Chapter 5: Mirror, Mirror on the Wall…

Jarred much preferred the forest in the daylight than he did at night. He tried not to think about the last time he had walked through these trees, clinging to Barda and terrified of what lay behind him. He glanced to one side at the man strolling casually beside him, a soft smile on his face. Jarred shifted slightly closer to him, close enough that their hands would occasionally bump each other as they walked. Barda smiled and pretended not to notice.

"So, you wanted to ask me something?" He murmured, breaking the silence. Jarred smiled and shrugged.

"Nothing that can't wait." He replied, keeping his eyes on the path ahead. They were approaching the hill, and he knew that soon he would be staring up at the manor house once again. "Do you know the layout of the manor at all?"

"A little. Mostly what I know is based on the outside structure and from looking in windows. I've only ever been inside it twice." Barda told him. "Once when I was young, and then when I came to find you." Jarred nodded in understanding. He knew that this manor was obviously something of a local terror, which meant that not a lot of people would dare to go near it, let alone inside it. Unless he bothered Sharn with more questions, he'd have to find out the layout of the manor by himself. He glanced at Barda again. No, not quite by himself.

They were silent for the rest of the walk up to the manor. Jarred felt that same intimidating fear as he had the first time he had stood in front of the large house, but he pushed it to one side. He was going to avoid the tower this time. He just wanted to take a look at the rest of the place. He pushed open the door and stepped inside, instantly feeling about ten degrees cooler than he had been outside. Barda paused before following him, and Jarred could tell that he wasn't comfortable being inside the manor.

"Any idea where the master bedroom is?" Jarred asked him, observing how Barda kept glancing around nervously.

"No idea. But the staircase is this way." He muttered, edging towards a door to their right. Jarred stared ahead of him at the stairs that he'd seen on his first visit, and then turned to fix his gaze on Barda. "That only leads up to the first floor. Bedrooms are on the second floor." He beckoned for Jarred to follow him. As they passed through the door, a shiver ran through them both, and Jarred quickly stepped forward and slipped his hand into Barda's. "It's just a house, remember?" Barda murmured, repeating Jarred's very own words from his first visit.

"Yeah. Doesn't stop it being creepy." Jarred replied. The warmth of Barda's hand was a comfort to him, and he wondered if it was in any way comforting to Barda, too. They walked through what looked like another dusty living room and out through another door, and then Barda turned them down a dark hallway. Jarred stopped and pulled out a torch, clicking it on. "Why is it so dark here?" Barda smirked.

"No windows in this bit. That's all." He explained, beginning to lead them down into the hall. "There are several black spots in this house. They may have many large windows in the front and back facing rooms, but the hallways are always dark. Especially since we don't have electric lights here." He noticed how Jarred's grip on his hand had tightened slightly, and he smiled into the darkness. The beam of Jarred's torch lit up the rich carpet in front of them, occasionally swinging around to illuminate the walls. After several long minutes, the beam whirled round to a spot directly ahead of them, landing on a ghostly face with haunted eyes.

"Shit!" Jarred exclaimed, almost dropping the torch as he jumped backwards in surprise. Barda tried to keep the smile on his face, and tried to stop his hands from shaking as he took the torch from Jarred. The ghostly image had shocked him, too.

"It's… it's okay." He said quietly. "It's just a painting, Jarred." He shone the beam at the face again, lowering it to show the rest of a portrait, and the frame. "That's the master of the house." Jarred let out a shuddering breath and pressed his face into Barda's shoulder.

"Sorry." He whispered. "I must seem pretty pathetic. A psychic investigator who's scared of a big old house." Barda pulled him into a hug and pressed a kiss to the top of his head.

