The Mirror (A short story)

Broken light from the street lights and the moon descended into the room. No noise could be heard from the room apart from the ticking and clicking of the ceiling fan as it spins at a constant mesmerizing speed. Sometimes a car or a group of people would pass by on the street creating a distant sound, which eventually drifted through my ears and then became only a memory.
Insomnia. Well not being able to sleep can muck around with the way you think. Perceptions distorted. Thoughts rearranged. Things that you normally would overlook become important especially when you can’t stop looking at them. 1

The light falling upon the room in painted streaks of gold and silver creating a dim glow could only be seen after my eyes had adjusted to the dark. I wish they hadn’t. The figure sat on the bed across from me, where my wardrobe used to be. The room became twice as big at night in the dark. Yet I could never tread in that half of the extended room. It was a perfect reflection of the original half. Whilst during the day the reflecting half of the room was a mirror, at night it was it’s own world. A world without reason. Blank, emotionless and destructive. 2

The same light fell through the window in that destructive half. The bed looked exactly the same. The chair, lamp, clock and drawers in the same place just reversed. This meant that the dark figure on the bed was I. A reflection of the person I was in a world that only existed in my mind. In the world everybody knows it would just be a pair of sliding door-sized mirrors. This however was not the case for me. 3

I moved closer to the edge of the bed and the black figure moved in unison. When I reached the edge of my bed I placed my feet firmly on the floor, and the dark figure did the same. Copying my movements as I did everything, every step, every finger movement. It was as if I could control that world that existed in the night.4

I stand up from my bed and the soft carpet finds it’s way between my toes. The dark figure copying my every move. I am sure that I am just worrying about nothing. There is no way that there could possibly be another extension to my room through my closet window. Everything that I do the dark figure does and everything in that room is the same. The dark can play tricks on your mind. It is just a reflection. Nothing more.5

Smiling at the dark figure I feared not too long ago I realise that I was being idiotic. Lifting my right arm I waved at the figure. However the figure isn’t returning the wave. The figure just stands there looking at me. Finding my way back to my bed I continue to look at its blank faceless head. The figure still just stares at me as if it can’t take its eyes away. Still moving back towards my bed my heels hit the bed and I fall backwards onto the bed never taking my eyes off the figure. I continue to move slowly back towards the wall at the top of my bed. I pull my knees up to my chest and I continue to stare at the dark figure that still hasn’t moved. I wipe my face and feel sweat start to form on my hands.6

As I sit here looking at the figure I can feel and hear my hearts pace increasing. I don’t know what I should do. Should I try and run out of the room or should I scream and get my parents to come and get me? I don’t know what to do. The figure starts to move. Slowly walking towards the door in its half of the room hand outstretched and places his hand on the handle. He rattles the handle and I look to my door and see that the handle is rattling. My eyes begin to open wider as I see the lock turn on and then I quickly turn my head to see the dark figure rip the handle off the door. As the door handle was removed in the dark side of my room the door handle flew off the door in my side. Without the handle I will not be able to get out. Thousands of thoughts are going through my head. Should I run? Should I scream? Should I turn the light on? Turn the light on! I try scrambling for the lamp but I miss and fall off the bed. I look back at the figure just in time to see him pull out a butchers knife from under the mattress. Where did he get a knife? I start to pant as I try finding the switch on the cord but can’t seem to find it. My heart starts to race faster and faster. I keep searching for the switch in the dark and then suddenly a sharp pain flies up my left arm.
I go to scream but no sound is released from my lips. I look at my left arm and I see a small cut starting at the top of my wrist and making its way up towards my elbow. I look to the dark figure and he is cutting the top of his forearm with the knife as he stands in the middle of the room looking at me.7

I try to scream again but I can’t. There is no sound. I scream again and again but there is no sound. The cut stops just before my elbow and blood starts to seep out of the wound created by the dark figure. I look at him again as he stares back at me menacingly again even without a face. I once again quickly start looking for the switch. The dark figure begins to move the knife again slowly as I finally find the switch and then I scream again as my fingers from my left hand fall to the floor just before the switch was hit. All I have on my left hand is my thumb. The sharp stinging pain is shooting from the stumps where my fingers used to be. I look at the fingers on the floor and try to scream again in agony. However I still can’t scream and this dark figure has locked me in my own room and is torturing me by torturing himself. I let go of the bloody stumps and try for the switch again with my right hand this time. As I go my fingers bend backwards and break. I again try to scream. The pain is so excruciating. I bring both of my hands to my chest and bring my knees up still bleeding and in pain from the broken fingers and I look at the dark figure again. He is bent over in a position allowing his right hand to be under his foot where he bent his hand to break the fingers. He stands up with dark drops of blood falling from the left hand and bent backwards fingers. 8

As I sit there in pain I look back at the figure in the mirror as it bends over and awkwardly picks up the butchers knife off the floor. I continue to gasp in agony as I try to say “Why, why are you doing this to me” to the dark figure. Seeing the dark figure stand up fully I look at him with tears coming out of my eyes due to the agony and hear him say,
“Because I want to.”
I try to scream again as I see him lift the knife to his throat and slowly but deeply cut his throat. The tear appears in my flesh as he does it and I start to bleed from the deep wound and as the knife slowly tears through my oesophagus I start to gasp and wheeze and I can’t breath properly as I look at the dark figure before I fall to floor.9

As the sun rises into the sky the room fills with light and shines into the open eyes of the boy who lies dead on the floor. Blood has soaked into the carpet and his fingers are missing from his left hand and broken twisted fingers on his right. His throat has been slit and there is the butcher’s knife that created it in his right hand. The time on the clock read 10:42 am as his mother walked into the room and saw his cold, blue tinged body lying on the floor in a poor of his own blood. His face distorted in sheer terror. She looks at him once and screams as she rushes towards him. Shaking the body she continues to scream and cry as her cries die out and she continues but no sound comes out. She tries to cough but she can’t, and she turns to look at the door as it slams shut. She runs to the door and tries to open it but the handle isn’t there anymore. She turns around and looks at the mirror with her sons blood all over her white blouse and sees herself standing in the middle of the room over his body holding the knife and staring maniacally at her. She continues to scream as the evil figure of herself starts to laugh in the reflection with no sounds coming from either of them.