

The ball of energy and light pulsed brighter then coalesced into a tighter ball before growing and taking on a human shape. The white aura flickered as the form defined then became steady as the being solidified. First the partially cowl-covered face became visible, then the black robed body, broad-shouldered, lean torso and narrow hipped. Lastly the arms, the right hanging relaxed at his side, the left carrying an ebony staff. Within the crystal orb on top, black and orange ribbons of light swirled together and parted constantly. I was now staring, stunned, at my new friend, the Spirit of Halloween.

As one side of his mouth quirked up in a lopsided smile, I released the pent-up breath I hadn't known I held, my muscles simultaneously relaxing with relief. The statue was freed and came to life. With its release went the fear of the unknown, the fear of whatever--whomever--it was. Thanks to the surge of adrenaline pumping through my veins, I was wide awake now, sleep forgotten.

"It's you," I said lamely, unnecessarily to my own mind later on. But I was caught quite off-guard and wasn't sure what I should do or say. What does one do or say when one's guest is a ghost?

Dropping my gaze and looking elsewhere about the room for a minute to regain my composure and get control of my skittering thoughts, I returned my attention to him and said the first thing that seemed relatively logical: "I'll get a flashlight and my coat." I made to move past him.

My ghostly guide just shook his head, stopping me three steps away to his right. I dumbly mimicked his gesture. "No?" I asked, my brows furrowing together in confusion. "Then...?"

The ghost just pointed to my right, through another wide doorway to a short hallway which led onto several other rooms. One of which was my room. I followed the specter's finger, uncomprehending. "But that where my room, the study, two guest rooms and the master bathroom are!"

Still wearing the amused smile the Spirit of Halloween gestured for me to precede him through the doorway.

"I don't understand," I protested. "Where are we going?"

"Are you superstitious, my lady?" The ghost asked his own question in response.

Trying to search his eyes, which glinted within the dark shadows of his hood, I answered slowly hesitant to part with the embarrassing truth. "Yyyeeesss...to a certain extent. I say 'bless you' or 'ghuzunheidt(sp?)' if someone sneezes. I even have a couple of personal mantras or rituals I perform for good luck; and I try to or say 'knock on wood' to avoid possibly jinxing myself." I paused, cocking my head to the left. "Why?"

"They're a part of every day superstitions are, have been since Man first drew breath on this earth." the spirit replied. "They've become so ingrained as habits or beliefs that no one thinks twice about them. Halloween is coming, and people naturally focus on the commercialized or fantastic monsters and legends, such as Frankenstein, the Mummy or Dracula. People forget superstitions are as much a part of the spirit of Halloween as any of those.

"So, if we could adjourn to your bedchamber, my lady, I'll tell you about a few superstitions you may not know of." Once again, he patiently gestured that I precede him.

I moved, but on the way I had to know, "Why my bedroom?"

"You've got a full-length mirror there, yes?"

Entering my bedroom I glanced back over my shoulder at my specter in surprise. "How did you--?"

The Spirit of Halloween smiled again. "I checked before I made my entrance." he admitted.

Once more I felt my jaw slide south. "You were in my room--!"

Eyes glinting inside his cowl my ghostly guide reguarded me impassively. "I needed to know where your largest mirror was."

Disgruntled at the image of him invading my private sanctuary, I flipped the light switch and illumintion from overhead banished the darkness. As we headed towards the wall to our right I groused, "You could've asked."

He didn't say a word as we approached the oval fluted, cherry wood framed mirror in a hand-carved spindle-sided stand.

I stopped in front of the mirror, sea green eyes avoiding the glass. I can say, with some pride, I am not one of those who're obsessed with their appearance. Who're constantly looking in the mirror to see if their reflection is still perfect. In fact, I avoid mirrors if I can. Oh, I look into them when I need to know if I'm mussed or still presentable if I'm meeting with someone. And getting ready for the day, of course. I just don't like staring at myself in the mirror. I'm my own worst critic; I'm vveerryy harsh on myself. And since I'm several pounds overweight, I don't like seeing the depressing reminder.

My ghostly companion stood just behind my left shoulder. Since I'm only 5'3" he stands quite a bit taller at six feet. His white aura and the globe's black and orange colors glowed back at us, but other than that he looked almost as real and substantial as I did.

"Ok," I said, meeting his glinting gaze in the mirror. "I gather, since we're here and not somewhere else, that your superstitions are about the mirror. Right?"

"Right." He nodded once. "What do you know about mirrors and superstitions, lady?"

"Well...I know that breaking one is supposed to bring seven years bad luck, and that in the old days, when there was a death they used to cover up all the mirrors in the house. But I never knew why." I paused. "I bet you know, though, and are about to tell me..."

The Spirit of Halloween's lopsided smile appeared again at my raised eyebrow. He even chuckled, which raised the other brow. "Yes, I do have a sense of humor, madam," he said in his deep and raspy voice.