"Not pathetic at all, Jarred." He murmured. "This is no ordinary house." He turned to stare at the haunted eyes of the man in the painting and tried to ignore the growing feeling of fear and dread from taking over his mind. He hated this house, but there was no way he was going to let Jarred explore it alone. "Come on, let's get moving. We'll be in the daylight again soon." Jarred nodded and – reluctantly – released his hold on Barda, but kept their fingers firmly entwined. They both edged past the life-size portrait and turned the corner into a better-lit hallway. The stairs were directly ahead of them. As they approached, Jarred noticed that two stone figures were perched on either side of the staircase, at the end of the fancy banister. He'd seen similar statues in old houses before, but none like this.

"What are they?" He asked quietly, taking in the eagle's head and strange, lion-like body. The hind legs were similar to a lion's, but the forelegs were more like an eagle's, ending in sharp, wicked talons. There were two elongated ears atop the head, and long, feathered wings stretched out behind the body. He touched his hand to the sharp, hooked beak and turned to look at Barda. "I've never seen creatures like them."

"Griffins." Barda told him. "Part lion, part eagle." He tried not to shudder at the sight of them. "These statues used to be all over the house. There were two either side of the front door back when the owners were still alive." Jarred frowned.

"They're not there now. Stolen?" Barda shrugged.

"One day they were there, the next they were gone." He did not tell Jarred that he believed they had simply moved. "Griffins are said to be guardians of treasure. They're usually set up outside gates and doors, as guards." Jarred stepped away from the stone creature and put one foot on the bottom step.

"Well, let's see what these two are guarding." He smiled at Barda, noting that the tavern-keeper looked a little edgy, and tugged him forward by their joined hands. Barda nodded and followed Jarred up the stairs. He couldn't shake off the feeling they were being watched.

They reached the second floor in no time at all, and were pleased to discover that this hallway was lit up by a series of large windows. Daylight. Jarred clicked off the torch with a pleasant smile. They made their way along the richly painted hall, passing by several open doorways. They glanced into each room, but so far all of them had been spare bedrooms. They were looking for the biggest room – the master bedroom. If he was going to find any answers, Jarred knew he'd find them there. They came upon two large, closed doors and Barda smiled.

"I have a feeling this is the room we've been looking for." He said to Jarred with a grin, who nodded. Together they pushed open the large doors, and stared into the room beyond. Mirrors. On every wall, from floor-to-ceiling, were mirrors. A large four-poster bed sat in the center of the room, long trailing curtains draped around all four sides, shielding it from view. Every piece of furniture was pressed up against the mirrors, and the room seemed three times as big because of the reflections.

"Were they vain, by any chance?" Jarred asked with a raised eyebrow. He lifted his gaze to the ceiling and – sure enough – aside from the large chandelier in the middle, the entire ceiling was covered with mirrors. Barda stepped into the room and looked around at his million reflections, and felt a new flush of fear spread through him. He'd known these people were weird, but this was too much. Who would want to spend the night in a room where your every action is copied by two, maybe three dozen mirror images of yourself? Arms slid around his waist and he was pulled back into a warm body. "Try not to look at the mirrors too much." Jarred murmured against his shoulder. "Focus on the furniture, or the floor." Barda lowered his eyes and stared down at the lush, cream carpet, and the fear slowly receded. He covered one of Jarred's hands with his.

"Any chance you can do your search quite quickly?" He asked in a shaky voice. Jarred smiled and walked around so that he was facing Barda.

"I'll do my best." He could see that Barda was still uncomfortable, and so he leant up and placed a soft kiss on his lips. It was only meant to be a reassuring touch, but he found himself leaning further in. Barda's hands trailed up his back as the kiss deepened, and then he pulled back. He was relieved to see that Barda seemed less uncomfortable, and his cheeky grin was back on his face. "Right, I need to look for anything that might lend a clue as to what sort of religion these people followed, and any reason why they might have died up in the tower. Look for religious text, books, symbols, anything you can find. The sooner we search every inch of this room, the sooner we can leave." Barda nodded. "You take the left half, I'll take the right."

"And we meet back in the middle?" Barda asked with a smirk. Jarred grinned at him.

