Board Thread:Writer's Workshop/@comment-24713615-20140322161251


 * I've been working on this story for the last several days, gaining some inspiration from something that my mom told me happened to her when she was a kid.  It isn't even close to what this story is about, and this is in no way true, but hearing her talk about something that scared her really helped me write this.  Any constructive criticism would be highly appreciated. I don't want to post anything on here that wouldn't do Creepypastas justice.  Thank you for reading :)***



 March 3, 2013  uploaded: 2:23am     Reflection. As defined by the dust covered copy of  The Webster's Dictionary that has been sitting on my shelf for the past twelve years, it is at first said to be: an image that is seen in a mirror or on a shiny surface. What interests me about this is how simple it is. Yes, it's true that when one stands before a reflective surface, they can see themselves looking back. Or perhaps something, if they aren't standing across from the surface directly and happen to instead get eye of a stack of books or an old baseball mitt that they used to carry around when they were young. See how specific it can be? But what fascinates me more deeply was the second definition, typed in small letters directly underneath, almost passable if one didn't look closely enough. It said:  something that shows the effect, existence, or character of something else. For me to explain out front why this strikes me as interesting would just be rude, to myself, and to you. If anyone happens to stumble across this mediocre blog entry, anyway. So if you're here, right now, feel free to pause and grab yourself a mug of herbal tea, or even some popcorn. You're in for a real story. I grew up in Ferndale, Michigan a city of about 22,000 people that preferred to keep to themselves rather than to party late at bars and drive home drunk when the sun was peering over the horizon. Not that we didn't have some of those kinds, too, because trust me, we did. In early October of the year 2000, I had just turned 8 years old and was never more contempt. I had the ideal group of friends, about four boys who all shared my interest in building overly-complex Lego structures on rainy days and exploring in the woods behind my house when the weather kept. I had good parents, both in their early forties, and a big sister called Alex who treated me well enough to give me the occasional pass when I copied off my friend's homework. It seemed to begin on a Saturday evening later in the month, when my friends came over to hang out and eat dinner. We were fully aware that the sun would set at an earlier 8:30 and the dark would be impossible to scope through, but that didn't stop us from venturing out through the back patio door when my mother was busy cooking in the kitchen. The air was chilly, but still comfortable. I had a thin jacket on to shield my arms from the slight cold, but one of my friends, Chris, went with just his short sleeved Batman t-shirt. It was the one I had bought for his birthday just a few months prior. I knew that my parents wouldn't like the idea of us going out during the evening to go adventuring in the woods, but that's what made it that much more appealing. That sweet taste of adrenaline I got when my fingers turned pink and I had to put my arms in front of me to feel for oncoming trees made it all worth it. We had done with before, and had always been scolded when we returned back to my house. But my parents weren't the extremely strict type who would send me to my room with no supper. Maybe, if they were feeling particularly stringent, I'd lose a dessert for the night. My closest friends were Chris, Justin, Nick, and Rodney (or Rod, as he preferred to be called). My full name was Brandon, but they quickly shortened it to Brand within the first two weeks of getting to know me. I left Chris in charge with the flashlight so that he could lead. He was the type of kid who lived for things like that. With a swoop of his dusty blonde hair, clashing horribly with the yellow detailing of his Batman shirt, we set off into the trees. Leaves crunched beneath are tennis shoes, perfectly dirtied from so many trips, as we went along deeper and deeper, passing recognized territory. “ That was the last check point about ten minutes ago, right?” Rod asked. He was more of a cautious kid, which  you wouldn't expect since he regularly agreed to go out into deserted land with a couple of eight year old’s. “ Yeah.” I answered absentmindedly. We had been walking for close to an hour now. The sun was setting and the natural light would be gone. Soon I heard the click of the flashlight being switched on, and the ray of light shot out into the approaching darkness. I was trying to imagine all the new things that we could find out here if we just had the time. If I could just stop the hands from ticking and we could