The Grey Mirror

By Bryan Whelan

After three girls accidentally meet, they embark on a quest to find a secret room in an old French chateau. When they discover an old grey mirror in there, they become scared out their wits when a ferocious animal suddenly leaps out through it. Their only escape from the beast is through that grey mirror!

Thrust into the world of the beast, they embark on a perilous journey to find a way back when they discover the mirror will not allow them to return. Can they survive long enough to find a way back to their world or are they destined to die in this god forsaken place? And just what is this world they are stuck in? Come with us on this nightmarish odyssey as told by the three girls themselves.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bryan Whelan
• Release date: Feb 1, 2023
• ISBN: 9798224978830

Bryan Whelan

The fourth in the Lincoln Cain Spy series from the pen of Bryan Whelan, following on from Edge of Reality, The Hexagonal Dome and The Bandaid Conspiracy. Bryan is a retired Maths, Science and Information Technology teacher from Australia, who has been a fan of science fiction all his life. Author of several science fiction adventure stories, including The Swirling Lights of Paradise, The Hives of God’s World and Truth of Time, he injects a distinctly Australian flavour to them.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Hello, my name is, Marie Brigitte Anton and I live in Bordeaux, France. My mother called me Marie after Marie Antoinette. I am 175cm tall with green eyes. My hair is chestnut brown but cut truly short, almost a crew cut. My parents made me cut it short to cut down on wind resistance.

Is it my turn yet?

No, you’re not on until Chapter 2. Stopping hogging the limelight.

As I was saying, ...

Don’t you think we could tell our stories together? It might save time.

How can we do that? You’re not French! Now, get back to Chapter 2.

Now after that rude interruption, as I was saying, I have just turned 18 and this is the first time my parents have allowed me to travel on my own. Yes, I know it is only 300km from home, but they allowed me to drive here by myself. Oh, I forgot to mention that I made it all the way to Ranton, a little country town in the region of Aquitaine.

You see, my parents have controlled my life since birth. No that’s a bit harsh. They’ve ‘guided’ me throughout my childhood. Unlike most girls growing up in Bordeaux my parents never allowed me to drink, smoke, or socialize, and most of my spare time was taken up with training.

I run. I run amazingly fast, and I am currently Aquitaine’s 400m female champion. My parents have always had big plans for me right from the time I won my first running race at the age of five, competing against a bunch of nine-year-olds. Hence the short hair.

At first, I did not mind all the attention and the training was fun for the first few years, but of late, it has become quite a grind. I needed to meet targets, set goals, and my coach insisted that I exceed my PB every time I hit the track.

I could see where all the training, competing, and time were leading me to, the Olympics. But I could also see how much I was missing out when I met my friends at school. Once, when I ditched training to go with them to the mall and hang out with some boys, my parents reminded me in no unsubtle way, just what my obligations were to the sport.

Well, now I am finally eighteen, a woman! From now on my decisions are my own. My first act of rebellion was this trip. Not that I really rebelled. The running season has ended, and I’m not due to start uni until next year. Oh, did I not tell you, I gained an athletic scholarship to the University of Bordeaux.

But for the moment, I have some free time on my hands. After telling my parents that I always wanted to travel, I jumped in my car and here I am in Ranton. My grandmother used to live here as a girl, and I always wanted to visit the place just to see why my grandma loved it so much.

Driving into the town, I really enjoyed the picturesque surroundings. The lush green fields and quaint little houses reminded me of the times my grandma told me tales of when she was a young girl in this place.

After checking into the local hotel, I browsed through the pamphlets they had near the counter to see what I could do while I stayed here. Suffice to say, there was not a lot that a fit young girl like myself could do.

All right, I had spent so much of my life avoiding a social life and now that I have broken free of my bonds, I wanted some action. Anything that involved taking a risk, or experiencing new things, I would have jumped at.

For any of you who are familiar with Ranton, it has one major tourist attraction, the Château de Ranton. It is a small fortified castle built in the 1300s. The local historical society has restored it to what it looked like in the 1700s. I’m here to take a tour through it. Ancient castles are fascinating! Who am I kidding? It’s the only tourist attraction in the town and being here, I may as well take the tour.

A nice old lady with glasses met me at the gate just before the four o’clock tour. She looked like that aunt who only ever drops in on your family around Christmas time. Short, overweight, large bosoms, and a permanent smile. Even so, she was warm and friendly when she greeted me. She probably performs this little charade for every tourist as I’m sure that they do not get many tourists visiting the chateau, especially on a weekday. Nevertheless, the eventual number of participants reached a credible twenty-two.

