I've never been the most sensible person. My mother would always tell me that I was "the dumbest smart person she knew". I always figured that was just classic mom razzing, something that happened to every kid when they made some silly mistake that was easily avoidable. I recently learned that it may be the most accurate label ever put on me.
My name is Will. I am 20 years old and I'm currently attending ASU for Business Administration. I live off campus in an older apartment complex close enough to the school that I can ride my bike to class. My driver's license is suspended for the next 19 months because 5 months ago, I got busted for underage DUI. I was driving back from a party, and apparently, my hands weren't as steady on the wheel as I was sure they would be. My mom threw a fit when she found out.
My friends aren't exactly model citizens. Some would say that they're "bad influences" but I just call them lovable idiots. They've always been there for me when I needed them though, so they're my lovable idiots. My best friend Jack is the worst of them all. If you bring up anything even remotely rebellious or taboo around Jack, he becomes relentless. He won't let it go until that dumb little idea you had becomes a full-fledged reality. It was for this reason that two days ago, my best friend Jack died.
A couple of weeks ago, I came across this sketchy blog post about separating your physical self from the version of you that you see in the mirror. I've always been interested in the paranormal, so naturally I had to read it. I was skeptical at first, because I had tried a handful of paranormal activities I'd found on the internet throughout the years, and they'd all turned out to be bunk. From the ubiquitous Bloody Mary that we all did as kids, to straight-up trying to talk to the devil at 3am. I was always disappointed when they turned out to be nothing more than scary stories designed to feed our adrenaline on the "what if" of it all.
Jack was always the first to jump on that train with me when I'd find something new to try. I think things like that are how we bonded so much over the years. Watching scary movies, reading scary stories, and, of course, trying to get ourselves into trouble were the throughline of our friendship. Anything that gets the blood pumping and the sympathetic nervous system on high alert was our jam. But over the years, we had grown a tolerance to it.
When you're a kid, everything is scary. I remember watching Nightmare on Elm Street as a kid and having nightmares for weeks. It totally wrecked my brain at the time, and it was the only thing I could think about. It was scary, but the rush was incredible. Something about feeling like there was something you had to be on the lookout for at all times was invigorating. After the 10th time watching it, though, it loses its luster. You have to graduate to bigger and badder scares to get the same response.
I know that it sounds a lot like I'm describing drug use here, but that's what it felt like. When something really scared the daylights out of me, it felt like I was high. That's why I loved it so much. So when I came across this post, hours deep into a creepy content rabbit hole, it was like the local dealer flashing his newest batch, and I just had to get a piece.
The post took the form of the many internet rituals that had come before it. Goofy warnings throughout meant to entice you with reverse psychology, a list of steps that were both weirdly specific and oddly vague at the same time, and a promise that if you were to follow these steps, it would rock your world. The ritual itself was pretty simple. Wait until the witching hour (That's 3am for the uninitiated) and put a standing mirror in the middle of an empty room. Draw a pentagram around the mirror in white chalk and stand in front of it, reciting a spell a certain number of times. I will not reference the spell or the count in this story for safety concerns.
It all seemed pretty bog standard to me, nothing I hadn't seen a million times before. I'd even tried rituals that were very similar to this in the past to no avail, but there was something different about this one. Something felt strange about it. I don't know if it was the incomprehensible blogsite I was on, the 20 sketchy links I clicked to get there, or the fact that it only had one comment that said "Don't" but I felt like this one had some real weight to it. I had to tell Jack about this.
The next morning, I met up with Jack on the ride into class. I wanted to talk to him in person about it before I sent him the link. I wanted to describe the feeling I got when I read it, out of fear that going into it cold wouldn't have the same effect. As always, Jack was more than intrigued by the story and said that he would read it between classes and that we would meet up that evening to talk more. That day was pretty normal. I went to class, tried to pay attention, but my mind would wander. I kept thinking about that feeling I got when I read the post. It was so enticing to me, something that, even if it didn't work, I was invested enough in to get my heart racing.
That day couldn't end soon enough. After my last lecture, I raced home on my bike, but not without stopping at the store to pick up a few things. I got the chalk, and I also picked up some candles. The post didn't call for candles, but I felt like they would add a lot to the ambience. I also paid a homeless dude $20 to get us some beer. I had to set the stage and all.
When I got home, I saw Jack's truck in the parking lot outside my building, and to my surprise, there was something in the back. A large standing mirror with a beige tarp thrown haphazardly over it. I was relieved to see it too, because there was no way that I would be able to get one home on my bike. I guessed that meant that Jack had read it and was all in. I was practically giddy with excitement as I locked my bike up and walked up to the truck.
