Cracks in the Mirror

The Mirror Plays Its Turn

I slowly plod towards my home, my ugly black musty room. I walk in silence, turning what I heard from Kate over in my mind.

She somehow supernaturally knew my name beforehand. Her mother's death was pretty creepy. Her father works in an eerie mirror shop. Kate thinks that this place is terrifying, too. And, to top it off, she's probably living in a cursed house.

After some time, I reach my house. I get that odd, tingly feeling down my spine again.

I am surprised to see another truck besides our old red convertible in the driveway. My mother sees me from the window and rushes outside.

"Hey, honey", mum greets me hastily. "How was your walk? Did you make any friends?'

"Sort of", I reply. "But she's-"

"That's great, sweetheart," she cuts me off. "But, just so you know, as I promised, the men from the painting agency are repairing this old place right now. It will be just like the new thing in no time at all," she says.

"What? Now?" I ask, not actually surprised.

"Well," my mother replies carelessly. "You know that your father likes things to be done as soon as possible."

I know, of course. And this was thanks to what happened last year, on Christmas Eve. Instead of giving a holiday or even less work to his employees, dad's boss handed everyone extra work. Unlike everyone, dad decided to finish it all at that time itself. This was the reason why, instead of going for last- minute Christmas shopping on Christmas Eve, mom had to stay up till three in the morning, waiting for him. Oh, and also the reason why we all received crappy gifts on Christmas morning, since mom wasn't able to buy anything the evening before.

"Great", I think, opening the door, when the stench of paint hit me suddenly. I jerk back at the pungent stink. I never could bear the smell of paint.

I quickly run up the stairs, emptying another bottle of air freshener (my room has clearly just been painted yellow) and lay down onto my bed, exhausted, careful not to touch the walls.

"What a day," I think, and not in the good way.

The next morning, I wake up with a start. I feel cold all over. Startled and stupid, I flail my arms, trying to open my sleepy eyes.

"Urrrggghhhh . . . Why is it raining in my room?"

I look around with squinted eyes, confused, until they fall upon Connor, giggling away, holding an empty water bottle in his hands.

"Wake up, sis! First day of school!," he exclaims gleefully.

I try to be mad at him, but his excited grin gets to me.

What a dork.

I sluggishly force myself up, dripping wet. I don't even realize how quickly I get ready, until I'm standing at the door with fifteen minutes to spare before the bus arrives.

I just go and stood on the lawn, waiting for it. I lean against the wooden wall of my house, playing with my fingers. After a while, my legs start to ache, and I decide to go into the house and wait there instead. I'm already halfway into the house, when I hear a screech. Tires squealing against the gravel. The bus is already past me. The driver didn't seen me. Oh god. This day is not having a good start.

I start running towards the bus, screaming for the driver to stop. And after a few moments, he does.

All of a sudden, I hear a noise cutting through the silence. A distant crack. That is when the black car appears behind me. It all takes place so quickly, but to me it all happens in slow motion. The panicked look on the car driver's face as he sees me. His unsuccessful attempt to slow the car down. The car getting dangerously close to me. The hard thump as the car hits me. The blinding pain in my legs. Me falling onto the road.

Unconscious.