"You're just saying that cause that's where the bed is." They both laughed quietly before separating, Barda to the left, Jarred to the right. Drawers were opened and rifled through, books were checked and put to one side, and every inch of space was searched. They didn't find much at all in the first initial search – Barda located some sort of rosary in one drawer, and Jarred found what looked like a handbook for a cult or something similar, but it was written in an odd language and he couldn't figure any of it out. Both of them were trying desperately not to look at the mirrors that lined the walls, but it was difficult.

After a good thirty minutes, Jarred finally sighed and closed the drawer he'd been searching. He'd already gone through it twice before, looking for any hidden compartments or loose boards that might suggest something was buried out of sight from wandering eyes.

"Okay, I think we've done all we can." He said in defeat. He turned to Barda, who was standing beside the bed, leaning against it. He smiled. "Waiting for something?" He asked, sauntering over to Barda slowly. Barda grinned as he came closer, and reached for him, pulling him against his body.

"Always." He murmured, tilting his head and pressing his lips to Jarred's. He melted into the kiss, as he always did. There was just something about Barda that always left him wanting more. Hands slipped beneath his shirt, trailing patterns over his back, before sliding around to his front and slipping lower and lower. Jarred moaned softly into the kiss as his own hands worked their way into Barda's hair. His breath hitched as Barda's expert fingers slipped into his jeans, and he pushed forward into Barda's hand. They broke the kiss and Jarred's lips instantly found Barda's neck, his tongue trailing over his jawbone before sliding down over his Adam's apple, stopping to trace his collarbone. He slipped one hand under Barda's shirt, but Barda pulled back. "Wait." His voice was thick with lust as he spoke, and he reached behind him to yank back the curtains on the bed. Jarred's mind was screaming at him to stop, but he ignored it and allowed Barda to push him down onto the soft, silk sheets.

Hands pushed his shirt up, exposing his chest. With a lustful smile, Barda dipped his head down, trailing his tongue over every inch of skin. Swift fingers unbuttoned his jeans, and Jarred threw his head back and arched his entire body as Barda's hand slipped inside. He slid his own hands up under Barda's shirt, raking his nails down over Barda's back. Their mouths met in another powerful kiss and Jarred bucked his hips up, meeting Barda's sharply. The tavern-keeper growled low in his throat and nipped at Jarred's lower lip sharply, drawing a tiny amount of blood. Jarred slipped one hand into Barda's jeans–

Crack!

They froze as the mirrors on the wall to their left cracked loudly. Jarred suddenly remembered what had happened to the mirror in Barda's room earlier that morning, and he quickly withdrew his hands. He was about to tell Barda that it might be in their best interest to leave when he noticed that his reflection was staring at him. Right at him. In fact, every single one of his reflections was staring at him. It wasn't like when you stare at your own reflection. He wasn't even looking directly at it – but it was looking directly at him. Watching him. He tried to tear his eyes away from it but he couldn't. Barda was looking at him in concern.

"What is it?" He murmured. His voice broke the spell and Jarred turned to fix his eyes on Barda's face.

"The mirrors." He whispered. "They're watching." Barda smiled.

"It's just your reflection, Jarred. When you look at your reflection, it tends to look back." Jarred was shaking his head.

"No. I wasn't looking at it. Not at first." His voice was shaky, and he was trembling ever so slightly. "It was staring at me. That's why I turned to stare back. All of them were. Just… looking at me. At us." Barda turned to look at the mirrors, but saw nothing out of the ordinary.

"Are you sure? Because it could have been something your mind made up, you know, because of how you feel about this house. Maybe because you expect the house to do something weird and spooky, your mind put the idea into your head that the reflections were staring at you or something." Jarred shook his head again.

