9. Mirror, Mirror

It feels like any other day at work. I’m stuck in my cubicle as usual, typing away, making calls. Nothing special, as usual. It’s still early too, not even lunch yet. One sales call after another; drumming my pen against the wooden surface of my desk, some song I heard on the radio on the way to the office. I’m bored to death, as usual, but it pays my rent and lets me feed my boys, so I guess I can’t complain too much. I dial the next number, pick up the receiver and give the same litany I have given a thousand times before. “Mr. Redman? Hello, this is Myron Thompson with Gateside Insurance. I’ve got a survey here that you filled out which indicates that you might be interested in switching your life insurance provider. Is this still accurate, Mr. Redman? … Fantastic, that’s great news. Mr. Redman, allow me to explain a bit why Gateside Insurance might be exactly what you’re looking for in a lifetime financial partner.”

What a load of bullshit… The same exact words every time. 50 times a day. And they rarely even work. After 5 minutes of back and forth, Mr. Redman is still “unsure” and not yet ready to “commit” to a new insurance provider. Come on, Mr. Redman, this is life insurance we’re talking about, not marriage. Although, like my boss Mr. Malone would say, only one of those is guaranteed to last until death do us part.

Mr. Redman keeps leading me on, getting closer and closer but pulling back right at the last minute. I check my watch. I’m losing time with this idiot… I could have done two more calls instead of arguing with Mr. Indecisive here. I drag my hand down my face. At this point he’s just pissing me off. It’s been ten minutes. What the fuck, man, are you gonna bite or not? I’m about to slam down the receiver, when I suddenly hear a feminine voice yelling through the office. “Myron?” she yells. It’s our receptionist, Pamela. She’s a beautiful lady, black hair, cute face, usually wearing a grey blouse and skirt. She’s incredibly kind and patient, much more than I consider myself to be. I would say she’s one of the few people in this office I genuinely like. “Are you still there, Myron?” Mr. Redman asks from the other side of the line. I want to respond, but then I hear Pamela yell out for me again. “Myron? Could you please hurry to the front desk? Urgent call for you!” I think for one moment. Urgent call? That can only be… I slam down the receiver, cutting off Mr. Redman without a thought, and hurry to the reception. “What’s going on?” I yell as I stumble towards Pamela through our densely populated office space, pushing aside empty chairs and hurdling over small stacks of papers. “It’s your son, Michael,” she yells back. “It seems there’s been some sort of accident.” I can feel my eyes widen, adrenaline pumping through my veins. I sprint towards Pamela and without any hesitation rip the receiver out of her hands. “Michael!” I yell. “What’s going on? Are you guys okay?” I hear sobbing at the other end of the line. Oh shit, I hope they’re not hurt… “Daddy!” Michael cries. “We were playing in the living room and… and Joey… he… he tripped and fell into the mirror. It’s craacked!” I hear Michael bawling his eyes out at the other end of the line. “We’re so soorrryy!” At first, I don’t know what to say. How many times have I told them to be careful when I’m out… “Forget the mirror, is Joey fine?” I ask, trying to remain as calm as I can. Still, my hands are shaking. “He… he has a cut; he’s bleeding. I put a plaster on, I gave him an ice pack, but he says it still hurts! And the mirror, it’s… I know how much it means to you…” “Listen, Michael, listen, don’t worry about that stupid mirror. Everything’s fine, as long as you guys are okay. I’ll come home soon, alright? Take care of Joey, I’ll be right there.” My palms are starting to sweat. “Okay, daddy, please come home soon… It… it’s… I’m scared!” Michael continues to cry into the receiver. It kills me to hear him weep over the phone, even though the situation doesn’t seem to be as bad as he’s making it out to be. “I’m coming, Michael. Don’t worry, daddy’s gonna be home soon. Okay?” “Okay!” Michael cries. “I’ll be home soon!” I say again. Then I hand the receiver back to the startled Pamela. “I’m sorry,” I say. “Family emergency. Please tell Mr. Malone that I had to leave early.” Pamela just nods her head quickly. I give her a slightly crooked smile, grab my coat from the stand and run down the stairs as quickly as I can.

When I finally pull into our street, I park in the first available spot. I choose to disregard the “No parking” signs, I don’t have time for that. I need to see my boys now, I promised my wife that I would take care of them no matter what, and I promised myself that I would never fall short on that promise. I am going to be there for them. I am going to be strong for them. Just as I promised.

