House of Mirrors

Everything in the room was a mirror—walls, ceiling, and floor. I stood amidst an infinite cascade of reflections, my own image fracturing into countless versions. Each step on the mirrored floor felt like treading on fragile glass. And then, inevitably, I bumped into one of my own reflections. Ouch! The pain was real, but so was the thrill. Could I break these mirrors? The thought lingered, tantalizing. After all, this was a reality show, and every shard could be content.

Behind me, a green bulb blinked to life on the wall. The signal—the challenge had begun. Three hours, that’s all I needed. No elaborate tasks, no physical feats. Just exist here until the bulb turned red, and I’d claim my prize. Breaking a mirror on my way out seemed fitting, a final act of defiance against this house of illusions.

Time, however, remained elusive. No clocks adorned the mirrored walls. Confidence surged within me; how hard could it be? Survive in a labyrinth of reflections—easy money. I needed every penny; life had a way of cornering us.

Perhaps I’d sleep through the challenge. No rules barred it. I lay down, the cold floor oddly comforting. Dreams blurred with reality, and I drifted. But then, a high-frequency sound jolted me awake. Half an hour lost. They orchestrated it for the viewers, I supposed. Two and a half hours remained. Nostalgia tugged—a reminder of simpler days when math didn’t confound me.

My sole companion: a walkie-talkie, reserved for emergencies. As the mirrors whispered secrets, I wondered what lay beyond their fractured reflections. And so, I waited, counting minutes in echoes and shadows.

The room plunged into darkness, leaving me disoriented. How would they record my struggle when it was pitch black? But such concerns were irrelevant now. This was their game, their tricks. I wouldn’t be surprised if eerie sounds echoed through the void, meant to intimidate. Yet, it was too late for their mind games. I was determined to conquer this absurd challenge.

As expected, the room filled with the mournful cries of a woman. Predictable, really—hardly intimidating. But wait, why did that voice tug at my memory? No, it couldn’t be her. They’d cleverly exploited my vulnerability. The lights flickered back on, revealing the mirror maze. Could they project videos onto these reflective surfaces? The cool trick again—there, in the glass, a dishevelled woman with hair obscuring her face. She stomped, her ankle bracelets jingling—an eerie symphony that failed to unnerve me.

Every angle offered the same image—the dishevelled woman. If I closed my eyes for more than a few seconds, the high-pitched sound returned, a relentless reminder of time slipping away. I understood the challenge now: survive within this mirrored labyrinth. Just get through it.

But something gnawed at me. Had I been here for more than three hours? The dishevelled woman seeped into my thoughts, her phantom presence unsettling. I grabbed the walkie-talkie they’d provided.

“Hello? It’s been three hours… anyone there?” Silence. Were they waiting for me to utter those damning words—“I quit”? Why wouldn’t they respond?

The anklets’ incessant jingle grated on my nerves. Should I surrender? The lights vanished again, but the anklet sound persisted. And then, at my feet, a sensation—a crawl, a slither. An insect? A snake? Hahahah… No, it couldn’t be. Not in the contract. They wouldn’t dare.

Or would they?

The anklet’s sound ceased abruptly, plunging the room into a profound quiet. It was as if all the noise had been sucked away, leaving only the essentials. My heartbeat pulsed in my ears, breaths measured and deliberate. And then, the hissing—a cacophony of serpentine whispers. Not one, but many. I fumbled for the walkie-talkie, rising to my feet, and screamed into it, “I QUIT!”

The lights snapped on, revealing a room devoid of everything except mirrors. Regret washed over me—an instant remorse for my impulsive decision. But I’d given my best; that was what mattered. At least I’d escape this cursed house of reflections.

“Hello… Hello…” I pleaded, desperation tainting my voice. “I quit! Can you let me out quickly?” Silence. Was the walkie-talkie even functional? Had I activated it correctly? Yes. So why no response?

An inaudible sound echoed, and I turned toward the mirrors. Each reflective surface had transformed into a different snake, their scales glinting malevolently. Hisses filled the air, a symphony of menace.

NO… NO… NO…

“Get me out of here, you bastards!” I shouted, my voice ricocheting off the mirrored walls. “Get me out!”

I don't know how much time has passed. There is still no response from the walkie. Maybe this is all a part of their plan. These people were never going to let me out. They enjoy watching people suffer, I guess.

I tried smashing at the mirrors but ended with bruised knuckles. I still sometimes think of the dishevelled women's voice and a sense of familiarity rises up in me.

Desperation clawed at my sanity. How long had I been trapped? Clean-shaven when I entered, now sporting a full-grown beard—weeks, perhaps. The mirrors shifted daily, each revealing a new fear. Today’s torment: a rotting corpse, its mouth teeming with worms. How did I survive without sustenance? No food, no water, no bodily functions. I didn’t even smell foul.

I awaited the familiar plunge into darkness, those precious hours when my fears retreated. In that pitch-black void, I thrived. The fears that grazed my feet were almost comforting. I spoke in hushed tones, refusing sleep. To sleep was to invite other terrors. I couldn’t afford that vulnerability. Strangely, I felt neither hunger nor exhaustion—just numbness. Was this how corpses felt after death?

My eyelids drooped, heavier with each passing moment. Would I wake up in this room again, or was this my final descent? Thoughts eluded me, slipping into the abyss.

The void envelops me, devoid of any emotion. I can no longer bear this weight. My eyes shut, seeking solace in silence. And then, an unexpected thought surfaces: Could I ever break the mirror?