Kirk stepped to the bathroom sink and turned on the hot water. As he dangled his fingers in the spray waiting for it to warm up, he studied his reflection in the mirror, disheartened to see the toll of moving into his new house. Dark circles had gathered beneath his eyes. His dark blond hair was a spiky mess, and dust and dirt smears marred his pale skin. Even the blue of his eyes looked faded and tired.
The water heated up quickly, thank God, but it was rusty. He left the tap running and peered at the tub. Dirt and dust darkened the white surface, but it didn’t seem too bad. He could rinse it all down the drain and take a quick shower before Damon arrived. When he looked back at the mirror, however, his heart fluttered like a startled bird. Steam from the hot water had fogged it, revealing something written there.
Kirk shut off the water, and checked around the empty bathroom. He stepped into the bedroom but found no one there either. He was alone. Kirk could not recall if he had locked the front door, so maybe Damon had arrived earlier than planned and let himself in, snuck upstairs, and written that in the steam when Kirk’s back had been turned.
Or someone else had.
“Damon?” he called.
The house was silent around and beneath him.
“Not funny, whoever you are!” Kirk shouted as a line of gooseflesh rippled up his back. He cleared his throat and called in a quieter voice, “Seriously, Damon, come on. Are you in here?”
He stepped back into the bathroom and looked at the words. Maybe they had been written on the mirror before Kirk had moved in, and the steam was simply showing the message again?
The doorbell rang, the old, heavy bell chiming loudly through each of the floors, making him jump.
Kirk’s heart pounded as he looked into the bedroom, then back at the mirror. The steam cleared, taking the words with it, and a small knot of unease tightened inside his chest. He cursed the mirror for giving him the creeps on his first night in the house.
The doorbell chimed again, raising the hair on the back of his neck.
Kirk descended both flights of stairs, then stood in the entryway staring at the front door. He hesitated, opening and closing his fists a few times. He knew he was being ridiculous, but he was afraid to see who stood on the porch. What if it was the man referred to by the mirror message: HE LIES?
His visitor banged on the door with a fist, the sound making him jump yet again, and he grabbed the large brass knob, worn smooth and dark with years of being handled.
A breath in and out, then Kirk opened the door.