The Cherrywood Mirror

A...horror story? I guess. (includes the sensitive subject of abuse. Trigger warning.)

----

You see a shadow standing in your room at night. You stare at it, unblinking. It doesn't move and neither do you. You've heard of sleep paralysis before, but never experienced it. Perhaps this is what they're talking about. It certainly is frightening enough. 

After a while, you drift off to sleep to be plagued with nightmares as usual.

This happens again the next night.

On the third night, you realize - thanks to the full moon - that it was only your reflection in the old mirror that came with this vacation rental. You heave a sigh of relief. After all, you are alone here. No one knows where you escaped the world to.

It's an ornate standing mirror with florettes carved around the cherrywood trim - probably from the Victorian era. You've used it to check your appearance, and tell yourself that there's no more reason to be afraid. The one who hurt you isn't here anymore. They died two weeks ago in a firefight with the police at your apartment where they tracked you down.

That night, you slumber in the comfort of knowing it's only your imagination.

Just to be sure, you open your eyes and turn your head to look at the mirror.

The shadow is gone.

You tentatively get out of bed, placing your bare feet on the ornately woven rug, and approach the mirror with a racing heart.

You have no reflection.

Your breath quickens. You must be dreaming. That has to be it.

You touch the mirror's cold surface. It gives way.

You look at your hand, and in that moment, a high pitched gasp catches your attention.

You look up...into the stunned face of a child looking back.

You look closer and realize with a cold skipped heartbeat that this child...

...Is you. 

It's you when you were ten years old after the first time you were hurt.

The child's eyes - your eyes - are red from crying. There's no physical mark that you can see, but you know it's there. Inside. A mark no one sees and no one could ever heal.

This is the moment after that first cut to your soul was made by the knife of someone you loved. You don't know what you did to deserve it. You just always knew these cuts were your fault.

Before you can gather your thoughts that you're dreaming, you hear footsteps in the hallway. Not yours, but the one leading to your childhood bedroom inside the mirror.

Reacting quickly, you reach through the silver barrier, grab the child's hand, and pull them through to your safety.

You hug them as the door on the other side of the mirror bursts open.

The shadow appears, eyes glowing a deep, angry crimson. It has no face, no identifying features aside from those wicked, horrible eyes.

The shadow approaches the mirror.

You step back with your child-self clinging to you for protection.

It's them. The one who's gone. The reason why you rented this beach house to begin with.

Your palms begin to sweat. You wonder if it can see you.

Its eyes fix upon you and your heart lurches into your throat. Your skin grows cold. Old reactions return - reactions you thought you'd buried.