Mirror Mirror

Mirror Mirror (Short Story)

Screaming.

The ear-piercing sound echoes around the room, dizzying you. You pry your eyes open to a blinding light before immediately shutting them again. After a few blinks, the whiteness becomes a horrifying scene. A lone floodlight hangs from the ceiling, pointing directly at the body of what appears to be a doctor. The figure shows no signs of life apart from the occasional twitch of a finger. His blood was everywhere - covering a large part of the floor and splattered across the walls to create the most gruesome abstract art imaginable.

Your vision blurs and doubles for a second, your head throbbing. What is this place? How did I get here? you think. I have to remember something... anything... You shake your head and begin to stand on wobbly legs, using a nearby cart to stabilize yourself. Glancing down, the cart is covered with various scalpels and needles of all different sizes. Your right arm twitches painfully and your head pounds harder when you look at them.

I need to find a way out, you think, making your way toward the door. Before your hand can reach the knob, the sound of something falling resounds behind you. You whip around as fast as you can, pressing your back hard against the wall and scanning the room. "H-hello?" you call out, the fragility and weakness in your voice surprising you. Just then, your eyes lock on to something in the shadows that makes all your muscles tense up. It stares at you with its head cocked to one side, a twisted, maniacal grin plastered on its face while eyes hard like steel study you thoroughly. Its dark blue jumpsuit is splattered with blood, and you can make out a faded "#082" written on the sleeve. The figure never breaks eye contact, almost as if it's waiting for you to make a move.

You open the door as fast as you can, sprinting out of the room and down the hall without looking back. You keep running for a few minutes, making turns whenever possible and tripping over objects on the way, until you finally run out of breath. Slowing to a halt, you place your hands on your knees, chest heaving as you look back down the corridor. Empty. You decide to go into the nearest room, which has an aged sign on the door saying "documentation office". You close the door behind you as you enter, locking it to keep anyone else from getting in. Drawing a shaky breath, you slide down the wall to sit on the floor, placing your head in your hands. Why is this happening? What is all this? You can't help asking yourself a million questions that you know you don't have the answer to.

Looking up from your hands and wiping away a few stray tears, you glance around you, a large file folder on a desk catching your eye. You walk over to it, noticing the number 82 on the front. The folder holds a couple hundred papers, all official-looking documents from the doctors, save for a thick stapled stack of hand-written notes that seem to be a log of experiments. You flip to a random page and begin reading:

Human Test Subject #082, Phase 28 of 34. July 16th, 2019.
The drugs don't have as much of an effect anymore. We've decided to raise the dosage to see if it will fix the problem. 82's fits of rage are becoming more difficult to control, and his other symptoms seem to be worsening too. At the same time, the progress is amazing. All five senses have intensified several times over, and his strength has improved an immeasurable amount. We've never made it this far with a human being, so it would be a shame to lose him now. We're keeping him locked away unless it's during an experiment for now, otherwise it's just too risky. His actions are becoming unpredictable and there's no longer any sense in his head. During most days he sings children's songs to himself, but at night 82 becomes violent, banging on doors and screaming for help. He often threatens to kill us, saying he'll get his revenge at any cost. I know he's completely contained, but personally it still scares me. I fear that one day even metal won't be enough to restrain him, and should that happen--

A high-pitched scream comes from the room directly next to you, startling you back to reality. I can't stay here, you think. That thing could kill me easily if it found me. Moving to the door, you unlock it and open it just enough to look out into the dark hallway. Nothing seems out of place, so you open the door the rest of the way with a loud creak and begin moving quietly, following worn signs that point to where the stairs should be.

After about a minute of sneaking around, you manage to find the old stairwell. The railing is broken off, but you're still able to get to the first floor without much trouble. Your whole body aches as you step onto the tile of the first floor, and that's then the smell hits you. Corpses. The stench is almost unbearable. Placing your hand over your nose, you continue to move down the hall. The fluorescent lights above flicker every few seconds, casting strange shadows across the scratched surface of the walls. You barely notice the blood stains on the floor as you make your way down the corridor, searching for an exit.

Minutes pass without any sign of a way out before you notice a glint from the corner of your eye. Turning on your heels, you find yourself staring straight into the same piercing, icy eyes as before. You don't even give it time to move first. You sprint away at full speed, knowing very well that it was probably right on your heels. You try your best to knock over stray objects in the corridor as you run to make it harder for 82 to catch up. You keep running through the labyrinth of a building as fast as you possibly can without a specific destination. It's still there. Subject 82 appears in your peripheral vision from time to time, always running after you just as quickly. You see it again and again, always closer.

You're about to lose all hope of escape when you see it. Exit. The sign shines down the hall like a light from heaven, and you head straight for it. You force yourself to go even faster than before. Your lungs burn and every muscle in your body aches, but you just keep running. You're so close now. You vault over a hospital bed and slam your shoulder into the door before falling hard back onto the floor. A loud beep comes from a box on the right wall, which flashes red twice. A card reader. You stand and turn to see Subject 82 standing down the hall, grinning even wider now. There's no escape.

At this point, animal instinct kicks in. You dive for the mobile bed and snap off one of its rusty legs with ease. You charge straight for the test subject as it runs toward you. You raise the metal rod above your head and twist your torso for the best possible hit. You swing, your strike connecting with unrelenting force...

...and the mirror breaks.