"Can we just get out of here, please?" Barda nodded and got off the bed, holding out his hand for Jarred to take. They picked up the rosary and the book that they'd found, and Jarred all but ran from the room. Barda stopped at the doors, aiming to close them, and froze. In every mirror, his reflection was standing, staring at him. He would have shrugged that off as he had done a moment ago with Jarred – after all, he was staring right back – had it not been for the fact that every image of him was pointing. At him. Shaking visibly, he slammed the doors shut. Jarred turned to him, a look of surprise on his face. He noticed that Barda was pale, and shaking, and felt fear rise up in him. "What is it?" Barda walked past him quickly.

"We need to get out. Now." He took Jarred's outstretched hand and they all but ran back down to the staircase. They took the stairs two at a time, and Jarred paused near the bottom to dig out the torch again. He was just about to click it on when he noticed something odd.

"Barda." He whispered. The tavern-keeper turned to him, his eyes questioning. Jarred swallowed hard, and the hand holding the torch trembled.

"What is it?" Barda asked, his voice full of the fear within him. Jarred pointed with the torch to the end of the banister. The griffin on their right was staring at them. It had been facing the other griffin when they'd walked past it before. Shaking, Barda let go of his hand and walked down to the stone creature, and stepped past it. He didn't know what he was expecting it to do – turn its head and follow his movements? It was made of stone. It couldn't possibly move. But he remembered the griffins that had once been by the front door. The griffins that had vanished, seemingly into thin air. Jarred had remained on the stairs, and now he looked to the other side of the staircase.

"Barda." He repeated. Barda turned to look at him, and his blood ran cold at the expression on Jarred's face. "Wasn't there two of those things before?" Moving slowly, Barda turned his head to stare at the empty space where the other stone griffin had been perched. Barda's pulse raced and his breathing quickened in fear. He looked back at the griffin he was stood next to – and if possible, his blood ran even colder.

It was staring at him.

"Shit… shit, shit, shit." He hissed, stumbling backwards away from it. Jarred ran down the remaining stairs and grasped his hand, clicking on the torch and dragging him towards the dark hallway they'd walked through earlier. Barda looked over his shoulder – the griffin was watching them go. Jarred tripped slightly in the dark, managing to steady himself by placing a hand on the wall next to him. He paused to catch his balance properly, and the torchlight illuminated the portrait of Mr Lorde. Before, the ghostly face had been unsmiling, but neutral, the haunted eyes staring at the painter with boredom. Now, his face was twisted in an angry snarl, the eyes fiery with anger. Barda and Jarred didn't waste a second in running down the hallway away from it. They didn't stop running until they were darting through the doorway of the dusty living room, and out into the main hall. Jarred sighed in relief.

"Okay. No mirrors, stone creatures or creepy portraits here." He murmured, and turned to Barda with a faint smile. It faded, however, when he saw the pure fear in Barda's eyes. "Hey… we're okay. We're safe, Barda." But Barda was staring at the door.

"I left it open." He whispered. Jarred turned. The front door was closed. And yes, he remembered Barda leaving it open. Hands trembling, he reached for the door handle. He was dreading it being locked, but to his relief it opened soundlessly.

"Maybe the wind blew it closed." Jarred murmured, but even as he said it, he knew it wasn't likely. There was no wind, and even two stories up, they would have heard the bang. "Let's get out of here." He stepped out into the hot afternoon, enjoying the rise in temperature more than he'd expected he would. It was far too cold in that house. He heard Barda step out behind him and close the door firmly, and he began to walk down the path. When he didn't hear footsteps following him, he turned. Barda was standing on the doorstep, looking down at the space beside him. Jarred felt the hairs on the backs of his arms and neck lift. Sat next to Barda and looking as though it had been there all along, was a stone griffin. It was facing Barda, its head angled so that the eyes were fixed upon the pale tavern-keeper. Slowly, not taking his eyes off the creature, Barda edged past it and down the steps, walking backwards until he reached Jarred.

"It was waiting for us." Barda murmured. Jarred took his hand and tugged him down the path.

