We storied ourselves in memories and junk.  Rachael had barely said two words to the child who sat the whole time in a corner of the den, whispering to a rag doll with a portly face, and Phil had only nodded hello.  Nevertheless, Rachael stuffed a sweater, obviously too small for the seven year old, into a leather case she had purchased specifically for Melissa's clothes, then walked to the child's side.  Squatting, she said, "How are you, honey?"

     Melissa did not look to her but, pulling the arm of the doll, said in a sing-song voice, "I am just fine, thank you very much.  And how are you today, Rebecca?"

      "I'm your aunt Rachael," the woman said, "Do you remember me?"  When the child did not respond, Rachael tried, "When we visited three years ago, you were only four years old.  But we went to the mall together.  Just you and I and your mother.  Do you remember that, dear?  I think that was when we bought you that doll you are holding."

     Melissa stopped twiddling Rebecca's clothes and arms.  She held the doll at arms length, studying its features.  Then she said, "Rebecca is the most precious child in the whole wide world."

      "Probably shock," Phil told her when she was by his side, "Be over in a few hours."

      "She must think we are the most horrid people in the world."

      "She will be all right.  She has nothing to worry about."

      Perhaps, Rachael thought.

      "Okay, everybody," Phil announced suddenly, "Ready to go."

      Melissa stood obedient to his words.  She had no idea where they were going.  The question had not yet been discussed.  Yet Melissa did not seem concerned that her mother and father were not here to go with her.  She looked around the room and, locating a small oval mirror sitting on a silver tripod stand, pointed to it.

      "What is it, honey," Rachael asked.

      Melissa simply pointed.

      "The movers will pick up the rest of the furniture," Rachael told her, as if that explained every unasked question the child might have asked.  But Melissa stamped her foot and jabbed in the direction of the mirror.

      "C'mon; let's go," Phil said impatiently.

      Rachael reached for Melissa's hand, saying, "It's time to go, dear.  We are driving to Detroit tonight.  We will arrive very, very late.  And when you wake up in the morning, you will be in a wonderfully comfortable bed."

      It was eight at night.  Rachael hoped the words 'wonderful' and 'comfortable' and 'bed' would entice the child to leave with them.  Melissa, however, turned her face to the corner, folded her arms, and pouted.

      "What is it, honey?  You can talk to me, you know."

      "Get the kid, and let's go," Phil demanded.

      Rachael tugged Melissa's elbow.  "We've got to go, Melissa."

      Melissa, hearing her name, turned and in the sweetest voice you might hope to hear in your lifetime, said, "Aunt Rachael, I must have the mirror.  I must take the mirror in the car with me.  You don't mind, do you, Aunt Rachael?"

      Rachael smiled, not so much amused as relieved.  "Certainly you may, honey."

      With mirror in hand, Melissa was directed to the rear seat of the Cougar, where she snuggled up against the door and was soon asleep.  Phil drove silently through the twisty roads, down the narrow expressway, and over the bridge to the highway.  Just out of the city limits, he told Rachael that Melissa should sit home the next week and, after Christmas break, they would register her in public school.  The remainder of the trip was spent in silence.

      The next morning, Melissa was standing on the side of the bed where Rachael slept.  She did not touch her aunt, nor did she say anything.  There was no telling how long she stood silently staring at the back of Rachael's head.  Rachael turned with a start, sat up and asked her what was wrong.  Melissa said, "Where is my mirror?"

      Rachael twisted and arched her back to see the digital radio clock.  "Honey, it's six in the morning.  Why don't you go back to sleep and I'll get it for you in the morning,  Okay?"

      Melissa left the bedroom without a word.  When she woke the next morning, she was told she had been installed in her great grandfather's room, the one she had never met.  Melissa sat up in bed and eyed the dog sitting on an oak rocking chair.