at least get the chance to see everything. To make sure that we weren't missing anything big. Something unforgettable. The flashlight shined brightly through the low branches of the trees. It created a mist, filled with particles and little bugs buzzing throughout the air. It wasn't yet cold enough where the animals had burrowed away. “ Hey, I think I see somethin'.” Chris muttered, Nick almost stepping on his toes as he stopped to look more clearly. He was right. In the distance stood a definite somethin'. It was oddly placed, as if it was just dropped within the trees, and they just moved aside to give it some room. Branches grew around it, burrowing in it's cracks and crevices. It was a house. It was moderately sized, about the length and height of any two storied home. But it was terribly stained with water damage. Mildew and moss grew up the sides, curling up onto the brown roof with no forgiveness. We were staring at the side with no windows, so we couldn't look inside to see if any lights were on. Even in our young minds, though, we knew that no one would be living there. It was a complete mess. We started to inch forward again, still staying careful just in case. There was always a chance that we could disturb someone, or perhaps an animal who built a nest inside. Oh how my parents would have hated to know what I was doing. We moved to the front, and it was even uglier than before. The structure appeared to be frowning. The porch, the foundation sagging wood, bowed out at the edges. The stairs were full of holes and cracked planks. The door was cracked open ever so slightly, enough to stick a skinny hand through. I half expected it to be like the horror films, when the decaying finger would slip out from the darkness and lay its grip on the scratched knob. The windows were highly fogged out and useless, most of them open. The whole house was just sad. Like my sister when she would marathon tragic romance movies and sit on the couch with a box of tissues and a chocolate bar in hand. “ Were going in right?”  Nick voiced from my left. He had jet black hair that never failed to fall over his eyes, and a half grown in front tooth. I wanted to go in. So badly in fact, that my legs almost sprouted a mind of their own and carried me in themselves. But I had to think of the coincidences. We didn't know what could be in there. Disease, animals, people. We were left pretty sourceless. “ Of course.”  Retorted Chris all-knowingly, lifting a foot to start the trek up the  stairs. But Rod stepped forward first, and grabbed his shoulder, pulling him back to face him. “ Maybe we shouldn't, you know?”  I laughed along with Nick and Chris even though he voiced exactly what I was thinking. “ Don't be silly, Rod, there's nothing to be afraid of. It's just a house.”  Yeah, he had to be right, it was just a house. Every kid has a memory like this, when they went off on there own to experience something that they could look back on when they were older men at the YMCA, telling stories about when they were young and naive. I noticed a large rock a few inches away from my feet and swooped down to pick it up. It was smooth and sat perfectly in my palm. “ What d'you think, Brand? You in?” Chris shined the flashlight up at our faces in the middle of the huddle so that I could look him in the eyes. I squeezed my hand tightly around the rock, fighting with myself internally about what I should do. I was the deciding factor. I glanced back over at the house and it's musty windows, the dipping porch, the mysterious aura. I knew that I had to go in. The curiosity would kill me. “ 100 percent.” I stated, smiling. They all broke out into satisfied grins as well, even Rod, whose eyebrows still curved downward nervously. Chris secured his grip on the flashlight and, forming a line, we started to climb up the steps. We moved smoothly, like black cats in the night, not wanting to be seen, even by the trees. I turned my head back once on the base of the porch to see the full moon sitting high in the sky. Perfect night to be out and doing something crazy. “ On the count of three.” Chris began, placing his fingertips on the chipped surface of the door, ready to push. “ One.”  