The Devil's Workshop

VI. Nadir

The urgency fueled the bizarre. People certainly stared at him now, but one couldn't exactly call that a compliment. His muscles barely fit inside his shirt, his lips were so big he could hardly drink, his strength was a constant source of tiresome accidents. The source of the ogling seemed to have shifted from admiration to slight animosity.

He was unique in an unenviable way, yet the more he gazed into the mirror the more the finish line blurred with the horizon's. The constant study of his own image had rendered him immune to it: nobody ever looked at Mr. Lewis' face quite as much as he would, and yet, it seemed as though he were the only one in the settlement who didn't know what he looked like. And so he stared and stared, in case he might forget. But the longer he stared, the faster he'd become used to his ever evolving features, the faster he'd need them to change once more.

He hadn't seen his family in over a month and a half, choosing instead to hole up on a room he'd rent for the lowest amount ever bartered before. He had his bottle charm to thank for.

What exactly went on in that room is left purely to speculation and myth at this point. Most of the stories contradict one another, with details ranging from the mundane to the impossible. But despite the many people who swear to have known someone who'd set foot inside Mr. Lewis' room, perhaps the story that stands out the most is the one from the maid who worked at the inn he would stay at. She apparently would refuse to clean his room after having attempted to on a single occasion. 

One fine morning, Mrs. Roberts claims to have entered with the master key, as was expected of her, and to have been startled by, presumably, a hunched over Mr. Lewis in the dark. She described him as particularly consumed by the mirror before him, but added that the walls of the entire room had been covered by mirrors of different shapes and sizes, with very little light being let in from the window. When he turned to growl at her to leave, she described the eyes as a set of two glowing yellow orbs, and the teeth too many too sharp to be human. This last bit might have been product of the hysteria after the fright, however, for Mr. Lewis had left his room a few other times with nobody describing in such manner.

It was curious that despite having the ability to talk to anyone about anything, that he had become so quiet. His once hearty appetite had been replaced by heavier and heavier drinking; when asked about it, he'd sadly joke that anything else had begun to taste like a fistful of sand. He'd completely stopped playing cards too, in time, either because others were tired of losing against him, or maybe he'd just grown tired of winning.

Days and nights blended together without enough anecdotes to tell them apart from one another. It wasn't until some months had passed that he'd recognized a clear feeling in his chest, even when he no longer knew what to name it.

On an otherwise average day, Mr. Lewis caught sight of his estranged wife and daughters walking around town. He had become accustomed to wandering aimlessly, but on this occasion his steps had regained a lost sense of purpose and direction, even when that purpose had seemed unclear. Before he could think of what it was that he intended to say or ponder on why he felt so compelled to reach for them when he was supposed to wish them gone, he lost them in the crowd, only to find them again when he accidentally turned and watched as his wife fell to the floor when she ran into him.

"Lori, I'm... So sorry." He offered a hand to help her.

"It's my fault." She said politely evading his hand "I should have been more careful, sir."

"Lori, I..."

He tried to breach the distance between them with a step, but he watched in horror as his wife instinctively stepped back and held their daughters closer. The two little blonde heads clutching to Lori's arms were staring at him in what he immediately recognized was fear.