Paul Jenning's Spookiest Stories by Paul Jennings

Author:Paul Jennings [Jennings, Paul]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi, azw3
ISBN: 9781742283326
Publisher: Penguin Group Australia
Published: 2009-07-20T18:30:00+00:00

2

The next morning I arrived at the fairground just as the sun was rising. All the show people were getting ready for the day. An old man was washing down his elephant. Two guys in a truck were unloading packets of hot dogs. A kid about my age was taking the covers off the dodgem cars.

I walked nervously over to the Hall of Mirrors. ‘Ah, Richard,’ said Mr Image, ‘you’ve come to work.’

He handed me a bucket of water and a mop, and disappeared into the large gloomy tent. I followed him.

‘How did you know my—’ I started to say.

Mr Image interrupted me in a voice like a wet whisper. ‘Use the mop,’ he said. ‘A broom raises dust and it gets on the mirrors.’

He poured some liquid soap into the bucket and walked away. His feet made a rustling sound as if he was walking on dry leaves.

The tent was filled with corridors that were lined with mirrors. Like a maze with openings shooting off here and there. It was gloomy, which was strange for a place filled with reflections.

I started to clean up underneath a bent mirror. A fat, fat Richard copied my every move. I walked backwards and forwards, watching my image grow bigger and smaller.

All of the mirrors gave weird reflections. Fat. Thin. Ugly. Bent. Upside down. Crinkled.

I mopped and stared. Mopped and stared. It was lonely. It was quiet. It was creepy. Inside the Hall of Mirrors.

The silent morning moved on. I seemed a million miles away from the show and all its life outside. I was alone but surrounded by dozens of people. Bent and horrible copies of myself mopping the floors all around me. Repulsive reflections holding their warped mops in twisted fingers.

I shivered. Why had I taken this terrible job? I wanted to burst out of this tent and flee into the real world outside. But somewhere down there. In the gloom. Was Mr Image. Moving around like a rat in a cupboard. I was too scared to run out on him. He was the sort of person who would follow you. Not let go.

Minutes ticked by. Or was it hours? It was hard to tell. My ugly companions mopped silently alongside me. They rested silently. Copied my every move without a sound.

I started to mop more quickly. I wanted to get it over with. Finish up. Take my money and run. Faster and faster I mopped. And faster and faster the freaky copies moved with me.

I turned a corner and faced a door.

On it was a sign which simply said: RICHARD’S ROOM.

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