Mirror Game

Veronica stepped into her apartment, closing the door behind her with a soft click. She dropped her keys onto the table, the usual clink of metal against wood almost satisfying in its normalcy. Max ran circles around her, wagging his tail. He licked her hand once, then trotted to his bed with a soft huff.

The dinner with Emma had been nice—pleasant. The conversation had flowed effortlessly, the usual chatter about work, relationships, and the occasional joke. The kind of easy, enjoyable evening that was just... comfortable.

She glanced around the apartment, taking in the neatly arranged furniture, the books on the shelves, the soft lighting casting a warm glow. Everything was as it should be. Perfect.

Veronica’s life was full—friends, family, a steady job, and Max to keep her company at home. She had everything she needed, everything she wanted. She didn’t mind the quiet; in fact, she preferred it.

She walked into the bathroom, washed her hands, and stared at herself in the mirror. The reflection was familiar—her tired face, the soft line of her jaw. She ran a hand through her hair, tucking a stray strand behind her ear. Everything felt... right.

Max padded into the bathroom, nudging her leg with his nose. She smiled, leaned down to give him a quick pet, then gave a last look at her reflection before leaving.

As she turned to leave, she caught a flicker in the mirror. It smiled a little too wide, a little too slow. It lingered longer than it should have before snapping back to her usual expression.

Veronica paused, staring at her reflection for a moment. She shrugged, telling herself it was just the lighting or the tiredness creeping in.

She left the bathroom, heading for the couch. The evening would pass as usual—quiet, alone, but content.

Veronica sat at her desk, the soft hum of the office air conditioning the only sound. Ethan would be here any minute. The morning had passed quickly—paperwork, phone calls, the usual routine.

The door opened, and Ethan stepped in. He looked different today, more jittery than usual. His eyes flicked nervously around the room, and his hands fidgeted with his jacket. He hesitated before sitting down in the chair opposite her, offering a brief, uneasy glance her way.

“Good morning, Ethan,” Veronica said, maintaining her usual calm. “How’ve you been?”

He inhaled deeply, his fingers curling tightly around the armrest. “Not great, Dr. Veronica,” he muttered. His eyes darted to the mirror in the corner of the room.

Veronica followed his gaze, then glanced back at him, unfazed. “Ethan, you know I’m here to help. Let’s talk about what’s been bothering you.”

His breath quickened as he shifted in his seat. “It’s not just the reflections, Doc. It’s like… it’s like it’s trying to become me. The other day—I saw it. It smiled at me in the mirror. But it wasn’t me. It felt like it was mocking me. It’s changing, and I don’t know what to do.”

Veronica’s posture remained unchanged, but the tension in her chest grew. “The reflection is part of your mind processing emotions. These feelings—about your identity—are often exaggerated by stress or unresolved trauma.

Ethan’s eyes dropped to his hands, wringing together as he mumbled, “But it’s not just in my head. I swear, I feel it.” He looked at the mirror again, voice tight. “I’m afraid it’s going to take me.”

Veronica kept her voice steady, leaning slightly forward. “Ethan, I understand your fear. But we’re going to work through this. Together.”

His shoulders tensed, but he stayed silent. She could feel the weight of his unease pressing in. He had been making progress in therapy, but this was different. This wasn’t just a reflection, it was a breakdown.

As the session went on, the air between them seemed to grow heavier. Veronica pushed the growing discomfort from her mind. She was the professional, and this was just another case.

But as the session ended, and Ethan walked out, her chest still felt tight. There was a flicker of his words echoing in her mind, and her own reflection from earlier wouldn’t leave her.

The door clicked shut, and the office returned to silence.

Veronica arrived home, the quiet hum of the city outside muffled by the thick walls of her apartment. She dropped her keys on the table without thinking, her hands still slightly shaking. The air in the apartment felt heavier, slower, thicker.

Max came trotting over, his usual excitement palpable as he wagged his tail. Veronica absentmindedly scratched his head, the soft fur beneath her fingers almost grounding her. She smiled at him easily, though it felt disconnected, distant.

She took a deep breath, hoping to shake off the lingering tension, and went straight to the bathroom.

The mirror was still there, a constant in the corner of her vision. She didn’t need to check if she already knew what she looked like. But something tugged at her, a need to confirm, to see herself again in the reflection.

She leaned in, brushing her hair away from her face, eyes locked on her own.

And then—just like before, something didn’t match. The reflection’s lips curled gradually, out of sync with its own, as if pulled by invisible threads . She blinked, and it snapped back to normal.

Her heart skipped, a cold wave of discomfort flooding her chest. She swallowed, eyes narrowing as she stared at her reflection, willing it to make sense.

But it didn’t. It was just the same—familiar, but foreign.

She turned away quickly, wiping her hands on a towel, feeling her pulse quicken.

She needed sleep. She was just tired. It had been a long day, too much going on in her head, too many questions from Ethan, too many things that didn’t add up. It was nothing.

