The paint was black and peeling, and it had a piece of broken mirror up in the corner. This was not our cupboard. I called out to my wife to come have a look at it.

“Was this here in the house already?”

“No”, she replied. “This place was completely empty. And the truck was empty too.”

We looked at each other, puzzled. A random cupboard showing up among our things? How strangely mysterious.

I opened it up, and it looked pretty normal. Dusty shelves, also painted black. I was about to close it when the light reflection highlighted something at the back. Some text.

I turned on my phone flashlight against the back. Written in a scrawled, probably 5-year-old child’s handwriting:

“daddy harry please dont move into this house please daddy dont please dont”

A chill ran down my back. My name was Harry. But we did not have any children. I looked at my wife looking at me expectantly, but for some strange reason, I decided not to tell her about the writing.

She laughed a small laugh and turned away. As she walked away, I felt a twinge of anger. The first time, probably in my life that I had felt anger towards her in my life.

I slowly left the room, and glanced again back at the cupboard. I startled, because in that small, dangling broken mirror piece I saw a reflection of a face that was mine, but also not mine. A big, unruly beard, creased brows, and so much rage in the eyes.

Then it disappeared and it was back to my normal face. I left, stomping angrily at these strange things disturbing my first day in our new home.