      "That was your great grandfather's favorite rocking chair.  He uses to love rocking in that chair and watching the sun set out his widow.  The little animal is 'Pookie.'  When great grandpa died eleven years ago, my own daughter, do you remember Audrey?; she put Pookie in that chair so that grandpa could look down from heaven and not feel so alone.  Pookie has been keeping grandpa's chair warm ever since.  Audrey was just about your age at the time.  Only she was eight."

      The explanation meant nothing to Melissa.  She glared at Pookie and asked, "Where's my mirror."

      Rachael reached into the side pocket of a small travel bag which was laid behind the door.  The collapsed mirror was removed from the pocket and offered to Melissa.  The girl jumped from bed and lunged to get her hands on the object.  Rachael reached out to steady her balance.  Safely in her hands, Melissa hugged the mirror to her chest and said, "Thank you."

      So polite, thought Rachael.  When she wants to be.  "I'm cooking breakfast right now.  Why don't you get dressed and come on down stairs to the kitchen?"

     Melissa looked at her with large ceramic blue eyes.  She almost seemed to nod agreement.  Rachel smiles her concerned as she lifted the leather suitcase onto the bed.  She unhooked the latches and lifted the top of the baggage to reveal Melissa's clothes.        "Choose anything you want, dear.  We will spend most of today indoors.  I have some work I must get finished.  You can help me run the printer, if you want.  Just some reports I told the office I'd try to get accomplished before the first of the year.  They just need to be printed out."

      Melissa looked concerned.  Rachael thought she was asking for an explanation, so said, "I know you probably think I ought not to work for the next few days.  I hope you don't think I'm unconcerned.  I loved Fred dearly.  But I started this project before...  Before!  The reports are in the word processor, and just need to be mail off, that's all.  It's nothing major, really.  If you don't want to help, that's fine too."

      Rachael was so uneasy that she ended by saying she would see Melissa downstairs and left abruptly.  Phil had left for work hours ago, so Rachael puttered around straightening books, shuffling papers, stalling until Melissa came down for breakfast.  She took the longest time to arrive and, when she did, her costume was outlandish.  A faded yellow blouse with purple blotches was worn atop a pair of running tights which looked like an ornate garden which might grow around the castle of Windsor.  Either, or, thought Rachael.

      "Do you like eggs?  Or cereal?"

       Melissa said, "Either one," which was so close to what Rachael had just been thinking that she blushed.

      "Eggs," she announced, "They'll be ready in a minute.

      After breakfast, Rachael took Melissa back to the room to change her clothes.  Even if they were going to stay indoors all day, there was only so much a person might be expected to endure.  She noticed immediately that Pookie was not sitting on the rocking chair.  She blushed with annoyance.        "Where is Pookie?"

      "I don't know," Melissa said.

      Rachael was not sure she believed the child, but did not pursue the matter.  She looked at the floor, but Pookie was not there.  She took two large piles of clothing from the leather suitcase and placed them on the bed, leaning over very far to see if the animal was on the other side of the bed.  Hanging up the girls' jacket in the closet, she inspected the shelf and the bottom.  She shook her head and shrugged.  It'll turn up.

      Melissa was morose most of the morning.  Rachael walked past her several times without speaking, just to be sure the girl was alive.  After lunch, Melissa resumed her place in the family room, but all afternoon the coloring book and crayons she kept for Audrey's own little Judith to scribble in was untouched.  Melissa was looking repeatedly through the 1972 Life Magazine Year in Pictures.  Rachael made several trips through the family room to make sure the child was still breathing.  She said such things as, "Nice pictures, huh?" or "Would you like to go outside and play?" or "If you want a snack, just let me know, okay?"  She was greeted with responses such as, "Uh huh," and "No.  We'll stay in today," and "Okay."

      Late in the afternoon, Rachael entered the room once again and Melissa, looking away from the magazine for the first time, noticed the shelves on the wall which held miniature figurines.  She walked to the shelf and looked curiously at the animal figures.           "Those were made by my grandmother," Rachael told her.  "She was quite an artist.  She painted most of the pictures we have in this house, and she made these animals by blowing glass."

