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11-19-19 11:09 AM

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Reflection
Warning: This is supposed to be horror. Do not read it if you're easily creeped out.
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PokefanKala
12-24-13 01:44 AM
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Uzar
12-24-13 08:46 AM

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Reflection

 

12-24-13 01:44 AM
PokefanKala is Offline
Link | ID: 945753 | 1098 Words

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(Just an attempt at a short horror story, because I've been into writing dark things lately and I watch too much Supernatural. I don't usually write a lot of horror, though, so it's sort of an experiment in the genre. Please tell me what you think!)

Everyone has a reflection, but mine is alive. It always has been; it’s just sneaky. It waits until everybody else in the room has turned around before it stops imitating and mocking me, and gives me a smile that doesn’t reach its eyes, cruel and sinister, stretched so wide its mouth is almost tearing at the corners, but still completely insincere.
Nobody but me has noticed its subtle mistakes when they’re watching, the asynchronous blinking, the odd piece of disheveled hair… It’s not really a reflection, after all, although I’m not certain what it is. Of course, I wouldn’t dare to try to explain to anyone, now that I’m older, for I would be perceived as mad.
I’m not quite sure what to make of my reflection, or what its intentions are. Despite its unsettling, horrible grin, it has never hurt me, or anyone, as far as I know. It’s like a tiger at the zoo, pacing the glass with a predatory fascination that glues my eyes to its form, but unable to reach through its prison to commit any crime, licking its lips nonetheless in hopeful anticipation.
Its mind is sharper than mine, I’m sure. I see it in the eyes. They are narrowed little slits, watching me, playing with my curiosity and icy cold fear. Its eyes are almost the same color that mine are in photographs, but the brown in the mirror is more reddish than my light sepia, the hue of a towering, intimidating sequoia, as if the eyes wish to turn the color of blood. Still, it has not hurt me, only observed.
The thing in the mirror, in every reflective surface, has a life of its own I presume, but how could it have its own life and still stalk me without fail? It’s always there, never late, always watching, always grinning, except when it imitates me, and even then the ghost of its sinister smile haunts its thin red lips. It makes no sound, ever only an image, but nonetheless unnerving in its presence.
I am afraid of mirrors, or any reflection, though I try not to show it. I made my parents remove the windows from my room, the mirror from my bathroom, and anything that shines my face, no, its face back at me. When I had them get rid of a recently given snow globe I’d gotten for Christmas, I watched them carry it out and the thing was my reflection in its surface, staring back at me, grinning more widely than ever, silently laughing a cruel laugh. I didn’t sleep that night.
I try never to look people in the eye, but I simply cannot make friends with people who wear glasses. When I do look into their eyes, even by accident, I am seized by shock and terror, because overlaying their own eyes is my own image, its image, mocking their every word, eyes gleaming with malice, watching. Always watching.
I’m not sure what I can do about such a thing. I’ve read a lot of supernatural horror books and watched all the films, scattered salt in front of the mirrors and stabbed furiously at them with iron and silver and stakes, and thousands of other remedies, but to no avail. Through the shards, its grin only widens and it laughs, also armed with my weapons, stabbing at me even more powerfully than I stab at it. It seems to find these attempts amusing, as if I were a child crying uselessly to my teddy bear for help.
There is always a hint of blood on its hands. I’m not sure whose blood it is. Like I said, I’ve never known the thing to hurt anyone, but the blood is always there, sticky and fresh looking. It’s not enough for the ordinary person to notice, but I do. I always see it there, because I know what to look for. I wonder what it has done, but it only lifts its hands to the glass when I notice, giving no answer but pressing its hands against the surface of the glass, smearing the blood along the side I cannot touch.
Is it a doppelganger, an evil twin, a me from an alternate universe, the devil himself, or something else entirely? I don’t know. I honestly don’t care. I only want it gone. I do sometimes wonder why it is I, of all people, who have to deal with such a thing. I don’t believe I did anything to deserve this, to call it, to be haunted by myself.
A few weeks ago, I found an ancient looking volume of spells, covered so thickly with dust that it almost slipped through my shaking fingers, black-bound, hand-inked, and dangerous. I didn’t understand the descriptions, because they were in Old English, but I looked up mirror in the language of the text, found the word “sunscín,” and searched through the book for it. When I found that little word, I read the spell in front of my parents’ mirror, not concerned with what I was saying in my haste to get rid of my own little nightmare, and the creature watched me in elation, the grin so wide it really did split, and blood filled its teeth. Then, it lifted its hand to my mirror, as if to smear it with blood… and the hand passed through, and grabbed me around the throat.
This is it, I thought, strangely peaceful in my revelation, This is it, I’m going to die, but the thing did not kill me and only stepped the rest of the way through my mirror and cast me aside as it continued through my house. I hit my head hard on my dresser and my world went black.
When I woke, my side of the mirror was as smeared with blood as its hands, covered in strange, supernatural symbols, macabre decorations on my ceilings and walls. The floors of my house and the street outside were scattered with bodies and I let out a horrible, bloodcurdling scream.
The thing had gone. I had no idea where. And then I looked in the mirror…
There it stood. It grinned at me. It still grins at me.
And every so often, it leaves to hunt, leaving me to agonize over the aftermath.


