The other side of the Mirror (boyxboy)

Chapter 2.

In the theatre and outside it lied the corridor, which led to a couple of dressing and makeup rooms. There, in one of the rooms, gathering dust was a single, lonely mirror. The others were exported to the black market, because there was a renovation in Friday, but that one was left, since it was a gift from the founder of the theatre, which immediately made it into a cherished antique, never to be touched again.

It was in room 215 - the old and mouldy one, which served as a storeroom. No one went there, never. At all costs. And that wasn't because it was cursed or haunted, not at all. The reason was simply, because the door was locked. At least, for everyone else, except the staff, or in other words - the cleaning maids. I haven't seen them use the key, mainly because the room was a home to old masks and useless brooms, as well as that gigantic mirror.

I didn't want to ask myself the question how can a mirror's glass crack on its own in a locked room, but I was definitely curious about the answer. Besides, .. its in human's nature to be curious !

I sighed once more (it was becoming a habbit), standing up from the bench on which I had lied my puny backside, and headed towards the source of the sound with limp knees. I felt how my heartbeat was going numb from the intense flow of blood, my ears were ringing, while I .. was thinking about sex.

It's not my fault! It's just that .. because I was so worried and suddenly .. my tent pitched. I can't help it! It's scientifically-proven that when men are in a vortex of strong emotions, their blood flow increases and .. of course, it starts going fast [i]everywhere[/i].I was with jeans, which somehow covered that unwanted side effect, but the discomfort, as well as the embarassment, were still present. Heh, imagine that. A man is walking calmly down the street and, like in any horror film scenario, a monster show up from nowhere and starts chasing him. The man stops in front of a dead and, cries from fear because of the closing in monstrosity, the camera focuses and ..

BAM! Erection.

No wonder the main character in every second horror movie was a female.

Chuckling from the absurd fantasy of a scared shitless man with an erection, I felt lightness in my panicked heart and continued forward, reading voicelessly the names of the passed by dressing and makeup rooms. It was deafening quiet. Only the sound of my own steps was keeping me sane.

They say a man can't endure absolute silence for long.

I say he can't do it at all ..

Black humour aside, I finaly reached the end of the corridor. The door before me was obviously old and decayed from its time. I doubt it needed a key, which was probably why the cleaning maids never really used it. And to think that I prepared a whole new plot for my next lie, in order to get it!

I tried opening the handle, but shivered from dread, as I felt it fall freely from the door, hitting the floor with a loud and sharp sound near my foot. I .. guess I didn't need a key after all.

My next genious idea, sprunging like mushrooms after rain, was to slam the fragile, falling-slowly-apart door with my shoulder. I mentally prepared myself, taking a side pose, with feet - firmly on the ground, as if I was going to throw a shot put in the olympics. My eyes were tightly shut as I took in a deep breath and filled my right body side with heaviness, using said heaviness to slam my shoulder into the door. An instant wave of hard, numb pain engulfed my whole arm. Dust was lifted into the air as the corridor echoed with the deaf "thud" sound my maneur produced. At that moment, I hadn't thought about how to explain the fact I was trying to break through a door, maybe because I didn't quite believe I would make it. I was only interested in that old, dusty mirror now, and all of my efforts were concentrated on it.

I had to see it. It was no longer curiousity - the feeling of something our there, waiting patiently for me, kept me going, despite all of my worries and fears.

I grinded my teeth hard and once again, I slammed myself against the door. The wood trembled, thin pieces of it falling on the ground like big snowflakes. I had the feeling that the third time would be sufficient, if I gave it a good go, and I hit my pulsing in pain, milky-white, gentle shoulder against it, feeling my bones cry in agony.

With a quiet moan of the horrifying feeling of pain in my muscles, I barely opened my eyes, sighing in relief. The door had fallen on its back like a big bag of potatoes, revealing an extraordinarily-dark room, with ceiling so shadowy, that it almost seemed like it wasn't there at all. In the depth of the room I saw an old, headless mannequin, while the head .. probably somewhere there, on the mouldy, dirty floor.

Ripped, fancy clothes gathered the moths onto the thrown away cupboards and wardrobes. Both socks and scarfs took the images of imaginary monsters in the dark. My eyes couldn't stop looking at that gaping ceiling, while my heart skipped a beat from every single thought about it. How can something be so dark to literally disappear in front of your eyes? How can it be so dark, it lied your sense about its presence?

For a moment I felt the need to step away and go back to the theatre to mrs. Stoeva. The fear was reminding me of my self-preservation instinct, which was now shouting alarmingly in my body, making every single hair on my skin stand from shivers. I knew it wasn't a good idea to come here, break the door and serve my overly imaginative side. I knew that it was going to get me in trouble .. Yet I also knew that something pulled me in here like a magnit, as if I had to be here. It's unexplainable, but .. I guess curiousity really did kill the cat.