I jump out of my car and hurry up the stairs of our apartment building. It’s the kind of building that can’t afford a working elevator, and usually I don’t mind, but today the five floors feel like torture. When I reach our door, I push my keys in quickly, too quickly, they slide to the side once, then twice. I’m panicking again, just like Jane always berated me for. “You have to relax!” she used to say. “The world will keep on turning.” Yeah, she’s right. It will. Somehow, she managed to never let her anxiety get the best of her. I still deeply envy her for that.

Finally, the keys slide into the hole and I can turn them. I breathe deeply, trying to act how Jane would act, composed, cool, in control. I open the door and yell “Hey guys, I’m home!” with the calmest tone I can muster. Their little voices call back immediately; their steps are drumming against the floor as they’re racing towards me. “Daddy, we’re so sorry!” “It was that stupid carpet!” Joey and Michael are both crying, Joey less than Michael, despite having a large cut just above his right eye, covered up by a poorly placed plaster. It’s typical, really, Michael’s always been a lot more emotional than his little brother. “And they’re both special in their own way!” is what my wife used to say. How right she was… I close the door and wrap my arms around the two. “Hey, don’t worry, guys, daddy’s here for you, always.” Joey sniffs and looks up at me: “I’m so sorry, daddy, I didn’t mean to break it.” “It’s fine”, I repeat. “Let me take a look at your cut, I just want to make sure you’re alright.” I pull off the plaster – Joey barely reacts – and take a look at the wound. It’s a cut, and it’s not small, but it’s also nothing serious. I assume it will be completely gone in a few days. Joey’s forehead is still a bit wet and cold, I assume from the ice pack Michael took from the fridge. All in all, the boy seems to be completely fine. Finally, I feel some sense of calm returning.

“I tripped over the stupid carpet,” Joey sniffs again. “I told Michael it’s not so bad, I didn’t want to bother you at work…” he continues. Michael looks a bit ashamed; he’s moved back a few steps as if he had done something wrong. “It’s alright” I reaffirm. “Work was boring anyway.” I smile; Joey giggles a bit. Much better. “And Michael, you did a great job with the plaster and the ice pack. I’m very proud of you!” I put a kiss on Joey’s cold forehead. “I’m very proud of both of you.” I’ll still need to reprimand them at least a little bit for running around in the living room despite me explicitly telling them not to, but for now I’m just really, really happy they’re both okay.

We spend the next few hours talking and laughing and occasionally Michael draws another tear or two. Obviously, he’s still a bit shaken. Summer holidays have always been a bit difficult ever since my wife died. When both of us were working, we used to get a sitter to watch over Michael and Joey, but now I simply can’t afford one. I always try to tell myself that the boys are smart and old enough to be on their own for a couple of hours, but I also knew something like this was bound to happen eventually. To be honest, it could have gone much worse, I don’t even want to think about it. Maybe we do need to change the situation a bit, maybe they are too young to be alone…

I’ll think about that tomorrow. Joey is asking me if he’s going to get an eye patch now because he thinks it will look cool. I tell him that he’s not going to need an eye patch for a cut ABOVE his eye. Joey then asks if he should also get a cut on his left side so it’s at least symmetrical. I don’t even know what to say to that. I just hug and kiss him again. “You’re really quite something” is all I can muster.

The damage to the mirror is a different topic. It has a large crack right through the center, which means it’s basically unusable. Seven years of bad luck await or so… I’ve personally rarely ever used the mirror; I only kept it as a reminder. My wife always wanted me to get rid of it, but I could never quite do it. She called it hideous, but I always liked it. It’s huge, it has an antique touch to it, and it feels expensive, even though we got it dirt-cheap years ago at a garage sale. That was long before Joey or Michael were even a consideration. Sometimes it still reminds me of that time, when everything felt a bit lighter, when we thought we still had an eternity ahead of us… Till death do us part. No, I can’t get rid of it. Cracked or not. I know my wife would beg me to get rid of it; I know it’s selfish. But I’m just not ready to let go.

At night, the boys and I watch some TV. Joey is still wearing his plaster proudly, but it’s barely sticking to his skin anymore, so it just kind of dangles above his right eye. It’s really just an accessory at this point but if he thinks it makes him look tough, so be it. Meanwhile, Michael got himself some popcorn and he’s munching away at it. In fact, the popcorn’s almost gone, and just the unpopped kernels remain, a rather sad sight to be honest. I’m glad I didn’t want any in the first place. In the end, it was refreshing to get to spend the day with the two of them instead of rotting away in that cubicle. Mr. Malone will not be happy about my early departure, but he’s also not completely heartless. I know I’ll be able to make up for it in time. In fact, he’s actually been rather understanding about the whole situation ever since the loss of my wife. I think it hits close to home for him.

