Unclean Spirits

It’s a weird sensation, staring back at yourself. Well a form of yourself, anyway. You from a different time, different dimension, different space, whatever you decide to believe. A window to a universe too similar to our own. Uncannily so, some would say. Similar enough in daily schedule and in personality that you would never notice those subtle, tiny differences in actions that stare you blankly in the face. The slightly harder brushing of their teeth, inspecting their blackheads just a little more closely before they go out for the night, betraying those stark, unforgiving changes that lie far beyond the mirror.

I had never thought before about how much time I spent in front of the mirror, or how much time I spent out of its glassy eyeline. It’s not exactly a large portion of your day, unless you spend hours getting ready for an important event. For a low maintenance person this is minutes, accompanied by the sleepy haze that smothers the dawn and pale moonlit hours, as your more critical judgement and heightened observations fall victim to your drooping eyelids. Although I would look at the girl staring back at me, I did not pay attention to her. Like everyone else’s she copied with such silent accuracy, a practiced dance routine of impersonation that was perfect every time. Except once.

 I had finally decided to put some effort into my appearance. Freckles only slightly peeking through the layer of foundation attempting to hide any flaws embedded into my skin. It was minutes before I had to leave, checking my appearance at the last second before running out the door. But as I was about to leave the bathroom, I stopped myself. And as I remove something that was in my eyebrow, I felt confused. I felt my eyebrow, the soft fuzz of hair under my finger, but my reflection was trying to tell me that this wasn’t the case. It hovered, just above where my hand was telling me that it was, touching instead the smoothness of skin and makeup. And when she spotted the quizzical expression that she was attempting to match, it jumped downwards in a jagged motion, too rough and jarring to not notice. Too obvious, and she knew it. But still, she remained frozen, as I did, as I tried not to let my face betray the chill that was running down my back.

I remained still for a time too long to be natural, staring at her, as she glared back. Maybe she wondered how long she had to stay there for, until my suspicions would go away. My heart was beating as I finally brought my arm down to my side, watching carefully as my reflection did the same. It was a weird kind of face off, one where the other wasn’t too sure if the other knew they were a part of it. Did I even look like this? Was this even me? I started taking my makeup off, as if affirming to her that I actually needed to be in front of the mirror. She pulled the flannel across her face in time, but now I couldn’t stop noticing any little detail that I didn’t feel was right. Aren’t my fingers more separated than that? Isn’t my eye more closed than that? Any imperfection was making my breath quicken. I felt an uncertain, harrowing feeling of uncanny valley that was crawling up my back.

I finished washing my face, but I couldn’t take myself away from the mirror. Not now that I knew what I knew, and what I didn’t know. Was she stuck wherever she was? Was she happy there? Did she think she was my reflection, or did she think that I was hers? I looked at her, and she looked at me. Was this a window, or a door? Curiosity getting the better of me, swamping my fear in a wave of almost sympathy for this doppelganger, I reached up to the mirror, as she did, and put my hand on the cool glass, my palm against hers. A second of solidarity passed between us. But then her face changed, spreading into an unnatural, inhuman grin, a predator discovering its prey caught in its trap. A bony hand wrapped itself around my wrist, grip digging into to my skin, as I flew forward.

I saw that same, overly toothy grin staring back at me, wild behind those eyes that matched my own. But I wasn’t in my bathroom anymore. She looked around my own bathroom, wild eyes wide with glee as she realised where she was, what she had gained, as I couldn’t bring myself to look at where I had got shoved into. But I heard the crackling, heat licking at my back as I continued to face the mirror. The smell of smoke and ash sitting in my throat, making me cough and my eyes stream, even though that wasn’t the only reason. She looked back at me, devoid of any remorse or morality, and waved, as though saying goodbye to an old friend. And she left me there, staring at my empty bathroom, before I turned around, seeing a part of my bathroom wall behind me, covering whatever horror awaited beyond. I moved past it; eyes closed in fear of what they might open to.

I opened them expecting the worst, and I was not disappointed. Bodied burning deep in pits of soot, heating the rest nailed to wooden surfaces scattered across the plains, sweat covering their emancipated bodies as they tried to shield themselves from the unbearable warmth. The edge of the plain was surrounded by these fake sets of rooms just like my own, those things that looked like us wondering around bored or acting in their side of the mirror, persuading another person that they had a reflection. Some laughed at the screams of the damned as they walked past, sharing that maniacal smile I saw before I arrived here.

I was stuck here, destined to be a tortured soul. Destined to burn in the fiery pits. And hell had set free another demon.