Dark Dream

3. Mirror, Mirror II.

To get to the staff toilets, he had to pass through a larger room. 

The light was always left on in the toilet but not in the room he had to pass through to get there. 

Using the light that shone through the open door before him, he picked his way past the dusty boxes and mop buckets that created a virtual corridor before him. It was also used as an office and first-aid room but a junk room seemed its main purpose now.

The red and black quarry tiles that greeted him beneath the yellow glow of the energy-saving bulb as he neared the entrance to the bathroom.

Sitting on the worn bare toilet seat, he fished out a black lacquered box from his inside pocket. Holding it firmly in both hands, enjoying the smooth curved edges and concealed hinges, he pressed the solid gold stud that released the lid. The mechanical click sounded loud in the confines of the room. He smiled to hear it. This was part of his ritual, enjoying the contents as they openly revealed themselves to the room. He took out the glass vial, pulled out the black rubber cork with his teeth and tapped some of its powdery contents on to the box's inset mirror. With that done, he re-corked the vail and reached for the sterling silver blade. Custom engraved, it came away from the velvet slot with ease.

Holding his breath, he chopped the larger crystals into smaller ones and the smaller ones into fine dust that could be snorted. He knew time could fly all too soon so he was mindful of this part of the ritual. At last, he felt satisfied and worked his efforts into two straight lines. Putting the blade back into its slot, he brought a clear plastic straw into play and expertly drew one line into each nostril.

After patiently waiting for the buzz to subside and went to the washbasin to freshen up. He could feel it in the back of his throat. It was the worst part but it was also strangely satisfying. He checked his eyes. His pupils were large, like saucers.

The water was cool and welcoming. He had the nagging need to get back to Jennet before she suspected anything was up. How long had he been away? Too long, he was sure. He tried to push these thoughts away, turned the tap off, and looked at the mirror above the washbasin.

He wasn't positive what he saw at first. It was like seeing a double exposure, his face seemingly overlaid with one of the creatures from his dreams. The mirror looked frosted over, his face dissolving to reveal the craziness of his mind. Staring back at him was the ghost of his former self. It smiled back at him, enjoying his fear.

The air started to feel chilled and his breaths left him in short bursts, settling as condensation on the mirror's ice-cold surface. He felt increasingly detached and alarmed as he also saw frost forming on his face and hair.

It's the drugs, he thought wildly. All he could do was grip the white porcelain of the Victorian sink. He felt frozen and unable to move.

His mind squirmed inside its skull. Even in his worst nightmares, he had still been himself, bodiless and somehow distanced from the terrible scenes he saw. He'd always felt their wish to wipe clean all humanity and set fire to what remained. It had always been a dream though. This seemed very real.

"Are you okay?" The voice came from a long way off but he knew it was just behind him.

Wait, hadn't he closed the bathroom door? He wasn't sure any more. As much as he tried, he couldn't answer. He couldn't tear his eyes away from the face that looked at him from the mirror.

"Mate, are you alright?"

He felt a hand touch his slumped shoulder. The stark light hurt his eyes but he fought back tears when he understood why the hand on his shoulder felt so strange. Its fingers were long, tapering, and clumsily crossed over one another with amazing strength.

"Should I call for help?" The voice said, taking on a sinister tone. The face of the stranger loomed into view and held his gaze.

Just like his dreams, he found himself to be a bystander, unable to move or act in any way. In his growing paralysis his hands were cold and felt welded to the basin.

The figure that loomed up behind him had no hair and its skin was like parchment. He found it almost impossible to focus on the face. His features shifted and changed, like army ants on a hotplate.

The cold was getting to him now and he felt numb all over. His thoughts settled and he looked unblinking at the face now looking at him. He noticed markings etched into its right cheek. To Charley, it seemed to hold the key to some strange and wonderful mystery. Like a maze of interlocking lines, all emanating from or leading to, its centre. He saw many of the lines crossed over pathways, like bridges.

"Those are the short-cuts; you'll do well to remember them." He wasn't sure whether it was the creature talking or just a voice within his own head.

Then the figure was gone, as if it had never been there. He was alone, his face in the mirror looking as it normally did. This sudden shift back to normality was almost as strange as what he'd just witnessed. He pushed away from the basin and turned to look around. There was nothing there.

Must be the drugs, he thought blearily, cut with some bizarre hallucinogen of some sort. He'd no doubt be having some fine words with the person who sold them to him.

Damn, that was ugly, he thought, vowing to deliver a whole verse of fine words, along with a punchline.