The wooden boards underneath our feet creaked from our weight. “ Two.” The hinges of the door squeaked in anticipation. “ Three!” Chris pummeled forward with the opening door, crashing into the house with the light waving wildly in his excited grasp. I don't know what I expected to see the moment that the door swung open, but the reality was a little disappointing. Maybe I was hoping for a chest, or a map to lead to buried treasure. I was only eight, and my mind always jumped to the coolest possible scenarios in any situation. We all stayed quite still for a minute as we inspected the surroundings. The wooden floor beneath us was just as dirty as the rest of the house, but in much better condition. The curtains hanging from the front windows were maroon and terribly ripped, with what seemed like claw wounds. What was the most startling and unsettling about the whole atmosphere, was the realization of how many mirrors there were. There must have been five, right there in that one room, the surfaces shining clearer than the light of the moon. One was shaped like an oval, the lining made out of untarnished silver. Another, directly in front of me, was a thin line, warping my face into an elongated stick. Their clarity sat eerily next to all the decay. “ What now?” I whispered breathlessly, still staring at the fun house mirror that made my eyes appear wider than they already were. “ What else is there to do...but explore?” Chris teased, bumping my shoulder and striding forward. He was so fearless compared to the rest of us, who were now all secretly beginning to dread our decision  to come inside. Standing in a group behind, we started to move towards Chris, who had turned down a hallway at the end of the room. My feet skidded across a patterned carpet, gradually we made it down to the next room. Chris walked through another open door, and gasped. I stalled, my hand tightening against the rock, my arm moving upward ready to defend myself. “Go!” Nick demanded, his breath hot on my ear. I forced my feet to move, the thought of running no longer imaginable. The beating of my heart quickened at an exceptional pace and my chest surged with more heat than a hot summer's day. I clenched my eyes shut, turning to look into the doorway. The sight was incredible. I saw myself, and Chris, along with the rest of the group. We were all staring at our own reflections on a wall made completely of mirrors. Not one speck of plaster was visible beneath the sea of glass. I noticed that behind us there was a clock, it's hour hand not working probably, twitching to the side. We looked so flawed compared to the intricacy of the bordered mirrors, as if an Xbox was placed next to an Atari in an empty room. One would outweigh the other. “ Enough of this, let's move on.” Chris stated broadly, dashing out from the room with a new burst of energy. Chris and Nick followed closely behind. But I remained, staring at the clock behind me, my feet seemingly glued to the ground. For how long passed before I decided to move on, I am not sure. But eventually I grew board and drifted down the hallway. I heard footsteps above me, of Chris and the others running around. But what interested  me was a room sat at the very end of the hall. I kept walking as if in a trance, my mind feeling dizzy and distant. I turned the corner. It was the plainest room I had ever seen. There was no paint on the walls, not even a white coat finishing off the base. The floors were a dull gray concrete. I felt the coldness seeping through the bottom of my shoes, freezing my skin. The hair on my arms stood up even under my jacket. I took a sigh of relieve when I noticed the open window next to me. That was the only thing in the room, besides what I was looking so intently at. At the very end of the long, rectangular shaped room was a sheet. It was blowing in the breeze. Underneath it was a tall, round ended object. I willed myself not to move. Not to bring a hand up high enough to snatch the fabric in between my fingers. But I found myself going through the motions without any control, wondering strongly what I would find. I was standing on the tips of my toes, gaining the strength to tug. With one, swift movement, the sheet thrashed off from the top, the wind forcing my eyes shut. Then there was silence. And only that. It was the kind that ringed through your ears and made you desperate to hear anything that would break it. I didn't even realize I was holding my breath until I let it go. I didn't want to open my eyes. I don't remember why, I just had an overwhelming feeling of panic, similar to when you get dared to touch the bottom of the pool but can't reach the surface quick enough. A pressure built in my chest, as if someone was pushing down on my skin. I couldn't move a muscle. When it felt like I was about to burst, I finally had to open my eyes. I would do it slow. I decided to do the classic count to three. “One.” I uttered to myself, remembering Chris, his face pale in the moon, leading up the stairs. “ Two.” The rock in my hand now matched my body heat. “ Three.”   