"You ready to head up?" I asked as I knocked on Jack's driver-side window. "Hell yeah", he replied, throwing the ignition off and gathering his stuff. We carried the mirror up the precarious old stairs leading up to my apartment and got it inside. We immediately cracked a couple of beers as we stood there looking at the items we'd gathered.
"You were right man, there was something about that post that was different than the normal stuff you find on Reddit made to scare kids" Jack started in. "It was like I was on a darknet site or something. The whole thing was very creepy."
"Yeah, for sure," I replied, "That's why I was so stoked to tell you about it."
As we waited for what felt like an eternity into the night, we drank beer and played video games, standard college stuff. Anything to put off the mountains of homework that would surely do nothing but sour our mood while we waited for the witching hour. Then, it was finally time. It felt like the hours-long drum roll was finally culminating into an epic solo to take you on a journey of musical bliss. 3am had arrived.
We needed an empty room with a non-carpeted floor to draw the pentagram on, so my bedroom was out. We decided on the living room because it had vinyl floors, and the only furniture I had in there, anyway, was a futon couch and a TV sitting on the floor. We stood the mirror up in the middle of the room and got started.
I placed candles around the perimeter of the room. Their low glow was enough to let us see what we were doing with the lights off, but not enough to ruin the vibe. We drew the pentagram centered around the mirror and stood in front of it for a moment, looking at each other and building up suspense for what was to come.
"Ready?" I asked.
"Yeah, let me go first," Jack replied and centered himself in the mirror's view.
Jack methodically repeated the spell in a low drone at first, with his voice building into a chesty bellow as he got to the final repetition. And then… nothing. The air was thick with suspense and such a real feeling of excitement, but nothing happened. It was just like every other internet ritual we'd tried to date. Or so I thought at first.
After reciting the spell the final time, we both waited with baited breath, the anticipation palpable. The candles flickered in the background, and the room was dead silent. Seconds passed, and with each came a feeling of disappointment. Jack turned to me with a defeated look in his eyes and said, "Well, shit. I guess it doesn't work. You want to give it a shot?" But as he turned, I noticed something. His reflection didn't move. The image of Jack standing in front of the mirror with his hands up in the air like an actor from a TV drama was still there even though he now had his back turned to it.
"Jack," I said, "Turn around."
Jack turned to face the mirror again and saw himself and the mismatch between the image and reality. "Whoa," Jack said quietly, "Wicked".
Jack slowly put his hand up to the mirror. Reaching out to touch the face of the now-image-burned mirror, reminiscent of a showroom TV screen. The second that his finger touched the glass, all 20 of the grocery store plain candles I'd lit around the edges of the room, synchronously extinguished. We sat there in the dark for a moment, both of us taking in what we just saw. After a few seconds, I reached into my pocket for my phone and turned on the flashlight. Jack was still standing in front of the mirror, completely motionless. Just looking into its glossy face. The image of Jack standing with his hands raised was gone, and now the familiar mirror behavior had returned.
"Jack, you good?" I asked as I reached out to put my hand on his shoulder. He suddenly snapped out of his trance-like stare and turned to me to respond. "Yeah, totally good. That was pretty crazy, right?"
"Yeah dude, I can't believe it worked." The excitement started to come back to my voice. "It was like the mirror took a screenshot and held it for like what, a full minute? That was wild." Jack smiled and nodded his head in agreement, but his energy was low. His eyes seemed distant, and you could tell there was something off.
"Did it really spook you that bad, Jack?" I asked, putting my hands on his shoulders, but just as quickly as the words came out of my mouth, Jack fainted.
Luckily, I had quick enough reflexes to catch his limp body before it hit the ground. I laid him gently on the ground and went over to turn on the light. It was hard to see anything now that the only light in the room was my phone's flashlight lying on the ground pointed straight up, but I swear I saw a flash of something as my head passed the mirror. It was too quick to discern what it was, but a sudden chill went down my spine all the same. I turned on the overhead light and returned to Jack. "Come on dude, wakey wakey. It'll be alright, you probably just got spooked is all." I said as I gently shook his shoulders to wake him. His eyes opened shakily, and he blinked hard a few times before responding.
"Whoa, that was weird." Jack said as he rubbed his eyes. "I just got all spacey all of the sudden. It felt like I stood up too fast."
"It's probably the 6 beers you had before we started." I chuckled as I helped him to his feet. "Yeah, probably." he responded.
We decided to call it a win at that point and get everything cleaned up for the night. We both had classes in a few hours and needed to catch at least a little sleep. That night, Jack slept on the futon.
