Mirrored

The Creepiest Dream

I had already been somewhat on-edge because of the dream I had had the night before. But as the sound of rain furiously pattered nonstop on the roof of the mansion while lightning flashed through the window and thunder rumbled through the house I lay in bad hugging my blanket because I'm to scared to move or open my eyes, eventually concluding that the dream from the night before had nothing on this nightmare.

My dream starts out in the room I'm staying at in aunt Candace's house. From my point of view, I stand in the doorway staring into the dark room.

Lightning flashes outside in the night, casting strange looking shadows on the wall which form from the plants on the outside of the window. Soon after the Lightning, thunder shakes the house, making the floor creak and the old fan on the ceiling sway.

Nothing seems different or strange. In fact, the room seemed almost too quiet.

I look around curiously until my eyes stop on the bed. I try stepping forward to examine the object closer, but instead my body stays still- and whatever is under the sheets makes a movement.

I frown, cocking my head to the side. But yet again my body makes no movement. The only movement in the room comes from the person in my bed. And when the person turns their head, I recognize the face as my own.

Unlike any other weird dream I don't wake up. I don't start dancing or speaking Spanish. Instead I just lay in the bed sleeping peacefully.

Quietly, I watch the second me's slow and steady breathing, studying myself carefully. Nothing is out of place or out of the ordinary.

I don't know if I should wait to see if I wake up or not, but I just stand in place. Watching, and waiting. Hoping for something to happen.

"What is this?" I ask myself finally. The words, however, don't come out of my mouth. They come out of the mouth of the me that's sleeping on my bed.

I stare in patience thinking that I've finally woken up or done something interesting, but my body does nothing. Through the darkness I can see my closed eyes and messy hair frizzed up to look like I have an Afro of some sorts.

Confusion crosses my face, which just shows through the sleeping me's face. Gently, I try smacking myself. But in return the very floppy hand belonging to sleeping me gently swats my face, not moving away once it's connected with my cheek.

"Is this a live feed?" I ask to no one in particular. The words yet again appear to be coming through the sleeping me's mouth in a slurred mumble, as if we're playing a game of silent Simon-Says.

I try to back up, but in return the sleeping me kicks her foot weakly at the blanket covering her body, the blanket slipping down just slightly.

The image is terrifying, not because I can see myself or even because the setting is dark and creepy, it's terrifying because I realize If I'm in the bed,  then I'm not watching myself sleep as me. I'm watching me sleep in someone else's point of view.

Someone is watching me from my door, I think to myself.

The feeling makes me shiver, but only the real me actually makes the movement.

I don't know what to do anymore, I don't want to do anything. I can no longer move my eyes from my actual body. I know I'm starting to freak out because the breaths of the real me start quickening.