Free Satan's Mirror by Roxanne Smolen

blue.
    She paused. Behind her, several car doors slammed.
    “Trespassing, Ms. Goodman?” a man said. “Looks like you’re under arrest.”
    “Yes. Yes,” she hissed. “Arrest me.”
    Emily stood with her muscles cramped and uncooperative. She kept her back against the fence and her gaze upon the porch. Just inside, the darkness stirred. A hulking shape. Growing light outlined the doorway.
    Terror rippled through her like an electric current. She lifted a deadened arm. “Something’s in the house.” She pointed.
    The light brightened. It speared the porch. Behind it, a shadowy figure emerged.
    “All clear,” called the policeman, waving his flashlight.
    “Good,” said the officer behind her. “Smith, get the bolt cutters. Let’s get her out of there.”
    * * * *
    Emily sat wrapped in a blanket beside a desk in the police station. She shook as if she’d been doused in ice water. Three policemen hovered over her. She ignored them. Instead, she focused on Officer Harris, who smiled as he handed her a paper cup filled with hot coffee.
    “Normally, we don’t file a missing persons report for forty-eight hours,” Harris told her. “But that doesn’t mean we won’t watch for him.”
    “Lucky for you we’re incapable of running a proper investigation,” said one of the officers—the older man who had given her a parking ticket. “Otherwise we would cite you for filing a false report.”
    “What are you talking about?” she asked through chattering teeth.
    He leaned close behind her, his breath on her ear. “I’m saying this is a police department with work to do. We don’t have time to lend credence to one of your publicity stunts.”
    “Stunt!” she cried, twisting about and sloshing coffee over her fingers.
    “We have real disappearances to solve with real families waiting for answers, and you come down here and take advantage of their fear and pain to further a TV show.”
    “Got it,” a female officer called, curtailing his tirade.
    The woman sat behind a computer, downloading the images Emily captured with Dan’s camera. Emily had offered the use of her laptop, which would have made the process easier, but although they confiscated her computer, they refused to use it.
    At the woman’s call, the other police officers gathered around. Emily saw the screen clearly, although from a distance. It showed a dark image barely recognizable as a porch and an open door. Although Emily had used the camera’s flash, she realized now she had been sitting too far away. The light barely illuminated the wooden steps.
    The female officer flipped through picture after picture, and then halted. “What’s that?”
    Emily edged forward in her seat, leaning to see around the backsides surrounding the desk. The screen showed a faint silhouette in the doorway.
    She gasped, heart racing. It had been real—someone, something had followed her.
    The woman forwarded to the next image and zoomed in upon the figure. The older policeman said snidely, “Could that be our missing cameraman?”
    “Joey,” Emily murmured.
    “What did you say?”
    “Vanessa’s boyfriend. We followed him.”
    “Vanessa has no boyfriend,” Harris said.
    “Sure she has,” said Emily. “The love of her life. Tall guy. Lots of tattoos.”
    “Joey Mastrianni,” said the old cop, snapping his fingers. “Yeah, I remember him. Weird kid. Had his whole body tattooed. He and Vanessa were inseparable when they were in school.”
    “Then you know him?” said Harris.
    “Knew him, more like it. He up and left town a good twenty years ago. I haven’t heard that he’s back.”
    “Definitely someone there,” said the woman. She flipped through the photographs, each depicting the dark shadow. Its shape became clearer as it stood away from the doorframe. Then one image showed the figure with glowing yellow eyes.
    Emily jumped, crushing her cup. Hot coffee scalded her hand and soaked the blanket. She yelped, but no one noticed.
    “What the