Ghost Mirror

Chapter 1 - The Incursion.

The rain was cascading down when Spencer Garza pulled up to a house that boasted a poorly maintained lawn. It had been coming down hard most of the day and well into the evening.

As Spencer emerged from his jet black 1972 Pontiac GTO, and scanned he the surroundings as he closed the car door.

It was a modest home, old, but sturdy, and only one story tall. The outside boasted mostly red bricks with a few tan ones patched in, denoting minor repairs here and there. This is where Spencer’s friend Eric lived with his grandparents It had three wide stone steps leading up to the porch and a security screened door. The security screen was usually unlocked during the day, but Spencer knew it would be locked the rest of the night.

The falling rain pelted Spencer. To shield himself from the elements before he approached the house, he pulled up the zipper of his leather jacket to his chin.

            Spencer was twenty years old. He came from a Latin American family. Though he had muscular physique, he stood just under six feet tall. He came from a Latin American family, though he once had been offered a modeling contract five years prior, but chose to work with his hands instead; a career path that he never regretted.

His father was Guatemalan, but he grew up in Florida and worked as an Executive for a major telecom company in Miami, until a crooked accountant stole fifty million dollars and framed him for the crime. The money was never recovered. Mr. Garza was arrested on circumstantial evidence, but was later acquitted. However the board of directors chose to use the incident to fire him, which forced Mr. Garza to relocate his family.

Spencer’s mother was a nurse who went to Los Angeles to help with a triage unit in two thousand and twelve, only to get gunned down in cold blood while treating another gunshot victim in the middle of the street one night. The police determined it to be another case of gang violence; an extremist group getting rid of another Latino that they believed was illegally entering the country.

Spencer came to New Jersey for work, as he had done in other parts of the country since his father died from a heart attack in the months following his mother’s death.

The floorboards creaked as he stepped onto the front porch. “Spencer!” An old woman shouted from inside the door. Her name was Eunice Fredricks. She was born at the trailing edge of the great depression, and must have been approaching eighty as evidenced by her silvery hair, and a face cloaked in wrinkles. Old age had also given her a pacemaker.

“What are you doing here so late?” Eunice asked as she unlocked the screen, and

opened it.

            “I’m looking for Eric,” Spencer replied.

            “I’m sorry, but my grandson isn’t here.” Eunice commented.

Her demeanor appeared disquieted and she had bags under her eyes from sleep deprivation and tears.

“Did he disappear too?” Spencer asked, recalling frantic screams from several people in his neighborhood the night before.

“No,” Eunice explained. “Eric went to the city, looking for work.”

“Oh, alright,” Spencer responded, but he believed that her reddened eyes seemed to say more than she was letting out. “And how is your husband?”

Spencer had only heard a vague account of Mr. Fredricks departure, and figured he probably skipped town. But thought it polite to inquire of him as well as Eric.

Eunice stepped out onto the porch, but kept one hand on the screen door to keep it slightly ajar. She glanced at Spencer’s old-fashioned vehicle and used it to deflect not only his question, but the fear and the concern that it dredged up.