Eventually, the movie ends and despite some protest I send the two troublemakers straight to bed. It’s already way past their bedtime… I kiss them both good night as they lie in their Star Wars bedsheets and hug them tightly. Just before I close the door, I reassure them once more that I’ll always be there for them. “I love you, guys. And you were really brave today”, I say before shutting the door for good. My heart feels heavy somehow. I don’t know why. It’s been a tough day.

As I walk back into the living room, I pause right in front of the cracked mirror. The reflection is heavily distorted. I see myself but I look… sad. Maybe that’s just what I look like nowadays. Something about the whole image looks off. Safe to say the mirror is ruined for good. I guess I should really get rid of it tomorrow.

I lie down on the couch for just one second. I stare at the screensaver of the TV, and my thoughts start to spiral but I can feel my eyes getting heavier and heavier. For a moment, I’m considering carrying myself back to my bed, but it just feels too far away. It was all… just a bit too much today. And maybe I can just… have… some rest…

I open my eyes; I’m still on the couch. I can barely see a thing in the darkness of the room. The TV is off now. What time is it? How long did I sleep? Oh god, did I actually fall asleep on the couch again? I look around, trying to find a clock in the barely lit room. It’s completely dark, almost depressingly so. The only light is a weak shine spilling over from the kitchen light that I forgot to turn off. I’m usually not afraid of the dark at all, but I don’t know… Something feels off.

I’m still drowsy, but I manage to push myself off the couch, into an upright position. I look around again. The weak humming of the fridge, the soft buzzing of the kitchen lightbulb. The slow ticking of the clock. It’s all familiar, but it still feels strange. Then, without a warning, the hair on the back of my neck starts to rise, and I feel a cold shiver running down my spine. I know this feeling, it’s more than just imagination or sleepiness, it’s like something is burning away at my skin, this neurotic tingle, this suffocating sensation of being watched. Something is here.

I spiral around the room, trying to find the source of this horrible sensation, trying to figure out what the hell is happening to me, when my eyes land on the large, cracked mirror hanging right in the middle of the living room. And something inside of it stares back at me.

I try my best not to move, not to make a sound, but inside I feel like screaming. Just a few feet away from me, a large, distorted shadow has appeared in the mirror. It is shapeless at first, but it’s morphing, shifting, taking form. It has two dark red spots that look just like eyes, which remain pointed in my direction the entire time. I slowly reach out past the couch and turn on the small standing lamp. It lights up with a faint buzz, illuminating the room with a soft, warm glow. As I get a better picture of the image in the mirror, I realize with horror that this… thing in the mirror is beginning to refine itself, its form looking more and more human, looking more and more like… me. Before I can even react, this shadowy, shapeless blob stares back at me with a face that looks frighteningly like mine. Even its eyes have started to look less red and more human, except for their distinct lack of an iris.

I stare at the display in front of me for a few moments. I don’t know how to react, or what to do. Part of me just wants to grab the boys and run, another part is too scared to even move a muscle. Nothing about this makes sense, this thing in front of me… It feels unreal, almost like a bad dream come true. I breathe slowly, fixatedly staring at the broken mirror. My instinct tells me to run. Maybe into the kitchen, grab a knife, just in case. But what for? I can’t even begin to describe what I’m seeing right in front of my own eyes. Suddenly, my heart jumps as a hand reaches out of the broken glass, and I begin to scream. I stumble backwards, falling over the couch, breaking eye contact for just a second. As I get back up, the creature is crawling out of the mirror, like a spider crawling across its web. It places one foot down on the living room floor, then another, like a burglar entering a house through a smashed window. As the creature stands there just a few feet in front of me, I find it hard to believe what I’m seeing: It’s me, my own reflection, standing outside the mirror. My shoes, my socks, my jeans, my shirt and even my face, barely distinguishable. Except, everything is backwards, from the logo on my shirt, to the buckle of my belt. Small details, but they just add to my confusion. Is this really my reflection that just stepped out of the mirror? I take two steps back, unsure what to expect. As the creature doesn’t react, I turn around, sprint out of the living room and into the kitchen, hoping to find a knife or some form of defense in case this terrifying doppelgänger tries to attack. As I turn back around to the living room, the entity is already standing in the kitchen doorway, blocking my exit, staring at me with cold, emotionless eyes. The bright kitchen light highlights its textured clothes, its uneven skin and even its stubble beard. To any outsider, it would have been almost impossible to tell the two of us apart. But behind its empty stare, I see something else, a spark of violence, a glint of evil unlike anything I’ve ever seen before. My own eyes stare back at me, but they are devoid of any humanity and any mercy.

