On Mirrors and Dreams

She didn't know what started it, and she didn't care. If she had to pick a starting point, she'd guess it was when she started noticing differences. Her reflection didn't look quite right. Sometimes it would be smiling faintly when she wasn't smiling; sometimes she could see shadows in the corners that weren't there when she turned. It was unnerving, to say the least. Mirrors just reflected back reality- they weren't supposed to show such idiosyncracies. Then the nightmares came. She would wake in a cold sweat from dreams of her body slashed to pieces before the mirror in the bathroom. Her vision would dim as she heard mocking laughter in a voice very like her own. She had been seeing...things. Never outright, always just outside the field of her vision. Shadows seemed to flit around her eyes, flirting with her peripheral sight. Small objects would change position when her back was turned. As time progressed, she began to fear looking in the mirror more and more. Her reflection seemed to change with each glance. She covered the mirror with a thick black blanket she had; in the morning it had fallen off and would not remain over it, even when nailed to the wall. She took a baseball bat and swung it at the hateful mirror. It bounced off as if the mirror were made of steel. One stormy night, she decided she had had enough. If the mirror was what had started this, she would finish it. She ran to the bathroom and faced the reflection head on. Lightning flashed; the power went out and she could still see the warped visage. The face in the mirror was scarred, as if someone had attacked it with flechettes. It smirked openly, not even trying to hide the dissimilarity any more. The hair was lank and greasy, hanging over eyes that glowed a faint green. "Alright, bitch," she panted, not recognizing the rage and fear in her own voice. "You want more scars? I will give them to you!' She took a straight razor- her father's- from the bathroom sink. She slashed at the horrible face in the mirror, and the thing shrieked as one of its scars was cut open. Blood began to ooze from the mirror. Gleefully, she slashed again. And again. It seemed like she had been cutting the mirror forever. She barely noticed the dizziness in her anger. It wasn't until she slipped that she realized it. There was so much blood here. Far more than should have been coming from the mirror. She looked down at herself, and saw the cuts. Her mind whirled; why? What had she done wrong? She had been so close! As her vision faded, she heard a young woman's mocking laughter, and knew it for her own.