“Don’t be dramatic Caitlyn,” he said softly. Her head popped up. “You know my name?” he smiled sympathetically. “Your brother yelled it upstairs this morning, and your mother alone could’ve woken the dead when she hollered at you not five minutes ago.” Caitlyn blushed.
“So… why me?” He laughed again, making Caitlyn feel more inferior. “Why you? Please. I’ve had little ten year olds, like Jimmy Alexander, who have thought this was a gift!” she shuddered. “Look. Truth is, it’s not YOU . I’m imprisoned here. My parents were rich, and had one child: me. I was spoiled, and terribly vain. When I was supposed to be taking care of sick Mr. Jennings down the street, I decided I would much rather spend hours looking at myself. Needless to say he died, and Widow Jennings was angry. She said some kind of voodoo, and told me that the next time I looked in the mirror would be my last. I went home, and of course, looked in this mirror and here I’ve been for the last 100 or so years. Stuck.” Caitlyn felt so sorry for him.