I became frozen. My heart dropped to my gut with the intensity of a boulder. What petrified me was not in front of me: a mirror, so large and elegant that I could stare at it for hours. What terrified me was the reflection. What was behind me. It was a man. Or what I believe once was a man. It was so putrid that my stomach churned  each  second that I had to look at it. It was crouching, low to the ground behind me, about ten feet away, close to the door. It's legs were oddly skinny and pointed, the knees breaking through a rip in what were supposed to be pants. It's torso was draped with a red plaid flannel, the body itself lumpy and disfigured. It's arms were twisted in grotesque directions. It's fingers twitched, his hands hunched up towards the lumps of his chest. The gray skin on it's hands were oozing with a sickly white liquid. But what I couldn't look away from was it's face. Falling down from it's scalp were chunks of pure white hair. It's jaw appeared broken and jagged. From it's cheeks hung loose skin, so thinned and crusty that they looked like they were flaking off. The mouth of the thing was crooked, the nonexistent lips half stuck shut. The other half was pulled open wide as if it was in a state of permanent agony. The lips rubbed together like it was struggling to breathe. And then there were it's eyes. They were bulging and wide, the lids stapled open. The pupils were bloodshot and small, piercing into to me through the glass. It was writhing towards me, it's head twitching with each scuttle. It inched across the floor, it's eyes not looking from mine. I did not even have the comfort of darkness, for the moon shine straight through the windowless hole in the wall, illuminating it's eyes. I had to get away. I knew that I did, but I couldn't move. The longer I waited, the closer it got, it's face no more lenient than a statue. It was horribly consistent. My heart was pounding so rapidly that I was frightened it would burst. My mind raced, searching for a way to escape. Then I felt it in my hand. The rock. I squeezed it once more, contemplating what I must do. The creature took no notice when I lifted my hand. It's stitched mouth tried to tear open the closer it got to me. It quickened it pace, forcing it's legs to push along the concrete. Then with one more glance at the creature, I chucked the rock into the mirror, screaming in the effort. The shattering of glass was so deafening that my ears began to ring. I fell to the ground, particles sprinkling over my back and hair. I crawled into the hallway, Nick, Rod, and Chris pounding down the stairs to come to my aid. I gagged and puked on the hallway floor, wiping my mouth with a shaking hand. I looked behind me to see if it was there. Rod pulled me up to my feet and begged me tell them what was wrong. All it took to convince them was the look on my face. We ran out the front door, trampling out onto the porch and down the steps. “ Brand! Brand, wait up!” I heard Chris scream from the distance. But I kept running, pleading the others to follow me. Even when their legs grew sore, I couldn't stop moving and pushed myself until the point where I went numb. When we got home, my mom scolded me for going out without permission at such late hours. And for once I took it with relief. Chris and the others came in five minutes later, their faces pink and their noses running. They all left to go home, not even bothering to stay for dinner. They didn't lose contact with me. We stayed friends, but I never did explain to them exactly what happened in the house. Every time I tried, my stomach would churn and I'd have to excuse myself to the bathroom to stand over the toilet. They asked me if I'd ever write it down for them to read. Maybe they'll come across this one day. You did, after all. I moved away when I turned 18, despite everything that was good in my life. Living in front of those woods had haunted me ever since, so I knew it was the only way to keep myself mentally healthy. I rented out an apartment and settled back, sleeping soundly for the first time in ten years. Last year, I made the decision to go back. Call me crazy, but I had no choice. I needed the closure. It had been bothering me for many years, and I couldn't shake the thought. I kept picturing the creature, crouched down, its piercing gaze turning my muscles into stone. It was harder to find this time around. The house was in even worse condition, the majority of it crumbling into itself. The only room untouched, was filled with shattered glass. I pocketed one shard, and ran off, just like when I was a mere 8 years old. Even now, as I look into the glass and type this out, I feel my hand seizing up in fear. I sometimes stare into it and swear that, in the smallest corner, I see it's eyes staring back. Of course, when I try to look closer nothing is ever there. But this has happened so many times that I'm starting to doubt my decision of ever going back. I can't seem to make it two hours without waking up ever since. I'll sit myself up and turn the shard in my hands a couple times to try and convince myself that it wasn't there, that it isn't there anymore. But the reflection of myself that I see looking back doesn't appear to agree. For in a reflection, I have experienced the existence of something I would have never seen in my wildest nightmares. In a reflection, I have seen the one thing that will never leave me alone. - Brand     