Eyes in the Dark

The first time I noticed it, I was eight years old. It was a reflection of someone else, not myself, a grim smile nothing like my own. It was probably a nightmare,’ my parents told me, ‘nothing to worry about.’ I hadn’t been back to my childhood home since one night, a couple of months later, when I had my final night terror, yelling and screaming loudly enough to have woken everyone in the house. The following day I heard it over the speakers. ‘Lilah, please report to the principal’s office.’ Tears flooded my eyes in the back of the car, as we drove further and further away from the house I learned to walk, speak and play in. Where my mother and grandmother had learned to live.

Being back brought a heavy feeling to my chest, something was unresolved here and I hadn't found out what yet. I met my own reflection in the hallway mirror, my own green eyes stared right back at me with curiosity. My reflection blinked at me, and I forcibly pulled my eyes away, continued down the hallway. I’d always seen things that weren’t there, a child’s overactive imagination. After all, that was why we left, my speculations, night terrors, it evolved into a fear of the house itself.

The door to the room I used to sleep in was ajar, as if I’d never left. Brooding mountains enveloped by fog across the room, outside the window, lurked. I slammed my bedroom door shut. No reason to dig up old memories. Safely installed in the living room, mementos spread all over the floor. Old, faded photographs. Notes that weren’t in use anymore. Ripped documents. No explanations to be found. I threw myself around to look behind me, nothing. Shook slightly. I couldn’t have imagined it this time. Yet, when I approached my own, dusty reflection on the opposite side of the room, everything was normal. It looked exactly like me, it even moved when I did. Nothing was there, nothing had ever been there. All in my head.

Outside, the world turned dark and gloomy, the living room lit up by candles and old lamps that had certainly seen better days. Blowed out the candles, moved to the guest bedroom. A simple, minimalistic room. Most importantly? No mirrors. I wrapped myself in the soft duvet, allowing the dark to pull me in. Eyes opened, distorted image of the room, tired and annoyed that I had woken up. Forced my legs to swing out over the side of my bed. A glass of warm milk would do it. The bedroom door was open. Didn’t I close that earlier? Probably not. I went inside, covering my reflection with a white sheet just like I did every night years before. Back to the other room, a soft feeling against my bare skin. Second time, eyes fly open. No reason to keep waking up. I went back to the kitchen for another glass of warm milk, this time it had to work. Past my old bedroom on the way back. Hadn’t I covered that mirror up with a sheet? Just my imagination, must have been a dream, too tired to think.

Leaving it alone to go back to sleep, too tired to deal with my own mind. Fell back asleep almost immediately, my body knowing I needed the rest. Too much energy spent being back here, should go back home tomorrow. Away from this place – my family left it for a reason. I wasn’t responsible for clearing the house out and preparing it for sale, they could hire someone to do that. Someone who didn’t feel their heart pounding out of their chest every time they stepped foot into their old bedroom. In my dreams, a little girl, with plaited hair, sitting on the bed in my old bedroom. Not me, but close. Similar height, build, the only real difference her eyes. A sister? Someone else? Not sure I wanted to know. She crept up to the mirror, in the same place it had always been, knocked on it. Her reflection mimicked her, started smiling. Couldn't see her face, had no idea how she responded. She moved back away from the mirror, left it alone and played with dolls on the bed. The same girl, older, mascara ran down her wet cheeks as she faced the mirror. Tried to dab her face dry, put new makeup on, fix herself up. Maybe she had somewhere to be. Wrote something, some kind of note, left it on the mirror. ‘I’ll be back.’

Woke up in a sweat, dried my forehead, the same tiredness in my eyes as earlier. Slowly got up from the bed, stretched my arms above my head to wake up. Didn’t really help, still felt like my body was working against me. I walked out of the guest room, moved to the kitchen. The milk was too hot this time, burned my tongue slightly. A welcome sensation, slight pain, distracted me from the sleepiness. Slow steps back towards the guest bedroom, shaky on my feet. Stopped at my old bedroom door, it was open. The mirror was glaring at me. Drawn to it, a magnet pulled me in, walked closer, placed one hand on the edge. I was right in front of it now, and met my own green eyes. Trapped air escaped quickly through my mouth. There it was. A small movement of the lips, turned slightly upward. I was sure I didn’t move. Stepped closer, just my own reflection, nothing dangerous. And it happened again, a blink, my eyes were open. ‘What are you?’ I asked, my whisper faltering before the words even made it out of my mouth. ‘Don’t you remember me?’ A thought, in my head, nothing more than what I would respond. My reflection’s lips turned upwards, a smirk this time. Cold muscles, I was unable to move a single inch. It reached for me, curiously leaned closer. I realised. A shriek, loud in the silence, escaped my lips. Because two blue eyes looked back at me, from outside the mirror.