"Reaper's Image" story

After a very successful business trip, the Rug Merchant was finally home. As much as he enjoyed traveling, he always loved the feeling of returning home. Of course, that was probably because after every trip, the Rug Merchant would buy something, usually an antique or some extravagant art. This time it was the DeIver mirror. The Rug Merchant heard stories about it, strange ones, the most memorable being the one about the English Duchess. He wasn't quite sure of the particulars, but she received it as a gift from her fiancée. Long story short, they never had their wedding, nor was she ever seen again.

The Rug Merchant shook his head at such a ridiculous story. He wasn't interested in creepy stories, no, he was interested in the art of the mirror. He set the mirror down with a clunk and decided he'd get someone else to hang it up. He actually could've gotten someone else to bring it in for him, but his staff couldn't be trusted with such a magnificent piece as the DeIver mirror. Standing back from the mirror, he noticed that it probably wouldn't match well with the room, but he wanted to relax after his trip and he wanted to do so with his prize. The Rug Merchant admired it for a few minutes before leaving the room.

If the Merchant had stayed, he'd have noticed something odd in the mirror. It could only be described as the feeling it brought with its appearance: unsettling. In a short while, he came back in, cigar in one hand and a drink in the other. Setting his drink on the table to his side, he nestled into the velvet chair across the mirror. The Rug Merchant lit his cigar and began to study the mirror. It was a beautiful piece, created by one of the greats. The Rug Merchant sat eying his reward, inhaling the contents of his pipe ever so often. He did this until his drink and cigar were gone. He'd sitting with his head back and eyes closed when he opened them.

As if his eyes were forced down, he suddenly looked at the mirror as it appeared to be shattered with a dark figure in it. Immediately, the Rug Merchant sat up and jutted his head out at the mirror. He stared at it for a few minutes before slowly getting up and cautiously walking over to the piece. Transfixed, the Rug Merchant wasn't aware of one of his maids entering the room. He stood in front of it, looking at the dark figure. His maid looked at him and the mirror. The Merchant was known around the house for his strange moments, and this wasn't any different. She walked up to him.

“Sir?” she asked hesitantly. Startled, he turned toward her. He shook his head and managed a smile.

“Yes?”

“Would you like me to get you another drink sir? Maybe some more whiskey or brandy?”
“N-no, I'll get it myself.” If the maid hadn't been working for the man for a few years, she would've thought that his voice was strong and that nothing was wrong. However, she could hear how shaky he was.

“Okay, sir.” She smiled at him and on her way patted him on his arm. He jumped. Once she was out of the room, he looked at the mirror. It was perfect. Maybe that drink was stronger than I thought. Sighing, he walked over to the table where his glass sat. He approached the door to the room where he kept the alcohol. Pausing, he turned back, looking at the mirror, reflecting beautifully. The Merchant chucked and walked through the door.

An hour later, his maid came back in. Her eyes looked at his chair, and then scoured the room upon seeing he wasn't there. “Sir?” she called out. No answer. “Sir?!” A little bit louder this time. Shrugging, the maid turned off the lights went back to her quarters for the night. He must've gone to bed. A few days later, there was a page mentioning the disappearance of the Rug Merchant.