The reflection approaches with heavy steps, its movements are uncontrolled, as if it didn’t quite understand how to move my body just yet. The kitchen is tiny, narrow; I see no way to get past it. Did I just seal my fate by walking in here? As its long arms reach out for me and twitch in my direction, I slash around wildly with a large bread knife I picked up from the counter. I scream like a madman as I stab and hack, until finally, a blow connects. I hit its left arm, and a strange reflective liquid starts oozing from the wound. The thing draws back its arm and emits a noise that almost sounds like a yelp. Its face is unchanged, but from its reaction I assume that it felt some form of pain. It moves back a little bit, its other hand covering the wound, trying to stop the flow of the metallic liquid. Before it can react, I strike again with all my force in a desperate attempt to eliminate it, stabbing my knife right into its neck. The creature drops to its knees, yelling out, a distorted, unnatural, metallic cry. More liquid oozes from the cut, as it slumps back. I try to stab it again but this time it reacts, quickly, so quickly that it catches me off guard. It grabs the blade of the bread knife with its bare right hand and in one quick movement shatters it, before slumping back down onto the kitchen floor, still crying out in pain. I watch in horror as the metallic liquid slowly flows back towards its body, covering the cuts, healing them within seconds. I cover my mouth with my hand as I scream out in terror.

I want to grab another knife, but maybe this is my only chance to escape from the kitchen. The creature is still hurt, but my time is running out. As the cuts slowly disappear, I hurdle over the convulsing form and run into the living room. I’ve got to get my boys the hell out of here. Just as I step into the hallway, I notice a thin trail of red blood running from the mirror into the hallway, glistening weakly in the light of the living room. Where the hell did that come from? Is there something else in our flat? Is something heading for MY BOYS? My heart begins to pound with the force of a hundred drums, and as I look up, I realize the trail of blood leads right to their bedroom.

I run down the hall and as I try to knock on their door, I find that it’s already opened, the trail leading right up to it, the frame already covered in blood. “MICHAEL! JOEY!” I scream, as I push open the door, praying that against all odds I’ll find my two boys safe inside. The room is dark and quiet, but then I hear something rustling inside and finally I see their two silhouettes standing in the back of the room, shivering. A wave of relief washes over me. “We have to get out, NOW!” I yell as I already hear the creature stomping down the hall. I look behind me as the demonic reflection is dragging its hunched-over body down the hallway, step by step thumping against the wooden floor, a deep, dark growl emanating from its open mouth, its hands pressed against the brick wall for stabilization. Its cold, empty eyes stare at me with hunger. It slowly lifts up its chin, and then it produces something akin to a terrifying, blood-curdling smile. As it comes closer and closer, I quickly jump into Michael and Joey’s room, slamming the door shut behind me and flicking on the light. I press my back against the door trying to keep it closed as the creature outside starts slamming its heavy body against it. “Guys, you need to run towards the window and try to crawl to the fire escape; it’s our only chance. PLEASE, there’s no time, we need to get OUT OF HERE!” I yell again and again but neither Michael nor Joey react, they seem frozen in place. I don’t blame them; I can’t imagine what they’re going through. I’m scared to death myself. I shiver, my hands are shaking, my heart pounds fast, I can barely even think straight, but none of that matters right now. All that matters right now is to make sure that our boys are safe. I promised it.

The reflection outside the room thumps against the door again and again. It’s somehow heavier and stronger than me despite having taken my exact form, but I know I can hold it off a little longer. “Guys, please, there’s no time. I know you’re scared, but you need to be really, really strong right now. If you can reach the fire escape through the window… we will make it out together” Still, no movement. “YOU HAVE TO GO!” I yell, but they’re just staring at me, a shocked expression on their faces, barely moving at all. I stare at Joey, the plaster still dangling just above his left eye, swaying slightly, barely covering his cut. He’s so brave usually, but now he’s just staring at me as the little kid that he is, in his green dino pajamas, his eyes wide with terror. “Guys, I’m begging you, you need to make a run for the window. Do it for me. Do it for your mom!” I scream, but just then, the creature slams itself against the door, and this time it springs open a crack. I try to push it back, but it already shoved its arm through the open slit, frantically flailing around, trying to reach me. “RUN!” I scream again, but Joey and Michael still don’t move one bit. In fact, they’re not even shivering any more. They’re just standing there, quietly, staring at me with cold, dark, emotionless eyes. And then I realize that Joey’s cut is on the wrong side of his head.