User talk:Erlkoeneg

Ten weeks ago, the Chicago P.D. recieved a tape with no markings. Thanks to some of the normal lethargy and red tape found around a big city's police department, the tape just got circulated around the office. Finally, it landed firmly on the desk of one Srg. Riley Cooper, wrapped and unheard. Riley, being of a curious and inquisitive sort, gently unwrapped the tape, put it in his old Walkman tape player, and settled down to listen.


 * A buzz of sharp static sounds as the tape begins to play, the background in eerily silent, lacking any of the usual white noise found in a big city* 

My name is Tanner Boyde, and by the time any one reads this I won't be me.

Forgive me for being a bit too the point, it's just... been a long week. I haven't slept. I'm pretty sure that my blood is more caffiene and coffee than it is hemoglobin. I'm getting ahead of myself here. I'm recording this, so that someone, somewhere might know what happened to- *a slight rustling in the background seems to draw the narrators attention. The tape remains quiet for exactly :27 seconds. The narrator cuts back in rather abruptly, raising his voice slightly, seemingly trying to talk over something else that can't be heard on the tape* AS I WAS SAYING, so that someone might know what happened to me. I should start at the beginning.

This all started with a mirror. Two weeks ago, I started... seeing something wrong with it. Every time I walked past the mirror (it's an old mirror that I got on sale from the Salvation Army. It's the only one in my one room basement apartment), I just had this dreadful feeling. Like, when you think you're seeing something out of the corner of your eye. You KNOW nothing is there, but somewhere... somewhere deep in that lizard part of the brain you f...fee-feel. A prescence. Something there. Something hidden. Something bad. *At this point, the narrator clearly turns away from the microphone. The squeaking of an old, used desk chair sounds out clearly through the mic. A faint sound, like that of a man crying softly, can be heard at the very edge of human hearing. This goes on for :90 seconds.*

*Finally, the chair squeals, slowly, as the narrators clearly shaky voice starts up again* I'm, I'm sorry. Anyways, as I was- As I was saying, I started seeing something wrong with the mirror. Something that my instincts were telling me was wrong. I... I just wish I could have ignored it. Looking back now... God, why didn't I just leave it be.

Then, finally, I decided to figure out what was wrong. I examined the mirror. I tested it. I would stare at it, turn away, and snap back whip fast. I would perform complicated hand gestures, looking intently for any discrepancies. I spent my entire day sitting there, in my chair, watching it. I didn't wash, eat, or dress that entire day. My boring old college paper sat abandoned amongst tower heaps of text books.

Another day went by. And another. A weird compulsion told me that turning my back to the mirror would be a bad idea. The room was lit by two salvaged lamps, bought from yard sales. One dimly lit the south side of the apartment, it's light only barely reaching me, like the suns light reaching the cold wastes of Pluto and Charon. The other was a simple piece with a ratty old shade and a single old light bulb. I remembered reading once that mirrors were portals for spirits, and that dark mirrors were even worse. I prayed for the lights to stay on. * At this point, the tape goes silent for three whole minutes before the narrator finally resumes*

That went on for another whole day. I remember my phone ringing, somewhere in the apartment. I wanted to answer so bad. I just wanted someone to come in and break me away from this. But I continued in a dead lock with my reflection. I was so tired, and I was so... unclean. I wearily remembered that I hadn't shaved in three days. I moved my hand to my face, rubbing the prickly stubble. That's... that's when I finally noticed. My- m-my... Goddammit, my... Oh, God *the tape goes silent, the only sound being the terrified sobbing of the narrator. The sobbing continues for 12 whole minute, broken only by increasingly frequent breaks of static. Finally, the narrator resumes, shakily*

My reflection. It wasn't bearded. And it's hand wasn't moving.

"Finally, he gets it!", exclaimed my reflection, as a devilish grin spread across his face. He stood with a predatory grace, and the boxers he'd been wearing became a sharp Armani suit. *Shot of static.* I remember leaping back, staring at his face. The face belonged to me, but it was so wrong on him. My normally cheerful face was contorted in a wolfish, predacious grin. And his eyes OH GOD THE * Several sharp bursts of static, accompanied by  screeches of sharp interference* his eyes, dark and black, blacker than black, like sharks. Dead.

I screamed for at least ten minutes. He stood over me, looking bored. Finally, I calmed down and asked ,"What are you?"

He looked up, as though considering, then looked back at me and stated, "I don't know. What are you? I think you'll find the answers closely related."

"I... I... why? Why? WHY WHY WHY WHY WHY???" I screamed back at the figure.

"Oh, I see. Let me answer you. I'm your reflection. What do you think  I am? I could be anything. A demon, a spirit, an angel. Maybe I'm you? Are you me? Are we you? This is confusing". My doppelganger paced inside the two foot mirror space, stroking his chin, confused. "I think I know. I'm you. Or I will be."

I kept my eyes on the thing. Watching it. Then I figured it out. The devlish fetch paced back and forth, but he wasn't confused. He was stalking me. Like a tiger waiting to pounce. I've been sitting here for three days since it spoke. It's just been... pacing. It doesn't talk. And it's starting to look more like me. I'm going to die here. I know it. So I'm going to keep recording, until... *The voice fades off, and the tape remains silent for 27 minutes, exactly. Then a voice, the narrators, sounds out cooler and smoother than before.*

Ahhhh, freedom at last.


 * A disturbing cackle fills the sound, causing huge burst of interference, feedback, and static*

Sgt. Riley leaped back, flinging the Walkman from him as it burst into electrical flames.

Erlkoeneg (talk) 19:59, April 27, 2014 (UTC)Erlkoeneg 4/27/14