Max followed her to the bedroom, jumping onto the bed as she changed into her pajamas. She slid under the covers, the weight of the blankets warm and familiar, but the tightness in her chest wouldn’t go away.

She stared at the ceiling, eyes heavy, her body still restless. The quiet felt too loud, pressing around her.

She rolled onto her side, reaching over to pet Max. He rolled over onto his back, letting her scratch his belly, but it didn’t ease the feeling. Something was wrong, and it wasn’t just the reflection.

It was her.

The thought circled in her mind, gnawing at her.

She shut her eyes tightly, pulling the covers over her head, but it didn’t help. She could feel her body tense up, every muscle wound tight, as if she couldn’t fully relax. Her mind raced, each thought quicker than the last, but none of them made sense.

Finally, after what felt like hours, she whispered to the empty room, “I can’t sleep.”

Veronica arrived at her office early, setting her coffee down carefully on the corner of her desk. She flipped open her planner, tracing a finger slowly down the day's appointments. Her gaze caught briefly on Ethan’s name, lingering for a moment longer than necessary.

Her eyes flicked upward, settling on the monitor in front of her. She adjusted it slightly, her reflection briefly appearing in the darkened screen. It flickered, distorted by the subtle shift. She quickly looked away, picking up her pen and clicking it rapidly a few times.

A quiet knock at the door interrupted her rhythm. She straightened, smoothing her shirt before calling out, “Come in.”

The door creaked softly open, and Ethan stepped inside, movements slow, cautious. He glanced around the room quickly, eyes settling on the mirror in the corner, then quickly turning away. His shoulders rose and fell sharply, fingers twitching at his sides. He sank into the chair opposite her desk without speaking.

Veronica cleared her throat lightly, leaning forward, clasping her hands together. “How have things been, Ethan?”

He swallowed visibly, eyes glued to his knees. His fingers dug into the fabric of his jeans, knuckles whitening. “Worse,” he whispered.

She tilted her head slightly, pen frozen mid-tap against her notebook. “Worse?”

He nodded slowly, eyes flicking toward the mirror again, then rapidly away. “Everywhere. Mirrors, windows… anything reflective.”

His voice cracked on the last word, and he shifted uneasily into the chair. Veronica followed his glance, gaze landing on the mirror. She stood slowly, pulling open a drawer, retrieving a thin cloth, and crossed the room quietly.

She reached up, draping the cloth over the glass carefully. Her fingertips brushed the cool surface of the mirror as she adjusted the cover. She drew her hand back sharply, stepping away, flexing her fingers at her side.

Ethan’s breathing slowed audibly. He looked up, eyes still wary, but softer now. “Thanks.”

Veronica gave him a small nod, returning to her chair. She placed her hands flat on the desk, fingers spread. Her pulse tapped quickly against the underside of her wrist.

“When did it get worse?” she asked, voice steady.

He glanced at her quickly, then down again. His foot tapped anxiously against the carpet, rhythm erratic. “Yesterday. Last night.”

She scribbled a note quickly, the sound of pen scratching paper louder than usual. “Can you describe exactly what happened?”

He shivered, pulling his arms close to his chest. “It wasn’t me. It moved first. I froze, but it… smiled. Like it knew.”

Veronica stopped writing, staring down at the unfinished line on her paper. Her mouth felt dry. She reached out for her coffee, fingers trembling slightly as they touched the warm cup. She took a small sip, the liquid barely registering on her tongue.

“Go on,” she said softly.

He shook his head slowly, eyes wide, fixed somewhere past her shoulder. “That’s it. It’s taking over.”

She drew in a slow breath, setting the cup down carefully, watching as small ripples danced across the dark liquid’s surface.

Behind Ethan, the cloth-covered mirror stood silent. She flicked her eyes back to Ethan, pointedly ignoring the gentle ripple of fabric, as though disturbed by a quiet breath.

Veronica stepped into her apartment, door clicking shut behind her. Max rushed to greet her, circling her legs and whimpering softly. She reached down absently, running her fingers through his fur, feeling his muscles tense under her touch. His tail stayed low, movements cautious.

She dropped her keys onto the table, pausing when she saw her reflection in the small hallway mirror. She’d forgotten to cover it. She hesitated, then stepped forward, her eyes tracing the edges of her reflection. It stared back, matching her movements precisely. Her breathing steadied slightly, shoulders loosening.

“It’s nothing,” she whispered. She reached out, touching the cool glass briefly with her fingertips. The reflection matched her exactly. She sighed, pulling her hand back and walking away, leaving the mirror uncovered.

Dinner was quiet, mechanical. Veronica ate slowly, barely tasting the food. Max didn’t leave her side; eyes fixed on her with an unusual intensity. Occasionally, his ears perked up and he glanced toward the hallway, growling low in his throat.

She cleaned up silently, and her movements automatic. Her gaze flickered frequently to reflective surfaces—the polished silverware, the dark kitchen window—but nothing seemed out of place.

