Mirror Mirror

another short horror story

Mirror Mirror

 

Mirrors truly are a wonderful invention. They show you precisely what is behind you, what is on your face, what is in the exact look of your eyes. Accurately, at 100 percent. The only reality completely undisturbed by any filters. Naked truth, every time; all the time. Right until, right until you blink.

***

There is a millisecond between you close your eyes, the stream of information from the optical nerve traveling to your brain and the complete darkness that happens once your eyes are shut.
The millisecond when the reflection in the mirror wavers. From the very, very distance, from the first reflection, from the first imprint of the reality it reflected when created; one shimmer after another, slowly painfully slowly, the reflection discovers its own awareness.  And  a shimmer after shimmer; sluggishly and leisurely closing upon the borders of your consciousness  the shimmer gets closer to the very small line between the reality an make believe; one blink of the eye, one smile, one chuckle, and the Mirror wins.

***

The Old Mirror was passed down in her family for generations. Originally, it was handcrafted by her late great grandfather as an engagement gift for her great grandmother. Together with a little tiny drawer on the bottom for jewelry and trinkets, perfect addition to a vanity table every woman simply had to have back in the days. The wood was old and drawer creaked with every opening. The glass itself was chipped in the upper left corner, but she never got around to replacing it no matter how many times she promised herself she’d get it done. The frame needed to be oiled and repainted, the glass cleaned and polished. “Actually, it would be easier just to chuck the old thing into a bin” she thought to herself. “But, family heirloom and whatnot, might as well use it for make up while watching TV in the mornings”

***

 

 

 “I should not have drank so much, why in the hell have I drank so much?” She buried her head into the pillow as the alarm clocked beeped, unimpressed with the state of her hangover.
She slammed one hand onto a snooze bottom and groaned. “I gotta cut back on the drinking or else my liver with literally turn into stone, my brain into a mush and my lungs will come up my throat as I choke to death, d****t” she mused muttering as she stood up and stumbled into the kitchen.
 One glass of water and aspirin down, she put her hands around the frame of the Mirror and looked onto her reflection.

“Well, you look like s**t” she signed as she tiredly rubbed her eyes. The Mirror shimmered in the answer.

Thirty minutes later she was putting the finishing touches onto her make-up, hair put up into a tight blond bun and eyes framed by decent eye shadows. “Time to go make a living” she smirked and applied her mascara. 

“Son of a b***h!” she yelled out loud as she poked herself in the eye. Couple of blinks and she could not see the mirror glistening, glowing just for a tiny, tiny moment as a faint blue light jumped from the surface into her eye. She blinked few more times as she wiped the extra black line from her cheek. She frown at the strange optic illusion in the Mirror and left for work.

Being a sales rep for a pharmaceutical company must have been one of the most boring work on the surface of earth. Her cubicle, so identical to all the others, her computer at the same spot, keyboard at the same angle , the uncomfortable mouse that gave her cramps never working quite right and the cactus on her desk in the perpetual state of almost death. And as all of her colleges every single day she could not wait to get home. Opening the door
to the apartment, taking of the high heels she hated with passion and letting her hair down,
 that was the definition of heaven every night. Especially today, as something was constantly scratching uncomfortably at the edge of her left eye. Her make-up was gone by noon, and if she could afford to go without her contact lenses, she would toss those as well. Her eye was red with irritation and so was her mood. She slammed her purse onto the kitchen counter and ran towards the Mirror. Her eyes looked slightly blood shot, but otherwise well. She took out the lenses and chucked them to bin, expecting release but the eye continued to itch with no difference. “Damn” she muttered, squeezing her eyes shut. The Mirror hummed.

***

The eye drops helped a little as she readied herself for bed. Lying in the sheets she promised herself to make a doctor’s appointment if the itch persisted by the end of the week. With a sigh, she fell asleep. In the kitchen, the Mirror glowed.

***

The dreams that night haunted her. Her eye kept burning, fire like she has never felt before, and she lay there, motionless, petrified and unable to wake up. The terror felt like being dumped into an icy water; fear surrounding her completely like a suffocating blanket, fear the way children fear the dark; absolute, never-ending, omnipotent. Her breath caught in her throat as she tried to scream, tried to call for help tried to fight the invisible horrors descending upon her mind, not from outside, not from under the bed, not from the shadows in the corner of her room but from within her, from her body , from her face from her EYE.

She woke up with a scream. The dream, the night mare already receding, not leaving a definite memory, only a mere echo of a terror once experienced. She sat up and put her hand onto her heart, still beating like she ran a thousand miles. By the time she shook her head and turned on the night light, her fear was long forgotten.

***

“Mack, are you alright? You look knackered honey. “The sales rep from the cubicle next to her asked.

