Send us Fan Mail A mirror that moves before you do is creepy. A mirror that smiles first is worse. I open up about four true experiences I’ve rarely shared: the Bloomfield basement lined with twenty tiny rooms and floor-to-ceiling mirrors, a soft-spoken janitor in a shuttered school who didn’t realize he’d stayed on, a Devil’s Night at Eloise that lured me down a sunlit hallway that wasn’t lit at all, and a stretch of boulevard by our house where cars break down, figures vanish, and a guitar ...