The Man In The Mirror

The vampire waked down the hallway from the front door to the living room in the back of his townhouse. He was alone, yet from the corner of his eye, he caught a movement. It was strange, because there couldn't be a window in the wall. It wouldn't have made sense for a window to be there, and definitely not for one looking outside.

So the vampire backtracked.

There was a mirror in the hall. The housekeeper had insisted on hanging one up there. Last week, he had relented, just like he had relented about electricity and gas being installed in the old house before. But there was something strange about this mirror.

There was somebody visible inside.

The vampire raised his hand.

The man in the mirror did the same.

The vampire bared his fangs.

The man in the mirror did the same.

The vampire touched his ear, his nose, his slicked back hair.

His reflection did the same.

The vampire burst out laughing.

He'd forgotten what he himself looked like over the past couple of centuries. No wonder he was drawing strange looks in the streets. His clothes were still in a style from before the Great War. He hadn't changed his hair since the beginning of the Second one. Combined with his youthful face, it just didn't fit anymore.

Maybe he should try something new. The greasers seemed like a fun crowd. Dance, fast music, loosening morals… It would be a good fit. He could go hunting there without having to bother with ambushing late night stragglers in the parks. He might even get invited into houses. Or try new foods.

He raised his hands to tousle his hair. In the morning, he'd ask his housekeeper to buy him some new clothes.

He grinned at his reflection, fangs twinkling in the electric light.

This new post-war era was going to be fun.