Starting the tour, I almost became excited. Here was something different, my first castle! But the excitement dwindled rapidly as the woman escorted us into room after room. I tried to generate interest and listened to as much as I could stand. I did learn that they built the chateau to defend the royal city of Loudun (just to the west) at the beginning of the Hundred Years' War from 1340–1345. After 1372 it became a feudal manor and an estate of some aristocratic family associated with the Courts of the French Kings and the Dukes of Anjou.

The poor woman rattled on like she was reading a speech from a textbook. She must have spent hours memorising all the dates and facts about this chateau. By the time we made it to the Great Hall as the guide called it, I had just about had enough. Where was that exit?

It was about this time that I noticed two other girls in the group. One had bright orange hair and was looking as bored me, which I think first attracted me to her, but the other, wow, she stood almost with her back to the tour guide staring at the wood panelling along the wall on the opposite side to the fireplace.

All through the droning speech the tour guide gave, this girl did not move. She fixed her eyes on that wood panelling like it was the strangest sight she had ever seen.

Ok, girl, your turn.

Chapter 2

You beauty, time for chapter 2. My turn now. I hope you weren’t too bored with that chapter 1 tart.

Hey, watch it!

All right, I’m sorry.

Anyway, my name is Kylie Chambers. I’ve just turned 19, I’m 170 cm tall, and this month my hair is orange. I’ve gone with a high-side ponytail style. It seems to suit my personality. I’m from Australia, Melbourne to be precise. You can probably tell that from my accent.

This is a written narrative! No one can hear your accent!

Oh yes, sorry babe. Don’t worry, you’ll meet her in the next chapter. Anyway, my background is simple. I was born in the suburbs, grew up in the suburbs, went to school in the suburbs, and according to my friends, will probably die in the suburbs.

This is pretty much why I’m currently in France. Last year I was accepted into Melbourne Uni to do a science degree. But with all the ribbing my friends gave me about never having been anywhere, I decided to take a gap year and backpack my way through Europe.

That shut them up. So far, I’ve been to Germany, Sweden, Italy, and now I’ve landed in France. This place is probably the worst of them as the backpacker hotels are so expensive. The only way I could afford to stay in this country for any length of time was to venture out into the countryside. At least the accommodation is more reasonably priced, but the nightlife is totally boring!

I’ve always been outgoing according to my parents. To my friends, I’m a party girl, and to my ex-boyfriend, a stubborn bitch. He may have a point, but when he suggested we move in together, I said definitely not. I’ve seen his bathroom habits and the way he expects his mother to cook for him. No way is this babe going to be a housemaid.

But don’t take my word for it, just ask my parents. They knew from an early age that I would be a handful. I was always getting into trouble, finding myself in sticky situations, and if we ever visited a new place, I was the one who made sure I visited every single room and poked my nose in every nook and cranny. There were times when that did not work out well for me.

When I was eight, I managed to get myself stuck in a drain near our place. I saw the hole there, so I must investigate, I thought. After my friends called my mum and she got the local fire brigade to pull me out, she thought that my adventurous spirit would wane. But I continued to stick my nose in wherever I thought it might lead to something exciting. I must confess though, that after the drain incident, I now get claustrophobic in small spaces.

I often found myself in trouble at school. My teachers simply put all this down to my enquiring mind. Bless them, telling my parents that my reckless nature was simply an overpowering desire to find out things. Maybe they saw something in me that I still don’t recognize.

My teen years were typical of any teenager living in Melbourne. Trying to sneak out of the house to go to local concerts, and sampling alcohol years before I was allowed to, but I was always the one who took on a dare and was not afraid to try new things.

Well, when I told my parents that I was taking a gap year and going to travel the world, for some strange reason they agreed. Mum even packed my bag and dad gave me enough money to keep me going for at least 12 months. They looked so happy when they dropped me off at the airport. I even saw dad give mum a high-five as I went through customs. You know they could have been a little more subtle about wanting me to go.

So far, the trip has been fairly good. I’ve seen several tourist attractions across Europe, but the lifestyle of a backpacker seems to be centred around how much beer you swallow before it all comes up again. As my funds were starting to run low, so I hightailed it out of Paris and into the countryside. I’ve landed in this place called Ranton for a few nights.

The only reason I’m here was simply that the accommodation rates were the cheapest in the region. After a wander around the place, I could see why. The town itself looks nice and the surrounding fields make it quite a picture, but apart from the hotel, there’s stuff all to do. What’s a party girl like me supposed to do in a dead place this!