Bedtime approached. Veronica moved quietly down the hall, Max following close behind. As she reached the bathroom door, her footsteps slowed. She hesitated, glancing in. Her reflection waited there, already facing her. Her heart stumbled slightly, breath catching. She blinked, and it matched her, normal again.

She shook her head, entering quickly, covering the mirror with a towel. The fabric settled softly into place. She exhaled slowly, then moved swiftly toward her bedroom.

Sleep wouldn’t come. She lay on her side, eyes open in the darkness. Max paced restlessly, claws clicking rhythmically against the floor. She reached down, fingers brushing his tense back. “It’s okay, boy,” she whispered. “It’s just been a long week.”

His whining continued.

She turned restlessly, eyes drawn repeatedly toward her bedroom mirror, covered earlier in the week. Her chest tightened, her breathing shallow. She shut her eyes, forcing herself into uneasy sleep.

Saturday morning arrived quietly, sunlight slicing thinly through her blinds. Veronica sat up slowly, eyes heavy. Max lay curled at the foot of the bed, breathing even again. She stepped lightly, avoiding waking him, and moved to the kitchen, brewing coffee out of habit.

The apartment felt different, unfamiliar somehow. She sipped the coffee slowly, warmth spreading through her chest, reassuring. Her gaze drifted down the hall, toward the mirrors she'd covered. A quiet urge grew, an insistent tug to reclaim normalcy.

She set her coffee down, standing slowly. She approached the first mirror in the hall, pulling away the cloth. Her reflection appeared instantly—calm, familiar, ordinary. She exhaled softly, folding the cloth carefully.

One by one, she uncovered each mirror. Each reflection stared back blankly, normal and predictable. Her muscles loosened, heartbeat steady. She approached the final mirror by her bedroom—the tall, full-length one—and grasped the cover. Hesitating only briefly, she pulled it away.

Her reflection appeared clearly, dressed in the same clothes, standing quietly. For a moment, everything seemed right. She released a slow breath, shoulders sinking.

Then, the reflection blinked—just slightly after she did.

Veronica’s breath caught sharply. Her reflection stood motionless, staring blankly ahead. Her pulse quickened, fingertips trembling at her sides. Behind her, Max’s sudden bark shattered the silence, deep and urgent.

The reflection remained unmoving, lips parted slightly. Veronica raised one hand slowly, watching as the reflection stayed still, arm limp by its side. A shiver crawled slowly up her spine, prickling at the base of her neck.

Max barked sharply, then backed away from the doorway, ears flattened, tail tucked low. With one last anxious glance at the mirror, he turned and darted from the room.

She forced herself to look away from the mirror, heart racing painfully. As she glanced toward Max, her reflection shifted slightly in her peripheral vision—tilting its head. Veronica turned back swiftly, facing the mirror directly again.

The reflection stood still, head tilted subtly to the side. Veronica swallowed thickly, throat dry, palms damp with sweat. She stepped backward slightly. The reflection remained in place, unmoving now, gaze fixed unblinkingly forward.

A voice cut suddenly through the tension, soft and hesitant, coming from the hallway.

“Dr. Veronica?”

She spun toward it sharply, breath hitching in her chest. She stepped quickly toward the voice, recognizing it faintly. “Ethan?”

But the hallway stood empty, still. No sign of Ethan, no one else in sight. Silence returned quickly, oppressive.

She turned slowly toward the bedroom mirror. Her reflection was gone entirely. The mirror held only an empty room, reflecting the quiet stillness of her bed and the sunlight filtering through the window.

She stepped closer, breath misting the empty glass. Her fingertips brushed its cold surface.

She whispered softly, almost inaudibly, “But I was standing right there.”

Max padded softly toward her, nudging his cold nose against her leg, whimpering quietly. Veronica lowered her hand, fingertips slipping from the mirror’s surface. She stood very still, heartbeat echoing loudly in her ears, eyes tracing the empty space where her reflection should have been.

She stepped backward, legs weak beneath her. She sat quietly at the edge of her bed, Max’s weight pressing against her side. Her eyes drifted slowly around the room—familiar walls, familiar belongings. Everything as it always was. Yet something had shifted, subtly, irrevocably.

She glanced toward the mirror again, seeing only the empty room staring back at her. She closed her eyes, feeling the weight of the moment press heavily upon her chest, breathing slow and uneven.

The silence settled back into the room, deep and absolute, disturbed only by her quiet breathing and Max’s soft whimpering.

She opened her eyes again, gaze fixed steadily on the empty mirror. The room felt colder now, the air dense. She drew her knees closer, wrapping her arms around them, rocking slightly back and forth.

She stayed there, unmoving, eyes never leaving the empty mirror.

Max whined softly beside her, then suddenly backed away, ears flattened. He crouched low, glancing at the mirror one last time, and darted from the room.

In the silence, a flicker crossed the glass—just for a moment.

A smile. Not hers.

And in the dark quiet, Veronica whispered again:

“I can’t sleep.”