The next morning was slow going for both of us. It was only a couple of hours from the time I fell into my bed until that dreaded alarm was blaring in my ears. I remember trying to convince myself that skipping class for the day would be fine. "I doubt any of my professors would even notice I was gone. It's not like they take roll" But I decided against it. If I got into trouble for truancy or my grades started slipping, I was totally screwed. My parents covered the expenses I couldn't handle through grants and scholarships, but that honey tap had a quick off switch. I'd seen it before. So I groaned, rolled over, and put my pants on.
I'm pretty sure Jack did end up skipping that day; he never got off the couch the entire time I was getting ready. When I asked him if he was leaving, a grunt and a scoff were the best responses I could get from him. That kind of sucked because I really wanted him to give me a ride. I had a hangover and I was sleep deprived, so riding my bike sounded incredibly unappealing. But I ponied up and did it anyway.
That day was rough to say the least. On top of feeling like absolute trash, I got two surprise assignments from my hardest classes, both due on Monday. That was Friday. "There goes my weekend plans." I thought to myself as if I had a hot date planned. The reality was that if I wasn't doing homework, most of the time on the weekends, it was Jack and me, sometimes joined by our buddy Mike, drinking beer and coming up with hooligan activities to straddle the line of getting ourselves into trouble we had no business being in.
My mom texted me around lunchtime. "Hey sweetie, do you want to come over this weekend? I'll cook you chicken parmesan." What a tempting offer that was. My mom is a fantastic cook, and I am a college kid with eternally dirty dishes that I wouldn't know how to cook with even if they were clean. "I've got a lot of homework to do, but I can just bring it with me," I justified it to myself as I replied, confirming my attendance. When I got back home that evening, Jack was gone. He must have finally gotten up and taken off at some point during the day. I was too tired to care even in the slightest, so when I walked in, I swung the door shut behind me, beelined for the bed, and fell down.
Saturday morning came, and I finally felt like a person again. I got ready for the day and grabbed my school bag as I headed down to the bus stop. When I went off to school, I didn't go across the country or even across the state like most people do to get away from their families. I moved across the city. I only had to ride two buses to get within a couple of blocks of my childhood home from my apartment near campus. I started my homework on the bus. I didn't like how the jostling of the bus on the terrible roads in Phoenix made me a little sick to my stomach while I stared at stark white paper, but I knew that I'd get wrapped up in something other than homework while I was home.
I thanked the bus driver as I got off the bus and started down the sidewalk, singing along to the music on my headphones. As I walked without a worry in the world, I suddenly felt a chill run down my spine. It was a quick jolt that made the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. Just as it happened, I caught something out of the corner of my eye. It rained the night before, which in Phoenix was a blessing that improved the whole city's vibe. But rain left puddles, and in puddles you can see your reflection. To a normal person who doesn't purposefully try to curse their own reflection, that wouldn't be a problem. But I saw mine for just a split second as I walked down the sidewalk, and it wasn't how it was supposed to look. I snapped my head towards the puddle to catch the mishandling of my likeness in better view, but when I focused on it, everything seemed fine.
The feeling I got from that experience was multifaceted. First was the pure reaction —the shock and alertness that come with seeing something that wasn't supposed to be. Next was the feeling of anxiety as the realization set in that whatever happened a couple of days ago may not yet be over. Then, finally, a twisted sense of excitement for what was surely my most successful soiree into the paranormal. I made it the rest of the way to my mom's house without another disturbance.
"Oh Will, how are you honey? Sit down, tell me all about school." My mother had the biggest smile on her face when I walked into the kitchen. "You know," I started, "It's been alright. Just learning how to maximize shareholder value. Livin' the dream"
"And how's Jack? You should have brought him with you. I know he misses my cooking just as much as you do." It was true, Jack talked about my mom's cooking more often than I did. They always had a good relationship.
"I haven't talked to him since you texted yesterday. He's probably off being a menace to society somewhere. Maybe he's dead in a ditch, who knows really." I grinned as I looked for her reaction. "Don't you say things like that Will, Jack is a fine young man and any society would be lucky to have him." She always had more faith in us than we deserved.
I sat in the kitchen chatting with her for a while before I took out my homework again. We caught up on all the gossip of late teens and twenty-somethings trying to educate themselves, as well as neighborhood moms and housewives in constant need of drama to spice up their otherwise mundane lives.
