Chapter Text
It was a quiet afternoon at Woodstone B&B, well, as quiet as it could be in a house full of ghosts. Sam and Jay were in the kitchen, preparing a special dinner for their latest guest, an eccentric antique collector named Mr. Grayson. He had been fascinated by the B&B’s history and, as a token of gratitude for his stay, he offered them a gift: a large, ornate mirror with an intricate gold frame, its surface slightly dulled with age.
“This mirror has seen centuries.” The old man had said with a mysterious smile. “It might even have a few secrets of its own.”
Once Sam and Jay carried the mirror into the main parlor, propping it against the wall temporarily, they got distracted with preparations. Naturally, the ghosts wasted no time crowding around it, inspecting their reflections, or lack thereof.
“Well, obviously, it’s a fake.” Hetty sniffed, folding her arms. “Any lady of true refinement would see through such a crude attempt at antiquity. The filigree? Anachronistic. The frame? Gaudy. And the patina? Utterly forced.”
“Hetty, you do realize you’re judging a mirror?” Isaac pointed out, adjusting the nonexistent lapels of his spectral uniform.
“I don’t need to see myself to know quality, Isaac. This is a forgery, through and through.”
“Honestly, I think it’s kinda cool.” Flower said, leaning in. “Like, what if it’s one of those magic mirrors, and it shows your soul or something?”
“Or it could be cursed.” Thorfinn grumbled. “Bad omens always come from old things with creepy shine.”
“You think every old thing is cursed.” Alberta tilted her head.
“Because most old things are cursed!” Thorfinn declared. “That is how they become old! They scare away new owners.”
Suddenly, the mirror shimmered. A faint, wavering figure began to materialize on its surface. The ghosts gasped as a new presence took form within the glass: a tall man dressed in regal 19th-century attire; his coat embroidered with golden thread. His gaze swept over them with a mixture of surprise and intrigue.
“Ah.” The man in the mirror said, his voice rich and elegant. “At last, someone to converse with. I feared I might remain unseen for eternity.”
The ghosts exchanged astonished glances.
“Who the heck are you?” Trevor blurted.
The man straightened, resting a gloved hand against the mirror’s surface as if trying to reach through.
“I am Lord Reginald Montclair, Duke of Hensington. I have been... displaced, trapped within this wretched pane for more years than I care to count.” He sighed dramatically. “And who, may I ask, are all of you?”
The ghosts hesitated for only a moment before launching into introductions—some more enthusiastically than others.
“Lord Montclair?” Hetty scoffed, eyeing the mirror with suspicion. “A duke, you say? And yet, your lace cravat is several decades out of fashion for proper aristocracy.”
“Ah, a woman of refinement.” Reginald smirked. “I appreciate your keen eye, madam. But tell me… where am I? And more importantly, how do I escape this prison?”
Isaac cleared his throat.
“Well, first of all, welcome to Woodstone Mansion, a fine establishment with a history as grand as…”
“Oh, he doesn’t care about that, Captain America.” Trevor interrupted. “What we wanna know is: how’d you get stuck in there?”
Reginald’s expression darkened.
“That... is a long tale.” His fingers traced invisible patterns against the glass. “One involving betrayal, deceit, and…”
The sound of Sam and Jay’s voices echoed from the hallway. The ghosts panicked, stepping away from the mirror just as Sam re-entered the room.
“What are you guys doing?” She asked, noting their guilty expressions.
“Uh, nothing.” Pete said too quickly. “Just, um... Admiring the craftsmanship of the mirror! Fine craftsmanship!”
“You guys are being weird.” Sam frowned.
She turned to Jay, who carried a platter of food.
“Anyway, let’s move this upstairs later. I don’t want it just sitting here.”
As Sam and Jay left again, the ghosts turned back to the mirror. Reginald arched a brow.
“Well.” He said smoothly. “Shall we continue?”
The ghosts grinned. This was about to get interesting.
As the conversation with Lord Reginald Montclair was about to continue, a familiar figure stepped into the room. Nigel Chessum, ever the punctual and proper soldier, entered the mansion, his usual crisp redcoat neatly arranged despite its spectral nature.
“It is time, gentlemen.” Nigel announced with a refined air, clasping his hands together. “Peter, Thorfinn, our regularly scheduled ant observation awaits!”
Pete brightened at the reminder, adjusting his glasses out of habit despite the lack of a tangible frame.
“Oh, right! The anthill near the gazebo is at a crucial point in their tunnel expansion!”
Thorfinn grunted in agreement, nodding with the enthusiasm of a seasoned warrior who had found a worthy adversary in nature.
“Yes, today we see if queen ant has conquered new territory. If so, Thorfinn will name it ‘Thorfinnia.’”