“yeah, thanks, just slept wrong I guess; you know, one of those days” she laughed. Even to her own ears, the laughed sounded hollow and from far away. She cleared her throat. “Thanks though” she tried to school her face into a pleasant smile but knew it came out more like a grimace.

“Well feel better!” the voice of the woman, a friend, her friend suddenly irritating her and making her want to smash her face into million pieces. Mack took a deep breath, trying to calm herself.

An hour later, her nerves were frazzled like never before. Every noise, every voice, every sound was grating on her. The need to smash something, to take the scissors on her table and plunge them into her phone, into the fax machine beeping in that high pitched tone, into the fat flabby stomach of her boss, to push her nails into his eye sockets until the burst and leak out like a soft boiled egg. Her hands were shaking, she was covert in cold, clammy sweat, her stomach in knots. She slammed her phone into the receiver with unnecessary force. The hum in her head turned into the hum of thousands bees, no other sound penetrating her brain. She reached for the scissors…

“Mackenzie! Goodness, are you feeling alright? You look like you’re coming down with something!” Gregory, her supervisor said as he leaded against her cubicle. She snapped back into a reality with a gasp and turned her eyes on him. Gregory Edwin, late 40ties early 50ties, tie always covered in whatever sauce he had for lunch, overweight with bald spot on his head that he tried to camouflage by using way too much gel. Always wearing those stupid red suspensors, like some sort of big shot from fifties, with sweat spots under his pits .Till this moment, she thought him harmless, maybe a bit socially awkward. One wife, both of them working too hard to put their two kids through expensive private school. Two girls. Their photo stood proud on his desks and he would talk about them nonstop to anyone patient enough to listen. Always bought her chocolate for her birthday. His wife made her cookies that time she was sick.
“I… I’m sorry Greg, I feel like you might be right” she chucked nervously while wiping her clammy hands onto her skirt. “Would you might if I took a personal day?” He must see it. He must be able to see it on my face, what I wanted to do, oh god, he must be able to see it! He took a careful look at her and caught her by her elbow as she rose and stumbled.
“Of course, of course, do you want me to give you a ride home? I don’t mind!” he smiled a concerned smile, letting go of her as she found her legs. This is how he must look at his kids when they are sick. Concerned. Wanting to help. A good man. A face of a good man.
“No, no thank you Greg. I’ll just take a cab. Thanks though!” she hurriedly gathered the few personal items from her desk, stuffed them with no care into her purse and stumbled out of the office door, unaware of the surprised looks she gathered from her coworkers, computer still on; email half written. She leaned against the elevator door and glanced at her hand. She was still clutching the scissors.

 

The cold October wind outside chilled her to the bones, her coat forgotten at the back of her chair in the office, but it also refreshed her and helped to clean her head. She took a deep breath and stuffed the damned scissors into her bag. She walked by the people in the street, all running around with their heads pointed towards the pavement not paying her the slightest attention which suited her just fine. She bought herself a bottle of wine and slowly walked home.

Open the door to the apartment, take of the shoes, let the hair down. The euphoria that normally greeted her upon completing her small ritual did not come. Hands shaking, she walked into the bathroom and washed her face. The black of the mascara created two tiny identical black streams running down her face, joining at her chin and dripping down into the sink. She grabbed a white towel from the rack and dried her face not caring about the make-up smudges left behind as she tossed it into the pile, joining the other dirty laundry.

She sat, numbly watching the TV, sipping on a glass of white. What a horrible day. Why in the name of god would I be so angry? Well, she concluded, everyone is entitled to one of those days.
The wine calmed her down, as she drank it watching some mindless show on. Hours passed one by one, till she realized how late it is. Slowly, she sat the now empty glass down and went to take a shower. As she glanced to the mirror, she saw her eye, bright red veins almost shining in the dark. Friday, I gotta go to the doctor’s then.

***

That night, the dreams crept up on her. Slowly. Just like a tide coming in in a waves. Discomfort first, then the fear. Then, then the paralyses, the limbs no longer answering the brain, the mind screaming for release, the heart trying, trying so hard to jump out of the skin! And then, in the darkness of the dream a shadows take a shape. A shape of a man. Too old, too old to live, too old for the world, too old to be of this time! A memory of the time long .A man, wearing a suit, his skin tight, oh so tight against his bones, his cheeks looking ready to slice through the skin! No muscles, just a half rotten meat, clinging to the bones half in prayer half in damnation. A suit wearing a replica of a human, bloodless lips in a soulless smile with empty eyes. But one of them, one burns with a fire of thousand lost souls, of a souls of unwilling, of unknown, of unfortunate. And it burns so bright.

She screams, loud and echoing in the empty apartment, the sound filled with terror. She screams not for help, but merely to let the fear out, the fear that is holding her very soul in vice, like cold hands of death, like a terror of the souls, like hell coming out of her mouth. She screams, and a bloody tear trickles from her eye. She screams, and the Mirror shivers in excitement.