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12-24-13 02:03 AM
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PokefanKala : Cool horrow story . But seriously .. it goes as you ... kills stuff .. then goes back ? If it were so then you'd be locked up .. in jail .. or the nuthouse . Where there are no mirrors .. good for you .  I's like the way you depick everything .. I've always thought of myself with a sinister smile like that ... one like the Joker's . And not being able to make friends hurt .. but when that happens .. you just talk to yourself ... but when you can't even look in the mirror ? Now THAT .. hurts . Well at least she wasn't killed right ... bu with a fate like that ... she'd probably want it .. or he .. I have no idea what the gender is LOLZ 
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12-24-13 02:13 AM
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Mr. Zed : Good point! That's very true. She/he (I think it was a she in my mind? Doesn't really matter though,) would probably get in some serious legal trouble. I guess the thing, whatever it is, must be pretty good at covering its tracks. (You see it you die, probably.)I guess I'm also picturing sort of an apocalypse of mirror monsters. There are probably more, despite the speaker's whining about "Why me?"
Yeah, stories about mirror monsters always freaked me out as a little kid. Reflections are pretty darn inescapable. I think I'd rather die than see the world torn apart around me myself. Of course, I probably would also be thinking up a plan to fight back and defend everyone, unlike this doormat character. XD
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12-24-13 02:23 AM
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PokefanKala : Cool more ? ( it was a girl in my mind too )  And it'd be pretty darn handy if it DID cover its tracks . .. I'd get in way lot trouble .. And I'd actually WANT my reflection to do something different from what I do for once .. I mean .. GOSH .. You're just a one trick pony aren't you reflection ? .. It gets boring ... so if one day it did differ from what is expected I'd be psyched ... but it were evil and hellbent on killing I'd say " Lets hug it out " . And an apocolypse filled with reflections eh .. I smell a story coming on ... wanna help make it ? And If its just a reflection then all it can do is imitate ... its a wanna be . 
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12-24-13 03:30 AM
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Its a really nice concept but it was really event less and most of the story felt like an introduction to me. How ever the vocabulary, use of connection and stuff was good.
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12-24-13 08:46 AM
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Well, that certainly was a creepy story. I thought it was a girl by default too...Weird. Well, someone call the Fringe Department/The Doctor/Anything! We've got a weird, creepy, reflection monster on the loose! Do you think the monster is connected to her mind somehow? Like, it's always looked like that because she was afraid of it, and expected that? And the blood is because she/he had pent up hatred and anger? Kind of a Jekyll and Hyde thing I guess. I don't know, just my theory on it.
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I wonder what the character limit on this thing is.


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