      Melissa reached for the figures.  Rachael started to tell her not to touch them, but thought better of it.  "Please be careful," was all she said.  In seconds, Melissa had them all standing over the magazine advertisement for Marlboro cigarettes.  Three wild horses were thrashing through the snow.  Behind them was a snow covered mountain with green shrubbery peaking through.  To the right was a brown mountain with black images which must have been bushes.  At the base of the White Mountain, and in front of the brown mountain was a man on a horse whose legs had disappeared in the scurry of snow.  Melissa laid a thick walrus over the Surgeon General's warning.  She covered the front mountain with a translucent giraffe, a nearly invisible deer, a briny elephant and a nearly transparent set of monkeys.  She held onto the glass horse with the broken leg.        Two hours later, Phil was home, dinner was ready, the  table set and the two adults were waiting for Melissa after having called her three or four times.  She wondered into the dining room clutching the glass horse.          "May I keep this horse in my room?" she asked.

      Rachael was reluctant to answer, but Phil said of course she could.  After dinner she went directly to her room.  Rachael tucked her in bed, then went to clean the mess in the family room.  To her surprise, the glass figurines were neatly placed on the shelf exactly where they had been before Melissa started playing with them.

      Rachael had to wake Melissa the next morning.  As she did so, she noticed something was odd, but could not place her finger on it.

      "Time to get up, honey."  Rachael shook her gently, but she did not move.  "Do you want breakfast, dear?"  No movement.  "Melissa," she crooned.  Then Melissa sat up in bad, smiling.

      "Oh, what a wonderful smile.  What a great way to begin the day," Rachael said, "Now let's get dressed.  Here, I've picked out some clothes for you."

      Rachael placed the items she had selected at the foot of the bed.  Then she noticed the picture of her grandfather in his over sized straw hat was not on the dresser opposite the door where it should have been.

      "Melissa, have you see the picture of great grandpa?"

      "It is in the mirror," the child said.

      "No, honey.  I mean, have you seen the picture."

      Melissa said nothing.  She stared at Rachael with her eyes wide.

      "Melissa?"

      "The picture was sucked into the mirror."

      Rachael looked confused, but dropped the subject.  She told Melissa to get dressed and that she would cook breakfast.  Instead, however, she went outside and looked in the bushes below Melissa's window.  She poked around for several minutes, but found neither the picture nor Pookie.

      After breakfast, Rachael led Melissa four houses up the street and introduced her to Mrs. Mallory and Cindy Mallory.

      "Why, you will make a wonderful little playmate for my little Cindy, honey.  You're just the same age, you know?  Would you like to stay this morning and play, and then have lunch with us?"

      Melissa nodded at Cindy's purple and orange My Little Pony.  The two girls were shuffled into another room and Rachael, after conversing for several minutes, went home.  Not fifteen minutes later, Melissa was in the kitchen with her.

      "Is everything okay, honey."

      She looked fine, but offered no explanation.

      "Melissa, are you all right?"

      "Yes, Aunt Rachael.  I just got tired of playing, so I came home."

      "Well, you weren't up there very long, where you?"

      Melissa shook her head no and ran into the other room.  Rachael was busy with the Upton Report, so did not pursue the matter further.  She heard the sound of glass rubbing on glass and said to herself, That damn child better not break those animals.

      Damn child?  Where did that come from?  Rachael was aggravated. For no reason, she told herself.  She would call Mrs. Mallory later in the afternoon to make sure everything was all  right.  She visualized Melissa pulling a purple leg of the My Little Pony until it snapped off in a storm of fabric.  No, Mrs. Mallory was the type who would have called by now to complain.  She probably didn't even know Melissa had left.  She wouldn't know until lunch time when she reclaimed her rights as the mother of that brat Cindy.