"Don't look at it. Come on, let's go." Barda finally turned away from the house and quickened his pace. Jarred felt the urge to look over his shoulder, and fought it for as long as he could. When they reached the bottom of the path, he turned to stare back at the house. The door and the griffin were almost out of sight, and he couldn't see the finer details of either – but the basic shapes told Jarred that the griffin was staring in the direction of the path. What have I gotten myself into? Jarred thought as he forced himself to turn away. He glanced at Barda, who was still shaking and was as white as paper. "I'm sorry, Barda. I shouldn't have let you go in there." Barda turned and met his eyes.

"No." He muttered. "I was not going to let you go in there by yourself. Look what happened the last time – you got hurt, and if I hadn't been waiting for you, you could have been up there for days without anyone knowing what happened to you." His voice was getting stronger as he spoke, which Jarred took as a good sign that he was recovering – slowly. "If you had gone into that room by yourself, seen those mirrors and your reflection… Anything could have happened." Jarred smiled weakly.

"You saw something too, didn't you? In the mirrors. That's why you looked so freaked out." Barda nodded.

"I'm sorry I didn't believe you. You were right. They were staring." The forest was silent around them as they walked, but neither paid any attention to it. "Something tells me someone wasn't too happy with us borrowing that bed…" Jarred was pleased to see a grin on Barda's face, and he returned it, squeezing his hand slightly. If the silent forest bothered them, they didn't show it.

"You said you'd only been inside the manor twice before, once to come and find me." Jarred said suddenly. "What about the other time, when you were younger?" Barda smiled slightly.

"That house has always been a symbol of fear for our village, ever since the owners died. Stories have surrounded it, stories of curses and ghosts. Young children would dare each other to run up the hill and see how close they could get before they freaked out and ran back." His smiled widened a touch. "Me and my friends were no different. There was a group of us, ten in total, mostly boys but a couple of girls tagged along too. We used to dare each other all the time. I was the only one who could go right up to the door. I built up a reputation for being the bravest kid simply because I made it to the front door, and even sat down on the steps for at least a minute. That was when I was about nine or ten, so it was only a few years after the house had become empty." Jarred smiled as he listened. In his head, he could just picture a young Barda bounding up to the doorstep and sitting himself down on it defiantly, just to prove he was braver than anyone else.

"So when did you actually go in?"

"When I was fourteen." He told Jarred. "Since the time when I'd been declared the bravest kid in the village, another boy had actually gone right up to the door, opened it, and stepped inside the house. This meant that a new dare had come into place – who could stay inside the manor the longest before they got freaked out and left. Their friends would stand on the path, or down by the forest, depending on how brave they were, and watch. Of course, me and my friends also took part. There were more of us by then – at least twenty, maybe twenty-five, all trying to stay in the house the longest. No one had made it past two minutes by the time it was my turn. I'd chosen to go last, because I wanted to see how long I'd have to stay inside to keep my title." He grinned. "I was planning to show off, of course. Stay a couple of minutes longer than anyone else and walk out as calmly as I walked in, as if I could have stayed longer if I wanted to."

"What happened?"

"Most of the kids had gone inside and sat on the stairs where they could be seen. I thought that wasn't good enough to prove myself, so I walked up the stairs to the first floor." Jarred recalled how they'd gone straight past the first floor on that other staircase, and began to wonder if this past experience had something to do with it. "They kept all their ancient artefacts and historical items on the first floor. They were collectors, you see, and liked to put their collection on display. Bits of fossils and rocks and stuff, even suits of armour – like you'd find in a castle or something. Anyway, I was walking along this first floor hallway, and the walls were lined with paintings of famous people, and of their family. You know how they say that in haunted houses, the eyes of the paintings follow you wherever you walk?" Jarred nodded.

"It's just because they were staring ahead at the painter, therefore they're looking at you no matter what direction you're looking at them." Jarred explained. Barda smiled.

