Halloween Short Story Contest Winner: Mirror Image

I lie in bed wide awake staring at the ceiling. I couldn’t sleep, at least not like this. I lie completely motionless. I hadn’t moved from this position all night long. I hadn’t even closed my eyes. I could not close them, not for a minute. I had to stay awake.

There have been several strange deaths throughoutthe city. Every time a body has been discovered, a shattered mirror has been found near the sight of the victim. Everyone assumed that a serial killer was wrecking havoc, no matter who it might be, but no one could prove a murderer had done any of the killings. Nobody could be sure where such a murder would strike next, but I had an idea of who the next target might be: it was me that would die next.

I knew something was after me. No one saw the pattern, but I did. I tried to warn everyone of the dreadful news, but no one seemed to listen. I had noticed odd things throughout the week. Things seemed eerie, and I never felt alone. What bothered memost of all was the constant reappearance of mirrors.

They were everywhere. Tuesday I got my hair cut, and the barber held up a mirror for me to see my reflection. It wouldn’t have seemed so strange if the mirror didn’t have a gaping crack across the side. I was at the mall Wednesdayevening, and I noticed a sign in the Ashley’s Furniture store that was advertising mirrors on sale. Yesterday, I won a free pass to a mirror maze outside of town. All these mirrors made me uneasy, and that was why I now lie awake.

I listened for a moment. All I heard was the ticking clock. Each tick sounded farther and farther apart from the last. My heart, however, was pounding rapidly and loudly in my chest. I couldn’t hear over my pulse, and it was killing me.

I sat up in my bed and stared past my headboard. All the recent mirrors wouldn’t bother me so much, but across from my bed stood a tall antique vanity made of old oak wood that had a great oval mirror on top. I presumed it was the oldest piece of furniture in my house.

I stared into the mirror and at my reflection, but something seemed different. My reflection wasn’t right. I squinted and tried to see what seemed so strange, and finally I noticed what was obviously wrong. I was petrified, but staring back was my grinning reflection. My heart stopped, and the clock ticked alone. I wasn’t smiling.

I slowly lied back down in my bed. My eyes stared back up at the ceiling, but something was amiss. It had to do with the mirror. It had decided to stop reflecting me, and I could feel its eyes burning into me through my blankets. My reflection continued to stay sitting up in bed watching me even though I no longer was. The unnatural made me feel uneasy.

I told myself to ignore it, and to not sit back up. That would only evoke more fear. I tried to think of other things like my time at college for the past couple months, but whatever I thought about was only interrupted by my reflection. I could still feel its eyes, and I couldn’t stand it.

I sprung up from my bed, and shouted at the mirror: “What do you want from me?” I pleaded. I should have never asked. I should have stayed in my bed, because I wasn’t expecting an answer. Rules of logic no longer applied here.

My reflection just smiled sinisterly. It didn’t say anything, but it stared at me grinning with absolute pleasure. It was laughing at me now. I couldn’t hear it, but I could see it laughing.

I shifted to confront the mirror. I had to stay strong. I might be able to fight back somehow. I ran to my closet on the right side of the room. My reflection stayed where it was, laughing even harder now, like it had finally pulled me into its clutches. There was something in my closet I needed. I prayed that what I was searching for might still be there.

I pulled out a revolver from one of the top shelves, and pointed it at the mirror. My reflection had stopped laughing, but still had that sly smile on its face. I noticed my reflection held a revolver by its side. It was the same pistol as mine.

I stepped closer to the mirror, and looked my reflection in the eye. I aimed the pistol at its head. My reflection stopped smiling, and we stared each other in the eye.He stared, daring me to make the first move. I had the gun aimed and ready for anything that would go wrong.

My reflection wasn’t doing anything. We stared at each other for several minutes. It was so long, I thought it was finally mimicking me again. I was reminded that it couldn’t be copying me because it didn’t have a gun aimed at my face.

Suddenly, the mirror started to move. My reflection shifted back and forth, morphing and changing shape. The reflection was being molded. Its face was being melted like wax. I couldn’t watch. I wanted to look away, but I couldn’t. I was watching myself melt.

Then the face materialized again, but it wasn’t my face. It was a strange face I didn’t recognize. It was horrifying to see someone else’s face on my body. I was pouring sweat, and the gun in my hand began to shake.

My reflection shifted into another stranger, and then another. It morphed into another and another, shifting faster and faster. Sweat beaded on my face, and the revolver shook even harder in my hands. I couldn’t stop watching. If I looked away, I would be killed. I wasn’t about to let that happen.

Just when I thought I couldn’t take any more, the mirror stopped. My reflection was back. It wasn’t smiling anymore, and the gun was pointed at my head. My face had returned. I couldn’t be relieved, however. I looked deep into my eyes. I looked horrible. The look on my face was one of absolute horror. My entire body was trembling, and the gun in my hand must weigh a ton. I looked like a demented man, someone who deserved to be confined in a prison cell. The more I studied, the more I thought my face was unrecognizable. It was my face, but I looked like a complete stranger. It couldn’t be my face at all. It was a trick.

I cried out with anger, and pulled the trigger. I heard the gunshot echo, but time moved slowly. The bullet slowly eased towards the mirror. Inch by inch, it flew towards my unnatural reflection. The bullet and its reflection met in the middle, and the mirror shattered. Glass flew in all directions, but there was something else.

A bullet had penetrated the mirror, but it wasn’t just one. It was a mirror, and what you did to one side had to be done on the other. My reflection had made me believe this rule could be ignored; I let my reflection change what I believed.

As the bullet leisurely made its way towards me, I realized the mirror had manipulated me. I thought I had outsmarted it, but it had outsmarted me. The bullet made impact and all I can remember was my reflection laughing at me.

What happens on one side of a mirror must happen on the other.

-Dylan Crigger