The only tourist attraction I could find was this castle place, the Château de Ranton. To keep me from going spare, I signed up for the four o’clock tour. Waiting in the entranceway for the tour to begin, it was nice to have the other tourists stare at me. I haven’t had this much attention since I jumped the railing on top of the Eiffel Tower.

Mind you, when most of the tour was comprised of grey nomads who seemed like this was the highlight of their lives, and I’m wearing orange hair, the staring was inevitable. But if this is the only tourist attraction, I’m going to try and enjoy it.

After about half an hour of wandering from room to room and that woman droning on about the history of each object in the room and the never-ending list of people, I’ve never heard of, who lived here, my mind was about to explode. It was time for the Kylie to entertain herself.

Leaning over a rope, I noticed a small box decorated with gold foil and a carving of a wolf on the lid. Well, I can’t help myself. I picked it up and opened the lid. A strange odour reached my nose. I couldn’t quite work out where I had smelled that before, so I stuck my nose right into it and took a big sniff.

The coughing fit that followed suddenly reminded me that the smell was like the tobacco my dad used to smoke. That’s where I remembered the odour! Shortly after I began to sneeze. If anyone in the tour group didn’t notice me before they certainly noticed me now.

That is an eighteenth-century snuff box, young lady, the tour guide said calmly. People of that time used it instead of smoking tobacco. You can see, ladies and gentlemen just how it worked. It made one sneeze. Why the people of the 18th Century considered the practice a pleasure I will never know. Perhaps it might be a good idea to put it back now, miss. It is quite priceless.

I put the box back between sneezes. After recovering, we entered a large room the guide called the Great Hall. I must say the guide’s command of English (she also talked in French as most of the tourists were French) was impressive, but what she talked about was once again, a droning history of this large room.

While I stood at the back (I already had my attention ‘fix’ for the day) I noticed another girl about my age. She stared at me and was still laughing.

Well, you were quite funny.

I went over to her and commented on just how boring the tour guide was. She agreed and I got the impression that we hit it off immediately. She was French but could speak English pretty well.

That’s me from Chapter 1!

I think everyone has tumbled to that!

Anyway, while the tour guide pointed out the various features of the room, my new friend, Marie, and I, then noticed yet another girl about our age standing apart from everyone else, and get this, she was staring at the wood panelling along the wall on the opposite side to the fireplace.

Now I’ve done some weird things in my life but this one was on a whole different level. I mean no matter what the tour guide pointed out; this girl would not take her eyes off the wood panelling.

It was too much for me (and Marie), so we went over to her to find out just what her deal was.

I let her tell you in the next chapter.

Chapter 3

Finally, my turn. It looks like I’m the one to fill everyone in with the details of the background to this adventure.

First of all, my name is Elizabeth Jane Buxton. Elizabeth because my father is a staunch royalist and Jane because my mother is a huge fan of Jane Austen. I just turned 22 and I am five foot eleven inches tall, which is rather tall for a woman. I have light brown hair which my mother had always shaped into curls. I still wear those curls to keep her happy.

I have travelled to France for further study. You see, I had just gained a part-time position as a junior associate researcher in the History department at Oxford. My speciality is 18th Century French history. I don’t know why I found this period so fascinating. It certainly did not come from my parents.

My father is the emeritus professor of economics at Oxford and my mother is a senior lecturer in politics, also at Oxford. So, you can see no influence in history from them, but when you realise that I spent most of my childhood in libraries in and around Oxford, my career was almost mapped out for me.

It was just that of all the books I could read when I was young, the history books grabbed my attention the most. And watching those period dramas at the cinema, the life of a history buff became inevitable.

Not that I minded the career path. I’m not one for mixing socially that often and I was what the local lads at school called a wallflower. Some had much more derogatory terms for me, but I won’t go into that.

Growing up was a chore. Putting up with the teasing about my height and weight, I found solace in books. When the internet took off, I had dived into it with great enthusiasm. It provided me with the outlet I longed for, and I managed to avoid my adolescence quite well, thank you.

After graduating high school, I enrolled in the history course at Oxford and found myself immersed in what I had enjoyed all through my teen years. 18th Century French history is full of drama, adventure, and even romance. This was the time when France boasted one of the largest populations of the time. It was ruled by three King Louis’ (14th, 15th, and 16th) each of whom had several affairs and sired copious children.

Also, much of today’s fashion, hairstyles and even ballet can be traced back to 18th Century France. My other fascination with this historical period was that it was the beginning of the French Revolution. That time when the middle and lower classes revolted against the aristocracy and executed most