But before they could make their way outside, Nigel’s gaze shifted to the grand mirror standing in the corner of the room. He paused, his well-groomed eyebrows lifting ever so slightly as he examined the ornate frame.
“Oh my.” He mused, stepping closer. “What an exquisite piece.”
From within the glass, Reginald’s form straightened. His piercing blue eyes, framed by aristocratic cheekbones, locked onto Nigel with visible intrigue. The shift in his expression was almost imperceptible at first, a subtle, amused smirk forming at the corner of his lips.
“Ah.” Reginald purred, his voice as smooth as fine silk. “Who is this distinguished gentleman?”
“Pardon?” Nigel blinked, turning slightly toward the other ghosts.
Trevor, catching on before anyone else, grinned.
“Oh dude, I think the mirror guy’s into you.”
Reginald placed a hand delicately against the glass, his expression positively delighted. “Indeed. A man of stature, of sophistication. The coat, the posture: it speaks of elegance long since forgotten in this modern era.” His eyes trailed over Nigel’s form appreciatively. “Tell me, sir, are you a fellow noble?”
Nigel, caught off guard by the attention, cleared his throat.
“Well, I was an officer in His Majesty’s army.” He straightened, ever the disciplined soldier. “Lieutenant Colonel Nigel Chessum.”
Reginald exhaled as if he had just been presented with the finest of wines.
“A soldier and a gentleman. I have finally been granted me some respite from centuries of dull company.”
“Excuse me?” Isaac, standing nearby, scoffed.
Hetty, watching the exchange, smirked.
“Well, well, Nigel. Looks like you’ve caught the eye of our mysterious prisoner.”
Nigel, unsure whether to feel flattered or suspicious, adjusted his cuffs.
“Er, yes, well. I do appreciate a fine compliment.” He glanced at Reginald, who was still watching him with unabashed admiration. “But, ah, how exactly did you end up in this mirror, sir?”
Reginald’s smirk remained, though his gaze darkened slightly.
“A story for another time, I think.” He leaned closer to the glass. “For now, I would much prefer to learn more about you.”
Nigel hesitated for only a moment before giving the most proper, polite response he could muster.
“Oh, my.”
Isaac had been watching the exchange in silence, his arms stiffly crossed over his chest. He had been prepared to be unimpressed by this so-called aristocrat in the mirror, but now, seeing the way Reginald’s gaze lingered on Nigel, Isaac felt an unfamiliar tightness in his chest.
Trevor, ever the instigator, leaned toward Isaac with a smirk.
“Bro, you’re totally jealous.”
“Jealous?” Isaac scoffed, shifting uncomfortably. “I… Preposterous! I simply find it curious that this mirror-bound dandy has taken such an interest in Nigel.”
“Ah, and you are…?”The British aristocrat turned toward him with a knowing smile, his eyes scanning Isaac’s uniform with mild interest.
Isaac bristled, lifting his chin.
“Captain Isaac Higgintoot, if you must know.”
“Hmm.” Reginald gave a polite, noncommittal nod. “The name does not ring a bell. Were you of any notable standing?”
“I led a battalion in the American Revolution!” Isaac stiffened.
“Ah. A colonial skirmish, then.” Reginald’s smirk widened ever so slightly, then he turned his attention back to Nigel. “But such a refined gentleman as yourself must have many admirers.”
Nigel, clearly flustered but attempting to keep his composure, adjusted his cuffs.
“I… Well, one does try to remain cordial with all manner of acquaintances.”
“Nigel, you don’t have to entertain his flattery.” Isaac frowned.
Nigel turned to him, his polite expression giving way to something more annoyed.
“And why not, Isaac? I don’t see how it concerns you.”
“I just think it’s unwise to trust a man trapped in a mirror.” Isaac stiffened. “Especially when you just met them.”
Nigel let out a sharp, incredulous laugh.
“Oh, that’s why? Not because you’re standing there fuming like a kettle about to boil?” He took a step closer, lowering his voice with irritation. “You have no right to jealousy, Isaac. You left me at the altar, remember?”
The room went silent. Alberta raised an eyebrow. Trevor let out a low whistle.
“Awkward.” Thorfinn muttered.
Isaac’s lips parted slightly, his bravado faltering. He quickly composed himself, straightening his shoulders.
“That is…Well… That is irrelevant to the matter at hand.”
“Of course it is.” Nigel scoffed.
He turned back to Reginald.
“Apologies for the interruption. You were saying?”
Reginald, watching the entire exchange with great amusement, pressed a hand against the glass as though he might reach through.
“Ah, such delicious tension. Perhaps my time in this mirror will not be so dull after all.”
Isaac clenched his jaw. He wanted to say something; anything, but instead, he simply crossed his arms again and glared at the mirror. This was far from over.