Kael, A Familiar Name
1831 Words
I didn’t sleep that night.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw those piercing blue eyes staring at me through the glass. His voice echoed in my mind:
“My name is Kael… I’ve known you far longer than you can imagine.”
Kael.
Why did that name sound so familiar? Like I’d whispered it a thousand times before, in moments too intimate to remember.
By 3 a.m., I gave up on sleep. I grabbed my laptop and started digging: “Kael Salem 1692.” “Male witches executed Salem.” “Salem trials men.”
Most results focused on women—well-documented, infamous. But very few mentioned men. The history felt incomplete, like someone had deliberately erased parts of it.
“Maya?” Jess stirred in her bed, blinking sleepily. “What time is it?”
“Sorry, did I wake you?” I whispered, closing the laptop. “I couldn’t sleep.”
“Nightmares again?”
“Something like that.”
She sat up, concerned. “You’ve been acting weird since yesterday. Did something happen?”
How was I supposed to explain that I’d seen an impossible man in the mirror? That a voice whispered in my head like it knew me better than I knew myself? That I was starting to feel like I was losing my grip?
“Just college stress,” I lied.
The next morning, I avoided every mirror in the dorm. Brushed my teeth staring at the sink. Got dressed without once checking my reflection. If I didn’t look, maybe he wouldn’t appear. Maybe things would go back to normal.
But during Colonial Literature class, I couldn’t stop thinking about him—his old-fashioned clothes, the way he’d said my name like it meant something sacred, the impossible warmth of the mirror.
“Miss Rivera?” My professor’s voice snapped me back. “Would you like to share your thoughts on Anne Bradstreet’s poem?”
I stared at the book open on my desk. No idea what poem we were even reading.
“I… I’m sorry, Professor. Could you repeat the question?”
A few students giggled. My face burned with embarrassment.
After class, I headed straight to the library. If Google wasn’t giving me answers, maybe the university’s archives would.
Salem University’s library was massive—three floors of ancient books, stained glass windows casting rainbow light on the stone walls. Beautiful… and suffocating. The air always felt heavy there. Too heavy.
Maybe because the library was built on execution grounds.
“Can I help you?” The librarian, an older woman with silver hair and sharp eyes, peered at me over her glasses.
“I’m looking for historical records on the Salem witch trials. Specifically… about men who were executed.”
She frowned. “That’s odd. You’re the second person in two days to ask about that.”
My heart skipped. “The second?”
“Yes. A young man came in yesterday asking the same thing. Ethan Blackthorn. You know him?”
I nodded, trying to sound casual. “Yeah. Did he find anything?”
“Not much, unfortunately. Records on male executions are… fragmented.” She led me to an isolated section on the third floor. “You’re welcome to search, but I’ll warn you—there are gaps.”
I spent the next two hours flipping through fragile, yellowed pages. Most were about the women—Bridget Bishop, Sarah Good, Martha Corey. But there were vague references to “male witches” and “devil’s consorts” with no names attached.
Until I found something that froze my blood.
A journal fragment dated October 1692:
“…today I witnessed the execution of the young witch. He cried out a woman’s name until the end—Morrigan, Morrigan—as if in prayer. They say she was his consort, burned two weeks prior. The fire claimed them both, yet I swear I saw their hands touch through the flames…”
Morrigan.
The name hit me deep, like a stone tossed into still water. Memories that weren’t mine bubbled up—dark woods, hands touching, whispered promises of forbidden love.
“Morrigan, my love, find me in the next life…”
The voice echoed so clearly in my head, I looked around to see if someone had spoken. But I was alone.
My vision blurred. I could smell smoke, though nothing was burning. I felt the heat, the screams, the pain in my chest—like I was being burned alive.
“Maya!”
A hand touched my shoulder, snapping me back. I blinked hard, trying to steady my vision.
Ethan stood beside me, his face pale. “You fainted. Are you okay?”
I looked around, dazed. I was on the floor, surrounded by books. The journal page lay beside me.
“I… what happened?”
“I found you passed out. I’ve been trying to wake you for five minutes.” He helped me sit up, his hand warm on my back. “I should call someone.”
“No!” I said quickly. “I’m fine. I just… skipped lunch. Low blood sugar.”
He didn’t seem convinced, but nodded. His eyes fell on the paper next to us.
“You’re researching the trials too?” he asked, picking up the page.
“Why were you researching yesterday?” I shot back.
He hesitated, like weighing what to say. “Curiosity. My family has deep roots in Salem. And you?”
