Wicked Reflection

By Hank Edwards

When Kirk Stanford moves into his new home, strange things begin to happen. Messages appear in the steam on his mirror, warning him of a nameless threat. Then someone keeps breaking into his house, looking for something Kirk can't identify. With the help of his boyfriend, Damon, Kirk digs into the house's history, and discovers not just the previous owner's brutal murder, but threatening letters written to him from someone named Sam. As the intruder strikes again, Kirk and Damon find themselves fighting not only to solve the mystery, but to keep from being murdered themselves.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Hank Edwards
• Release date: May 15, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223903260

Hank Edwards

Hank Edwards has been writing gay erotic fiction for more than twenty years. He has written over two dozen novels and even more short stories. His writing crosses many sub-genres, including romance, rom-com, contemporary, paranormal, suspense, mystery, and wacky comedy. Find out more at www.hankedwardsbooks.com.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

The house felt different now that Kirk owned it.

Maybe it was the fact he owed the bank a shit-ton of money for the next thirty years, or maybe it was because he had made this decision on his own, with no family in state to take a walk through and assure him the house was a good purchase. Well, there was Damon. They’d been seeing each other exclusively for a little more than three months, with no mention of the highly sought after L word yet, but Kirk knew it was coming.

And Damon had listened to him go on and on about whether or not to put in the offer, so much lower than the asking price. Then he’d listened more as Kirk had worried about why the offer had been accepted so quickly. Black mold in the attic? Bodies buried under the concrete of the basement floor? Rodents or insects in the walls? Damon had talked Kirk down several times, and gone with him to the signing. Sweet, patient Damon. Kirk would never know what had made him attend his ex’s Fourth of July party, but every day he was glad he had followed his gut instinct and gone, as it had changed his life.

Kirk was disappointed that Damon had to work the day he had picked up the keys, but Damon had promised to stop by later to help break in Kirk’s new home.

Kirk stood on the porch with his keys in his hand, pausing to note the details of the moment. He wanted to be sure he remembered what it felt like to enter his new home for the first time, so he paid attention to the details: the warmth of the sun on his shoulders, the cool October breeze that rustled the leaves in the trees along the street, the high-pitched laugh of a child from somewhere down the block. He looked up at the brick front of his new home and smiled. It was three stories tall with a master suite on the top floor, two bedrooms and a bathroom on the second, one bedroom and living room on the first floor with a half bath, and an unfinished basement. All that space, over two thousand square feet, and it was all his. How the hell had he lucked into a house this perfect for such a great price? He decided to stop dwelling on what might be wrong with the place and chalk it up to good energy, or karma, or luck. After all, the sale was done.

So decided, Kirk smiled and, taking a breath of cool, crisp air, turned the key and pushed the door open.

The house smelled closed up, dusty, and his footsteps echoed as he moved from room to room, floor to floor, trying to let it soak in that he now owned this house. This space was his, all his. Every day after work, he would come to this place tired, maybe frustrated from a day managing marketing details for the small advertising company where he worked. But once in the door, he would be just fine. He could do this. He could live here, wake up here each morning in his queen-size bed in his master bedroom suite three floors above the street, Damon sleeping soundly beside him on the nights he agreed to stay over. Hopefully, he’d be moving in with him one day—he had enough room, that was for sure. He could cook some single portion meals when Damon had to work, or maybe for a few friends he’d yet to meet.

Yes, Kirk felt deep down that, despite the house payment, home insurance, utilities, and property taxes, he was going to be just fine.

The moving truck pulled up outside, and four burly men, quickly going to fat, climbed from the cab. They adjusted their back brace belts and hoisted up the truck door to reveal his belongings, everything he owned in the world, crammed inside.

Heigh ho, Kirk whispered to himself, here we go. He stepped out on the porch as the first pair of men trundled up the walk with his sofa.

Hours later, the empty truck pulled away from the curb and, with a groan, Kirk pushed himself up from the old sofa that just fit in the second floor alcove, as he had envisioned it would. He made his way around the few unopened boxes and forced himself up the steps to the third floor.

The upper level of the house was one long, open room, broken up by a bathroom tucked in underneath the slanted roof in the corner opposite the steps. Bookshelves had been built to block off the open space around the steps, and large windows at both ends allowed in light each morning and evening. When Kirk had told the movers his bed, dresser, and armoire all needed to go up the steps to the top floor bedroom, the men had looked up the two flights of stairs and given him long, silent stares. The steps to the third floor were steep and narrow, the plaster walls seeming to press in on either side, but the movers had managed to get the furniture in place with just minor scratches and bumps on the walls. Kirk had been so impressed he had tipped them each fifty dollars as the setting sun stained the sky a lovely tangerine orange.

Kirk stood in the middle of the room and turned in a slow circle, taking in the space where he would spend his nights. He and Damon would make love here, would wake up together on dreary days and listen to the rain on the roof, or the winter wind moan around the eaves, or the birds singing the sun up over the horizon. Here, Kirk would sit in the old armchair he had found some years ago on someone’s curb and read a few chapters of a gay erotic romance before climbing into bed. It was his, all his, and he never thought he’d get tired of thinking that about this house.

One of the previous owners had tucked a startlingly large bathroom under the slanted roof. It had a white tile floor, white marble counter and sink, and a white tub with a toilet directly across from it. A heat lamp hovered over the area between the toilet and tub, a feature Kirk knew he and Damon would both love in the winter. Above the double sinks hung a wide mirror. The gold frame around it was distressed, but Kirk couldn’t tell if it was on purpose or from the actual age of the mirror.

Kirk stepped to the 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. 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.

HE LIES.

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.

He smiled with relief at the handsome man standing on his stoop. His curly brown hair was in need of a trim, covering his ears and obscuring his forehead. Dark brown eyes gleamed with easy humor as he rolled them and adjusted his grip on the cloth grocery bag dangling from one hand.

Finally, Damon said with a heavy sigh. I’ve been standing out here for about half a day.

Kirk made a face. I think you might be exaggerating just a little bit.

Damon sighed. Okay, fine. A quarter of a day.

Closer to the truth, Kirk said. But not quite there.

Damon smiled then waved a hand toward the entryway. Well? Are you going to invite me in or leave me out here on the porch?

Kirk frowned. "Invite you in? Are you a vampire or