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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: Flash Fiction Fun

Submitted: August 22, 2018

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Submitted: August 21, 2018



How is this possible?
I keep asking myself this, but I dread to hear what the answer could be.
Maybe I’m asleep. Maybe I’m hallucinating. Maybe Gary was right, maybe the mirror is haunted.
I should never have accepted the gift.

I’m currently stood in front of a mirror, staring right at it.
Staring right at my back.

It’s so detailed, so creepy, so… real.

I turn left, so does my reflection.
I turn right, it follows suit.
I raise my right hand. It does again.
I pick up a nearby book.
It does not. It tries, but it's hand passes right through, leaving behind a green vapour.

Knocking. At the door.
Ignoring it, I drop the book and reach for my keys.
Knocking. Louder this time.
I pick my keys up and stuff them into my pocket.
Knocking. Louder yet again.
I slowly start to creep away from the mirror and off towards the door.
The reflection’s head does a full 180.
A full 180.
I crap myself, what the heck.
I run, bolting right for the door.

“Where do you think you’re going, Jonathan? I never said you could leave.”
With a click of… my fingers, my feet freeze in place and I land flat on my face.
“Come back Jonathan, I’m not done with you.”
I feel a tug at my stomach, and in the blink of an eye, I’m back at the mirror.
“Don’t even think of trying to dispose of me, I’m here to stay. I’m bound to you. Whether you like it or not.”
I have to sell the mirror.
“Good morning Jonathan.”
I go flying forwards, straight into the mirror. My stomach doing flips as the wind gushes by my face. Upon impact, I feel the jagged shards of glass pierce my skin. I feel the blood gushing everywhere.
I feel myself jolt upright as I wake in my bed, heart pounding, sweat dripping.
Blood dripping.
I wipe a single bead of blood trickling down my forehead.
Sitting here, blood in my hand, I realise the horrifying truth.
I know that voice. It’s Julian. The same Julian from 5 years ago.
Not only is there blood on my right hand.
There’s blood on my hands.

Five years ago.
Five years ago today.
Neither of us could foresee the dreadful events of that night, nor the nightmares that would haunt us for months to come.

We got drunk at a party. Stupidly drunk. So drunk we thought driving home ourselves would be a good idea.
So we did.
But on the way was a mirror on the side of the road. The lights from our truck reflected back and blinded us.
Then we heard a thump. 
Then we saw the boy.
And we ran.
We swore to never speak of it again, but now times have changed.
We didn’t expect to ever see him again.

A smash from the kitchen pulls me from my thoughts.
What was that?
I abandon my armchair and rush to the kitchen.
Upon entering the kitchen the source of the bang is revealed; shattered pieces of my favourite vase on the ground.
More smashing from back in my lounge room.
It’s got to be him.

“Over here.”
My stomach drops.
He’s wearing a devilish smile, suspicious eyes, and holds a kitchen knife in his hand. Blood trickling down the tip and onto my new kitchen tiles.
Around his neck hangs a silver pendant, wrapped inside of the silver is a purple jewel. Identical to the one I bought for mother's day last year.
Times freezes.
His knife.
My mum’s blood.
He murdered my mum.
I run at him.

Every step fueled by anger; each breath filled with revenge. We lock eyes, neither of us looking away.
His expression hardens as I lunge at him.
I fly through him with a woosh, getting enveloped by a bone-chilling sensation; his smile grows.
His smile disappears almost as soon as it appeared though. Instead, it’s replaced with a look of horror, unable to prevent what was about to happen.
I sail past him, heading straight for the mirror.
Surprisingly, I feel nothing. I hear nothing.
Not the crack of the mirror.
Not the glass fragments thrust into my skin.
Not Julian jerking me back, acting too late to stop me.
Only the anger draining out of my body.
Followed by victory; the euphoric feeling of victory.

“You can’t avoid me forever Jonathan, don’t ever forget that.”
He vanishes. Gone, Just like that.
All that’s left is the remnants of the formerly grand mirror and a ghastly odour.

Come on, come on. Pick up.
I pace around nervously.
What am I going to do? My mum was murdered, a knife’s in my home covered in her blood. And my story is a ghost did it?
I’m screwed.
“Gary, I need your help. Get over here now.”
“Can’t it wait? I’m in the middle of something.”
“It’s about him.”
“I’m on my way.”
Next time we’ll be ready.
Next time Julian will be gone for good.
Next time will be the last time.

© Copyright 2018 Stevie McBobby. All rights reserved.

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