“History assignment,” I lied.
He read the journal piece, brow furrowed. “Morrigan… it’s Celtic. Means ‘phantom queen.’”
A shiver slid down my spine. Phantom queen. Why did that feel like it fit?
“Maya,” Ethan said gently, “can I ask you something weird?”
I nodded, still shaken.
“Have you been dreaming about fire lately?”
My blood turned to ice. “Why do you ask?”
“Because I have. Every night. I see flames, people screaming. And there’s always a woman calling someone’s name.” He stared at me. “Calling Kael.”
The world spun.
“You… you know that name?”
“I shouldn’t,” he said slowly. “But I do. And I have this strange feeling that you do too.”
Before I could answer, Kael’s voice whispered through my mind:
“He knows too much. Be careful, Maya.”
I glanced toward the nearest window. In the glass, just for a second, I saw Kael watching me—his blue eyes serious. Maybe even… jealous?
“Come to me tonight. In the mirror in your room. We have much to talk about.”
“Maya?” Ethan waved a hand in front of my face. “You disappeared again.”
“Sorry,” I murmured, standing. “I have to go.”
“Wait.” He gently grabbed my arm. “Dinner? Maybe we can talk about all this. It feels like we’re both going through something… not normal.”
Part of me wanted to say yes. Ethan was kind, concerned. It felt good not being alone in this.
But Kael’s voice echoed louder:
“Tonight, Maya. Don’t make me wait another three hundred years.”
“Maybe another day,” I told Ethan, pulling away. “Thanks for helping me.”
I walked away quickly, but not before hearing him mutter behind me:
“Three hundred years… why did I say three hundred years?”
That night, I waited until Jess fell asleep before stepping in front of the mirror. My heart thundered, a mix of fear and anticipation tightening in my chest.
“Kael?” I whispered. “Are you there?”
Nothing. Just my nervous, pale reflection.
Then, like ripples in water, the glass shifted.
And he was there.
“Hello, Morrigan,” Kael said, his voice like silk.
The name hit me like lightning. Not Maya. Morrigan.
“That was my name?” I asked, barely audible.
His smile was full of sorrow. “In another life. Another time.”
“And you were…?”
“Caelan Nightshade. But you always called me Kael.”
Tears slid down my cheeks without warning. “We were…?”
“Lovers,” he said softly. “Soulmates. Bound in life and death.”
I pressed my palm to the glass again. The warmth was back—impossible and familiar.
“Did you dream of me last night?” I asked.
Kael placed his palm against mine. “I’ve dreamed of you for three hundred years, my love. Every night. I heard you calling through the flames, promising to find me again.”
I could barely breathe. “We died together.”
“Burned alive for loving beyond the rules of our covens,” he whispered. “But you promised to return.”
“And now I’m here.”
“Now you’re here,” he echoed like a prayer. “But there’s something you need to know. About the boy—Ethan.”
My stomach clenched. “What about him?”
Kael’s eyes turned sharp, dangerous. “He carries the blood of those who killed us. The Blackthorns lit our pyre.”
The world tilted.
“That can’t be true.”
“It is,” Kael said, voice full of pain and fury. “And now he’s getting close to you. Coincidence?” He leaned closer to the glass. “I don’t believe in coincidences. Not when it comes to you.”
I stepped back, thoughts spiraling. Ethan had been so kind. So warm. He was dreaming of Kael too. He was researching the same names.
“What should I do?” I asked.
Kael reached out, like he could touch me through the mirror. “Trust me. Like you always have.”
But something in his eyes made me pause. Jealousy. Possessiveness. A devotion that bordered on obsession.
“Kael,” I asked carefully, “why are you trapped in the mirror?”
His face darkened. “That’s a long story.”
“We have all night.”
He hesitated, then sighed.
“Not every soul finds peace after death, Morrigan. Some stay in between, waiting.” His gaze pierced mine. “I chose to stay. For you.”
“For three hundred years?”
“For a thousand, if I had to.”
It should’ve sounded romantic. But something about it sent a chill down my spine.
“What if I hadn’t come back? What if I was never reborn?”
His eyes gleamed with something darker. “I would’ve found a way to bring you here.”
A different kind of fear crept in.
“Kael…”
“Sleep, my love,” he whispered, voice like a spell. “Dream of me. And tomorrow… we begin again.”
His image started to fade, but his eyes lingered until the very last second.
When the mirror returned to normal, I touched the glass once more.
It was still warm.
- Writer