"Yeah, I knew that. But the thing is, those paintings did watch you. I remember looking at them and noticing that the eyes weren't facing forwards, but to the side or looking down or up at something, yet when I walked past them, the eyes switched sides to look at me. They actually were following me. I shrugged that off, of course. I told myself it was all in my head." He sighed. "But then I got to the suits of armour. One either side of the hallway, standing tall and holding a staff in one hand. I admired them for a while before walking past, because they looked pretty nifty to me. Definitely well looked after, I could see my face in every bit of armour. Shined to perfection." He shuddered slightly. "I was walking on down the hall when I heard the clinking behind me, like they were moving. I turned around and instead of holding the staff at their side, they were holding them across the hall, like an arch." Jarred stared at him in surprise. "There was room for me to go through, but I wasn't going to risk it. I turned back around and ran down the corridor, turning the corner into another hall. At the end of this one was a T-junction, with hallways leading off to the left and right, but ending in a wall straight ahead. There were two more suits of armour, blocking off the other hallways. I had no choice but to turn around and go back the way I'd come – there was no other way out. They were forcing me to walk under the arch."

"Oh my god…" Jarred murmured. Barda smiled grimly.

"It took a lot of courage to go back to that arch. Took even more for me to actually go through it. I didn't walk through it – I ran. Ducked at just the right time and ran under it. They reached for me with their other hands, and god I was so scared that they were going to catch me. One of them nearly got hold of the back of my shirt, but I twisted out of the way just in time. I ran all the way back to the top of the stairs and forced myself to calm down. I was still planning on walking out calmly, as if nothing had happened to freak me out. I found out that I'd been in there for nearly twenty minutes, setting the highest record ever. I didn't tell anyone what had happened in there. I didn't want them to think I was a coward." Jarred was in shock trying to take in what had happened. He felt even worse for making Barda go back in there.

"Now I know I shouldn't have let you go back into the manor." He said quietly. "If I'd known about what had happened to you in there, I would have insisted on going in alone." Barda shook his head.

"And I would have followed you in anyway. I said to myself before we went that all I had to do was stay away from the first floor." He smiled. "Now I guess I'll have to stay away from the second floor, too." Jarred didn't return the smile.

"You're not going back in there, Barda. I saw how freaked out you were the moment you stepped inside. I should have told you to leave, wait outside like you did before." He sighed. "I don't think I should go back in there again, in any case. I'm not as brave as you are." Barda stopped walking and turned Jarred to face him.

"Half the time, I'm only pretending to be brave." He admitted. "Because I have to be. For you, for Dakota, for the whole village." Jarred smiled at him, realizing just how truly amazing Barda was when he wasn't being an outrageous flirt. He put a hand to Barda's cheek and leant up for a kiss.

I'll be seeing you soon, little Jarred Hill…

He bolted backwards at the sound of the voice in his head. Barda was instantly at his side, face full of concern. Jarred looked around at the forest, finally noticing how silent it was, and he was relieved that they were almost in the village once again.

"What is it? Did you hear something?"

"In my head. A voice…" He wet his dry lips and met Barda's eyes. "It was male, and it knew my name. It spoke with a really distinct accent, too. Like… like yours, actually." Barda's eyes darkened and he frowned.

"Come on. I think we both need a stiff drink at the tavern to calm our nerves." Jarred nodded and followed Barda back into the village, confused and wondering what had caused the sudden change in the tavern-keeper.

Back at the tavern, Dakota was retrieving a new keg of ale from the cellar when she heard a door slam nearby, and dark laughter echoing up from the room below. Shuddering, she hurried back upstairs.

Author's Note: I bet I know what you're all thinking - FINALLY, an update! Well, you can thank LadyLapisLazuli for this, because she was the one encouraging me to finish the chapter XD I have been wanting to finish this for a while actually, because I love some of the things in it - the mirrors, the painting, the griffins and the suits of armour. And, of course, the expected Jarda love :P BUT of course I have been cruel to you and left you with something new and creepy to dwell upon until the next chapter - who spoke in Jarred's head, why did Barda seem bothered by Jarred's description of the voice, and who did Dakota hear in the cellar? Mwaha. Until next time~
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