Cracks in the Mirror

Not All Surprises Are Good

"Hey honey," a mass of honey blond hair greets me from above the frame of the mirror. I squeak and leap back in surprise.

What the hell.

Sparkly green eyes peek at me curiously now.

Dad.

With the mirror.

Oh dear god.

I open the door wider to let him in, eyeing him suspiciously the whole time.

"So, the weirdest thing happened today."

"Oh?"

"I saw your mirror propped against the garage, ready to greet me when I came home from work."

"O...kay."

"Why was it there, Kate?"

"I don't know,' I reply far too quickly.

He glances up at me, and his eyes are tired. He sighs and says, "Fine, then. You should have no reason not to put it up in your room again, should you?"

"Uh. . . no?"

"Good."

I walk cautiously towards the mirror, and pick it up as if it is an active grenade, ready to go off at any moment.

I swear it weighs three times more than it did in the morning.

Stupid thing.

I balance it carefully up the stairs and place it in my room.

The mirror is back.

Again.

_____

I feel disgusted and terrified at the same time. I feel like someone is watching me. Telling me, 'You're not alone.'

I don't feel safe in my own room, in my familiar old bed.

The view from here is not very comforting either. That infernal mirror is right here beside me, watching me.

I try to glance away, but my eyes keep flitting back to it.

After a while, I just give up. I throw myself onto the pillow face down, physically and mentally exhausted.

I reach out for my headphones and unceremoniously place them on my head.

I genuinely have no idea what to do next, so I do what I usually do in situations like this.

I turn up the music and turn down the world.

Thank god for happy youtubers and sad music.

They make me feel 'not alone' too, but in a good way.

I close my eyes and try to catch some much-needed sleep.

The door creaks open, and I hear a muffled giggle.

Connor.

I sigh and turn to look at the doorway.

Empty.

It's empty.

There's no one here.

The window next to me slams down in the next second, making me shout out and fall off my bed.

The windowpane has a million tiny cracks on its surface now, reminding me of the dreaded mirror right behind me.

I choke back a sob as I see words form on the misty windowpane.

You are not alone .

I hear the repulsive sound of fingernails on glass, before the windowpane shatters completely, shards of glass falling onto my bed.

She seems to be gone now.

I look around the room once for confirmation, and then curl up into a ball on the floor.

I rock back and forth as sobs rack through my body, leaving me weak and tired. All my weeks of fear and anger come out in a few minutes.

My eyelids feel heavy, and there is still the light feeling of dread in the pit of my stomach.

I yawn, and realise I have a sudden urge to sleep.

I am too tired to clean up the bed right now, too tired to even get up from the floor.

I sweep away the small glinting shards of glass from the floor, and some of them prick my palm, causing it to bleed.

Rivulets of blood flow from my palm onto the wooden floor, and I look at it, fascinated.

But I feel no pain.

I feel nothing.

And then I fall asleep right there on the floor, in the middle of shining crystals of glass and crimson droplets of blood.

All I can do is hope tomorrow will be better.