She is sitting on her bed her head in her hands. The horror of another nightmare slowly trickling away. The memories of a terror disappearing one by one into oblivion. Breathing returning to normal, slowly she lays back down and forgets.

***

Another day. Wake up, shower, breakfast, make-up. The Mirror is strange, somehow showing half of her face in blur. I really need to clean that thing. And oil it. And repaint it. Grandma would really be upset if she saw it now. The Mirror sits. Quietly, creaking with movements, showing the reflection not all that accurately. The left side of her face looks blurred, like she cannot really focus her vision. I do need to make the appointment.

“Hello, this is the doctor McKean’s office can I help you?” the voice on the phone is mechanical. fake. Wrong. Wrong, wrong, so much wrong, no the voice she needs, not the one she wants. She breaths one long calming breath.
“Yes, Mackenzie Green, I need to make an appointment for an eye infection. As soon as possible please”. Her voice is cool. Confident. Even though she is sitting on the floor, her knees pressed to her chest, shivering.
“Would today at two be ok for you?” the mechanical pleasant voice asks. No emotions. No nothing. “I’ll be there”

She hangs up. Breathes slowly out of her nose. Stupid eye. Stupid eye making her nervous, making her lost her cool, making her angry. Some antibiotics and she’ll be fine.

The doctor determines slight irritation and an infection. A cream, to be applied twice a day at the bottom of her eye lid will take care of that. Nothing to worry about. You work on the computer too much, something like this is bound be expected. Try not to use your contact lenses so much, most likely you put the infection there by touching your eye.
He’s right. Stupid infection making her all nervous. She goes home and opens another bottle of wine.

***

The dreams take a shape of a man. Man of no age, looking straight at her. She wants to cover, to cover herself to hide behind anything but his eyes are penetrating.
“I have waited. “

He says it without moving his mouth. Not moving a muscle, no emotion in the voice, no voice at all. His voice is coming from the bottomless pit right into her brain. Her eye pulses.
“I have waited.”

He says without moving a lash. Without a breath, without a gesture. His eyes, emotionless pits, black, as black as black can be, wide and deep as the universe itself. Her eye burns.

“I have waited, but now I am here.”

He says and the ground trembles. The walls, the floor, the stars themselves are quivering, screaming a silent scream, begging to hide, begging to run, and begging to fade into the void. Her eye, her eye bleeds and the Mirror shivers in excitement.

 

And then she wakes up, and then she forgets.

***

 

Wake up, shower, make-up. All is fine, all is good. Put the hair in the bun, put the make up on. The Mirror glistens and she smiles. All is fine. All is good.

Work flies by. She smiles. Flirts with the guy who restocks the fruit machine. Smiles. Smiles. Smiles all around. She smiles. Goes home. Waits.

***

The house is easy, good suburb, no high alarms. She walks in. slowly. The girls are out, teenagers, having fun, movies, discos, kissing. She smiles as she walks to the bedroom. She can smell booze, looks like the adults had a fun night as well. George’s wife is dead to the world as she raises the knife and slowly, almost softly slashes her throat. She wake up. Gargles. Tries to scream. Mack hugs her around the shoulders

“Shhh. It’s alight. It’s all fine, believe me” she smiles as her victims’ eyes slowly lose focus. One, two more coughs and she is gone. She wipes the blood from her shirt and turns onto her boss.

Gregory. Always kind, always nice. Her eye was itching and burning with the need. She took the scissors from her bag and sat on him to enjoy the look in his eye. The weight on his stomach woke him up as he opened his unfocused eyes.
“Mack, what…?” he whispered

As she plunged the scissors right between his ribs. Over and over again, into his body, into his eyes, into his ribs, into his brain, her eye burning, burning so hot so red so much! With every stab she felt lighter, softer and calmer until there was nothing under her but a mass of human flesh.

Slowly, she sat up. Took the scissors, put them in her bag. Washed her face and her hands. Walked home. She took a glass of wine and sat in from of the TV. What a week. What a week.

***

October 23th Husband and wife, Gregory and Nancy Edwin (1966, 1968) found stabbed in their beds by their two daughters at 1:30 am. N. Edwin’s throat has been slashed, no other injuries found. G. Edwin has been stabbed 28 times.  No signs of forced entry.  Daughters were taken in by their families.

October 26^th an employee of G. Edwin; Mackenzie Green has been reported missing. Investigation is taking place.

October 27^th M. Green has been found dead at her home, with no signs of forced entry. Her left eye seems to be burned out. Awaiting for the autopsy report.

***

The Mirror sits on the kitchen counter sits on the kitchen counter, as silent as ever. Just for a second, it sighs a satisfied moan, shimmers and waits.