      Melissa's afternoon was spent much like the day before.  Various animals, but not the horse with the broken leg, were carefully arranged over a picture of children running in terror.  They boy at the center of the photo was naked, and they were being pursued by soldiers.  The title of the page, "The war and Kim Phuc - memories masked by a smile," each had an animal standing on the word.  A misshapen aardvark was standing on one of the soldiers faces.         Melissa fell asleep on the carpet just before dinner.  Phil carried her up to bed, telling Rachael that sleep was more important for a growing child than dinner.  They ate in silence.

      The next morning,  Rachael crept into Melissa's room to remove the luggage stored in her closet.  Phil was going to Chicago for a conference.  When she discovered the bags were not there, she said, "Melissa, where are the cases which were in the closet?"

      Melissa sat up.  "I took them out of the closet.  I'm sorry."

      "That's okay, honey.  But where are they?"

      "I took them out and forgot to put them back."

      "Don't worry, Melissa.  Just tell me where they are."

      Melissa's eyes seemed to grow larger and more brilliantly blue.  She hesitated, but finally said, "The mirror ate them."

      "The mirror..."

      "...ate them," she finished the thought of the woman.

      "What do you mean, 'the mirror ate them'?"

      Melissa repeated her statement slowly.  The Mirror Ate Them.

      Rachael blurted out, "How come the mirror keeps eating my things and never eats your things?"

      "I never put my stiff in front of the mirror," the child said kindly.   Then Rachael noticed all of Melissa's clothing was wedged between the wall and the floor between the dresser and the window.  The glass horse had been gently laid on to of a neatly folded pair of dirty underwear.  The rest of her clothing had been stuffed as close to the wall as possible.        "These must be put in the dresser," Rachael shouted and, as she bent to pick the socks and T-shirts, jeans and shirts from the floor, was halted by a heart rendering scream.

      "My God," she said in a panic as she ran to Melissa's side, "Are you all right?"

      Melissa, calm as could be, said, "Yes, but I do not want my stuff put into the dresser."

      Rachael knit her eye brows into a frown, cocked her head to the said and asked why not.  Melissa pointed to the full length mirror behind the door and said, "Because I do not trust that."

      "That?  The mirror.  What can a mirror possible..."

      She did not finish her question, but Melissa tendered a kind of response.

      "You never know what the mirror will do.  If I accidentally leave my dresser drawers open, you never know.  You never know!  I tend to forget things, you know.  The only reason the mirror does not suck the dresser in is because it recognizes the dresser as it home.  It sits on it.  If it sucked the dresser in, where would it sit?  Where would it sit, Aunt Rachael."

      That night, before he left, Rachael asked Phil if she were too concerned about possessions.

      "I don't see how you can ask that question."

      Rachael tried to explain how upset she was because of Pookie, the picture and the luggage disappearing.

      "Nothing disappears," Phil told her, "Melissa is probably testing our endurance.  She's hid them somewhere; that's all there is to it.  They'll turn up.  Everything missing always turns up."

      Rachael then told him about her clothing and her assertions that the mirror was eating things.  She was told "mirrors do not eat things.  They have no digestive system," and that she "ought not to worry about the pranks of a seven year old."

      "These are more than pranks," she said, "They are  signs of something like a mental collapse."

      "Nonsense.  Seven year old children do not have nervous break downs."

      "But do you think we ought to take her to see someone; you know, a psychologist."

      "We can discuss this when I get back," Phil said, "Until then, just spend some time with her.  You remember what it's like to be a parent.  Get into things she's into.  Do things she likes doing.  You have to enter her world in order to get her to trust you.  Just spend some time with her and she'll snap right out of it.  And above all," he kissed her cheek, "Don't worry."

      When he was gone, Rachael slipped silently into Melissa's room.  She noticed immediately that her grandfather's rocking chair was missing.  She felt the muscles of her arms stiffen as a red rage entered the veins of her neck.  She clenched.  She counted to ten slowly, then tip-toed next to the bed.  Taking a deep breath, Rachael tilted the mirror toward the frail child whose only evidence of life was a gentle snore, overcoming a new smile.