The Vanishing of Veronica Vale

Felix Wade had always hated goodbyes. But he hated reunions even more. His rental car groaned as it rounded the last bend into Duskhaven, Maine - a town that hadn't changed in twenty years. Maybe longer. The same fog-caked trees loomed on either side of the road. The same crooked welcome sign leaned just outside city limits, half-covered in moss: *WELCOME TO DUSKHAVEN - WHERE THE LIGHTHOUSE NEVER SLEEPS.* It was the sort of phrase that meant absolutely nothing and still managed to sound vaguely threatening. Felix slowed as the town's central street came into view.

Coffee shops, antique stores, a general store with two rocking chairs out front - one broken, one suspiciously wet. He pulled into a gravel lot behind the local café-slash-bookstore-slash-conspiracy-hub, *Bean There, Conjured That*. He sat for a moment, engine off, staring at the fog. He hadn't been back in over a decade. And now he was here... for a wedding. Worse, *her* wedding. He stepped out of the car and immediately regretted not packing a better coat. Autumn here wasn't playful; it clung to your bones. His sneakers squelched in mud as he pulled a suitcase from the trunk and walked straight into the warmth of the café. The bell jingled. Then clanged. Then shrieked - someone had modified it to sound like a goat. "Felix freaking Wade," came a voice from behind the counter, thick with delight. "The only man who once claimed *Batman is overrated* and lived." Felix grinned despite himself. "Hey, Gus." The man who emerged wore a brown apron dusted with cinnamon and coffee grounds. He looked like a lumberjack who'd accidentally become a barista and liked it too much to stop. His red beard was thicker than Felix remembered. "Still bitter," Gus said, dragging Felix into a hug. "Still broke?" "Painfully." "Still avoiding therapy?" "Equally painful." They laughed. Gus poured him a free coffee. It tasted like nutmeg and secrets. "You're bunking at Madam Elira's, right?" Gus asked. "She's expecting you. Told me to tell you the mirrors in your room aren't for 'psychic reflection' and *not* to touch them during storms." Felix blinked. "Still eccentric?" "She stopped charging rent in coins last year. Big win." Felix sipped again. "And Veronica?" Gus's expression shifted - only slightly, but enough. "She's... good. Gorgeous as ever. Nervous, I think. She wrote her own monologue for the second act of the play tonight." "The play?" "It's the rehearsal dinner slash community theater gala. It's... very Duskhaven." Felix set his coffee down. "And she's performing the night before her wedding?" "It's Veronica. You know she likes a stage." He did. Too well. --- Madam Elira's guesthouse was nestled behind a crooked iron gate and a twisted oak tree that looked like it was trying to run away. The house itself was a Victorian monstrosity covered in ivy and wind chimes made of mismatched forks. Elira greeted him barefoot on the porch, wearing six scarves and what looked like a lampshade as a hat. "Mr. Wade," she said, bowing slightly. "The mirrors have been warned about you." "Good," Felix replied. "They've always been judgmental." She handed him a brass key with a raven etched into it and whispered, "Do not open the third drawer in the dresser. It *bites.*" He stared at her. She stared back. Then she turned and vanished into the mist like she'd never existed. The inside of his room was surprisingly clean, albeit full of oddities: wind-up clocks, antique toys, and three large mirrors - one of which *definitely* had fog inside the glass. Felix sat on the bed and exhaled. He was here for one weekend. He could survive that. Even if Veronica was marrying someone else. Even if he hadn't seen her since they were twenty. Even if- The mirror behind him flickered. He turned. Nothing. Just his reflection. Slouched. Tired. A man who used to write comic books and now mostly wrote grocery lists. --- The Duskhaven Community Theater looked like it had been built by someone who'd only heard *vaguely* how theaters worked. The seats were mismatched. The ceiling sagged. But the crowd was buzzing with small-town energy and the excitement of gossip. Felix found his seat in the third row, clutching a program that read: **"Tomorrow's Bride, Tonight's Star: Veronica Vale in 'Mirror, Mirror' - A One-Act Tragedy."** He winced. Then the lights dimmed. The play began with a monologue - a young woman reflecting on love, masks, and mirrors that never showed the whole truth. The actress wasn't Veronica. Veronica entered in the second scene. And for a moment - just a second - everything else faded. She stood under a lone spotlight, wearing a crimson dress. Her red hair was tied back, her green eyes sharp and unreadable. Her voice was steady, confident, beautiful. The same as he remembered, and nothing like it at all. Then came the final act. She stood alone. Spoke of identity, of being watched. Then she turned toward a full-length mirror placed center stage. > "And when I looked into the glass," she said, voice rising, "I saw *someone else.*" The lights flickered. The mirror glowed faintly. Veronica stepped toward it. A sound - *like glass sighing* - echoed through the theater. Then she was gone. No trap door. No smoke. Gone. The audience erupted in confusion. Someone shouted, "Is this part of the show?!" The director stumbled onstage. "Lights! Lights!" But she didn't reappear. Veronica Vale had vanished. --- Felix didn't remember leaving the theater. His body moved on autopilot, half-walking, half-running toward backstage. Police were already arriving. He showed his ID, claimed he was press - old habits die hard - and slipped into the dressing room hallway. Everything was in chaos. Makeup spilled. Costumes flung aside. No blood. No broken glass. But something felt wrong. He looked toward the mirror she'd approached. It was cracked - just slightly - and its reflection didn't match the room. In the glass, a figure stood in the corner - watching him. He turned. No one there. He looked back at the mirror. Now it showed only himself. And then - behind him - a whisper. Low. Cold. Female. > "You saw it too." Felix spun. Nothing. A note was on the vanity. **"Don't trust mirrors."** His heart hammered. He grabbed it and stuffed it into his coat. Somewhere, sirens wailed. And above it all, the town's ancient lighthouse blinked once... twice... and held. As if watching. As if *waiting.*