The Mirror

An old antique mirror holds an evil force.

The mirror

The mirror on the wall is old and brown,

he bought it from the antiques shop down town.

He didn't know the power it possessed,

it's just a gift for his loving wife Bess.

It's rather large she thought Where shall it go,

The lounge he thought, study, she told him so,

over the mantle piece where the flames dance,

to give the room an air of ambiance.

He looked into the glass one stormy night,

a figure stood behind, oh what a fright.

It's face distorted as if in torment,

it's eyes as black as night, it's clothes all rent.

It laid its deathly hand upon his neck,

a grip of iron, one mighty squeeze did break.

He fell upon the floor in a dead heap,

he's trapped in the mirror, it's soul set free.

She could not find her man he is not there,

In all the house there's not a single hair.

She looked into the mirror on the wall.

and saw him there and thought he'd had a fall.

But when she turned to help him off the floor,

she did not see his body there no more,

she once more gazed into the mirror there,

again the mirror held him in it's glare.

She felt a force upon her neck, a hand,

and now she lies in there beside her man.

She saw him trapped in glass for evermore,

and now there's two of them or maybe more.