"Uh hhuuhhh. Good to know. I'd hate to be haunted by a Scrooge of a ghost."

This time he tilted his head back and gave a full belly laugh. "I am no Scrooge my lady, but he himself is a changed spirit. He now works as the Ghost of Christmas Present."

"Oh really?" I folded my arms and regarded him speculatively. "And who were you once upon a time?"

All mirth slowly vanished from his mien, and he once again watched me impassively. "That's a story for another night. Right now, let me just tell you about mirror superstitions."

I regarded him quietly through my glasses. "Please." he entreated quietly.

"All right." I inclined my head then turned and settled on the nearby concord grape and cream striped satin cushion of the cherry wood bench at the foot of my bed. It was in direct line with the mirror. Stretching my legs out in front of me I slid my hands between them. "Go on." I encouraged.

The specter turned around so we talked face-to-face. "Thank you."

With a wave of an elegant pale hand, he conjured his own seat out of nowhere a few feet from the mirror's right. Sitting down he rested the staff he held on his black robed knees. The chair was quite handsome and suited my visitor. It was stately and masculine, but without being throne-like or ostentatious. Carved by hand from one giant piece of cherry wood, the chair stood nearly five feet tall. In a style similar to a Louis XIV arm chair, it was a classic mix of cherry wood and a leather so deep green it could be mistaken for black in the shadows. The back's dark wooden frame followed my mirror's clean design, curving in a complete oval, securing the leather cushion in place. The armrests curved outward from the back frame and down, scroll-like as the carving suggested. The padded seat was square in shape, and the four legs slightly flared out before shooting straight down into clawed feet clutching wooden grinning jack-o-lanterns. I had to smile at that personal touch.

Once comfortable and settled, my visitor began. "The mirror is perhaps the focus of more superstitions than any other object. This is because the ancients once believed the soul was connected to the looking glass or their reflections. Water was the first looking glass. People would look into it to see their fates. If the image was distorted it meant the viewer would soon die.

"As the mirror changed so did the superstitions. People gazed into the mirror and thought they saw the image of their souls."

"After all, it did show their reflections," I interjected. "Why not their souls?"

"Exactly," the ghost nodded in agreement. "Consequently, if anything happened to the mirror--say a shattering--because of the connection, the soul would suffer the same fate and the person would die."

"Not a happy fate," I mused.

"No. But over the years that belief changed to the one you know today: Breaking a mirror brings seven years bad luck to the one unfortunate enough to shatter or to crack it. This was a Roman belief. The Romans also had the remedy to restore good luck."

I cocked my chin in interest at this. "Oh?"

He briefly smiled, a full smile this tiime, showing a row of perfect white teeth. "Aye. They hid the evidence, they did. Buried the broken pieces in the ground."

I laughed and said in mock innocence, "What broken mirror? I don't see any mirror."

The Spirit of Halloween smiled that lopsided smile of his and continued with the superstitions. "The superstition you wondered about earlier...the one where people covered up all the mirrors in the house upon a person's death... This was to prevent the deceased's soul from becoming trapped in one of the looking glasses. And if trapped, then the ghost of the newly departed, if it was of a mind to, could take the soul of anyone else who's admired his or her reflection in the mirror."

I interrupted again, shifting to get more comfortable. "And if he--or she--did that, that would be one crowded mirror!"

The spirit chuckled a second time that evening--early morning? "Indeed!"

On he went, relating other mirror superstitions, almost every one relating in some way to the soul. If a mirror falls from a wall it means someone is going to die. The reason vampires and witches have no reflection is because they have no souls. A mirror framed on three sides means a witch has used it to see over long distances. In some cultures there is a belief that if a baby looks into a mirror during the first year of its life it will die. The ancient Chinese believed mirrors frighten away evil spirits who get scared when they see themselves; and if the mirror was broken the protection was lost. It's considered bad luck to see your face in a mirror when sitting by candlelight. Actors believe it's bad luck to see their reflection while looking over the shoulder of another person.

I wonder why that is? My visitor, as his time was growing short, didn't explain. But he finished with two surprisingly romantic superstitions--one of which I already knew of. If a couple's first sight of each other is their reflections in a mirror they will have a happy marriage. And this one is for the women: To find out what your future husband looks like sit down in front of a mirror and eat an apple before brushing your hair. An image of a man will appear behind your shoulder.

It was three in the morning when my spirit friend left, going the same way he appeared. Except in reverse. We said our farewells then his form dimmed and faded, till it became the white pulsing ghost ball that had frightened and startled me an hour before.

"Till we meet again, lady," he had said. As I got ready for and into bed, I pondered what he had told me, and wondered, as my head found ease on my plump pillow, when that would be. And what he would teach me next.