The Face In The Mirror

Aubrey’s nightmares always started the same way: she was alone in a dimly lit room, surrounded by mirrors. The air was thick, oppressive, and the silence roared louder than any scream. No matter how many times she had the dream, it always left her breathless, drenched in sweat, and desperate for morning to come.

It wasn’t the mirrors that terrified her. It was what she saw in them.

For years, she’d avoided mirrors entirely. She brushed her teeth without glancing up, avoided store windows, and used her phone’s camera sparingly, always careful to avoid her reflection. It wasn’t vanity; it was fear.

Because sometimes, her reflection didn’t behave.

It started innocently enough. A flicker in her peripheral vision, a second too long before her reflection matched her movement. She chalked it up to exhaustion or an overactive imagination. But as the years passed, the incidents grew more frequent, more sinister.

Once, she caught her reflection grinning when her own face was neutral. Another time, it mouthed words she couldn’t hear, its lips forming sentences that made her stomach churn.

She told no one. How could she? It was insane.

But tonight, as she stood in the bathroom of her small apartment, staring at her pale face in the mirror, she knew she couldn’t avoid it any longer.

The nightmares had become more vivid. The reflection in her dreams no longer stayed confined to the glass. It followed her, lurking in the shadows, whispering her name in a voice that wasn’t hers.

“Aubrey…”

The voice haunted her waking hours, too. At first, it was faint, like a distant echo. Now, it was louder, insistent, coming from the corners of her mind where rational thought dared not tread.

Tonight, she would confront it.

She turned off the bathroom light, plunging the room into darkness. Then, she lit a single candle and placed it on the sink. Its flickering light cast shadows across the tiled walls, and her reflection appeared faintly in the mirror, half-hidden in the gloom.

She stared at herself, her heart pounding so hard she thought it might burst.

“I know you’re there,” she whispered. Her voice sounded small, fragile.

For a moment, nothing happened. Her reflection stared back, mirroring her perfectly.

Then, it smiled.

Aubrey’s breath hitched. Her own lips remained still, but the reflection’s grin widened, stretching too far, splitting her face like a crack in porcelain.

“You can’t ignore me forever,” it said, its voice low and guttural.

Aubrey stumbled back, clutching the edge of the sink. “What do you want?” she demanded, her voice trembling.

The reflection tilted its head, its eyes gleaming with malice. “You already know. You’ve always known.”

“No,” Aubrey said, shaking her head. “You’re not real. You’re just—just a hallucination.”

The reflection laughed, a cold, hollow sound. “If I’m not real, then why are you afraid?”

Aubrey couldn’t answer.

The reflection leaned closer to the glass, its distorted face filling the mirror. Its eyes bore into hers, unblinking, as if it could see every secret she’d ever buried.

“I am you, Aubrey,” it said, its voice a whisper now. “The part you lock away. The part you refuse to acknowledge.”

“No,” she whispered, tears streaming down her face.

“Yes,” it hissed. “You can’t hide from me. You can’t escape me. I am every fear you’ve ever had. Every doubt. Every dark thought.”

Aubrey shook her head violently, her hands clutching at her temples. “You’re lying!”

The reflection’s grin faded, replaced by something worse—pity.

“You’re already broken, Aubrey,” it said softly. “All I’m doing is showing you the pieces.”

The candle flickered, and for a moment, the room was plunged into complete darkness. When the light returned, the reflection was no longer confined to the mirror.

It stood behind her.

Aubrey spun around, her scream caught in her throat. But the reflection wasn’t a reflection anymore. It was flesh and blood, a grotesque parody of her, its face twisted into something almost unrecognizable.

It reached out, its fingers cold and clammy as they brushed her cheek. “Don’t you see? You and I are the same. We’ve always been the same.”

“No,” Aubrey whispered, her voice breaking. “I’m not like you.”

The creature smiled, and for a moment, its face softened, its features morphing into something achingly familiar. Her own face, but younger, unscarred by years of fear and doubt.

“You could be,” it said. “If you stopped fighting. If you embraced me.”

Aubrey stared into its eyes, her chest heaving. She didn’t want to believe it, but deep down, she knew the truth.

This thing—this nightmare—was her.

And it always had been.

The creature took a step closer, and Aubrey felt its presence pressing against her like a weight. Its hand rested on her shoulder, firm yet strangely comforting.

“Let me show you,” it said, and suddenly the room dissolved.

Aubrey found herself standing in a memory she had long buried: the hospital room where her mother lay dying. The beep of the machines, the sterile smell of antiseptic, the helplessness in her chest as her mother’s weak voice whispered, “You have to be strong, Aubrey. Promise me.”

She had promised. But she had failed.

The scene shifted, and she was back in her childhood home, her father’s anger reverberating through the walls. “Why can’t you do anything right?” he shouted, his voice dripping with contempt.

Another shift. The day her best friend left her, their parting words etched into her mind like scars. “You’re too much, Aubrey. I can’t do this anymore.”

Each memory hit her like a blow, and she dropped to her knees, clutching her head as the creature knelt beside her.

“This is who you are,” it said. “This is what made you.”

“No!” Aubrey screamed, the sound raw and animalistic.

“Yes,” the creature whispered. “And the only way to escape it is to accept it.”

The memories swirled around her, a storm of pain and regret. But beneath the chaos, she felt something else—something small but steady.

Her breath.

Aubrey forced herself to focus on it, the rhythmic inhale and exhale grounding her. She looked up at the creature, her face wet with tears but her gaze unwavering.

“I’m not afraid of you anymore,” she said, her voice steady.

The creature’s smile faded, and for a moment, it looked almost… proud.

The storm dissolved, leaving only the candlelit bathroom. The creature was gone, and in the mirror, Aubrey saw herself—no distortions, no malice. Just her.

She exhaled shakily, a small smile tugging at her lips.

For the first time in years, she felt whole.