Then I got that chill again. It was like my eyes knew instinctively where to go as they snapped towards the small vanity mirror my mother kept sitting in the corner of the kitchen countertop. It was angled perfectly so I could see myself sitting at the kitchen table. This time my reflection didn't return to behaving itself after I locked eyes with it. It had this droop to the eyes and a depressing scowl on its face. I saw my reflection pick up the pencil that was sitting on the table next to my papers. It slowly raised the pencil up and swiftly brought it down onto the flat of the other hand. "Ow, shit!" I cried out as I felt it pierce my hand. But I wasn't holding a pencil. It was still sitting undisturbed on the table in front of me.
"You alright Will? What happened?" My mom asked without turning around to take her attention off the pasta she was stirring on the stove.
"Yeah… I'm good mom. Just pinched myself is all."
"You know honey, you should really try not to do that." she retorted in a snarky but jovial tone. "Ha, yeah I'll try" I said as I rubbed my hand, revealing a deep red mark where the reflection had stabbed itself. It wasn't bleeding like it surely would be if I'd actually brought the pencil down on it that hard. Still, there was a noticeable mark there nonetheless.
I tried to brush off the strange experience, but it nagged at me. The feeling that I got from it was different than what I was used to. This wasn't like watching a really well-made horror flick or going to a high-budget haunted house. The thrill was totally gone this time. Something different took its place. I got a sick feeling in my stomach, and my forehead started to sweat. The closest thing I could liken it to was asking Jamie Willis to the Junior Prom —or trying to, at least. I sat back in my chair, trying to analyze this feeling. Was this real fear? I didn't like it at all.
My mother finished cooking, and we sat together at the table to eat. I pushed aside the swarm of emotions in my mind to focus on the moment. It wasn't often that I got to spend time with her, and she deserved my full attention. We continued chit-chatting and gossiping, and the chicken parm was fantastic. It was undoubtedly the best meal I'd had all week.
As I grabbed a piece of white bread to soak up the remaining sauce on my now-empty plate, my mom got up to start the dishes. She sauntered over to the sink and began rinsing the collection of pots and pans to put them in the dishwasher. The meal had my mind totally off the experience earlier. I leaned back in my chair and put my hands behind my head in relaxation. The feeling of contentment you get after a good meal has always been up there on my list.
As I looked around the kitchen with little on my mind besides how good life is, it happened again. The now all too familiar chill ran down my spine, and my head snapped to the reflection of the sliding glass door to the backyard on the far side of the kitchen. The sun was mostly set by this point, so the reflection was quite clear, illuminated by the kitchen overhead light. I locked eyes with myself, or what troublingly seemed to be other than self. The droopy eyes and scowl were back, and I knew to brace myself. My reflection was leaning back in its chair the same way I was at the time. It slowly looked down at the chair and back up at me. The other me then started rocking backward, further and further to put the chair off balance. As soon as I saw this, I had the instinct this time to lean forward, attempting to put the chair back down onto four legs. When I tried to lean forward, however, I encountered immovable resistance. It was like an invisible hand or barrier was keeping the front chair legs up.
I started to panic, but it didn't last long. Only a few seconds went by before the reflection had leaned past the tipping point in his chair, and we both fell backward. I hit my head on the countertop behind me as I fell. I think I blacked out for a few seconds, but I don't know if it was shock, my now foggy memory, or the cranial impact that made time skip ahead like a broken record. I remember my mom standing over me, fanning me with the kitchen towel and asking if I was ok.
"Will, sweetie, are you alright? I told you not to lean back in those chairs it must have been a hundred times now. Did you hit your head? Baby please answer me."
"I'm… good mom, thanks," I said as I gathered my bearings. "I know I shouldn't lean back in those. Murphy's Law and all. I won't do it again."
"Do you need anything Will? Let me take a look at your head." She said as she leaned down to inspect my now cracked noggin.
"No, mom really. I'm all good. Thank you." I rejected her advance as I pushed myself up off the ground. "Just slipped."
I gathered my things and moved to the living room. As I got settled in, I took the throw my mother would always snuggle up in to watch movies, and draped it over the television. With that taken care of, there were no more reflections in the room. I sat down and got started on my homework again.
That night I slept over in my old bedroom. I made sure to cover any and every reflective object I could find. I didn't know how I felt about all of this. Part of me still had that childlike excitement, as if this were some elaborate spook or prank that would ultimately end in a good laugh. The other part of me, deep down, was experiencing real fear and uncertainty, possibly for the first time in my life. Sometimes, when we find what we're looking for, we realize that we should never have looked in the first place.
Part 2
I went back to my side of town around midday on Sunday. The only thing on my mind was getting in touch with Jack. I'd texted him a dozen times and even tried calling, but I hadn't heard from him. Jack wasn't exactly glued to his phone like so many people are these days, but I was starting to get concerned. Was his reflection trying to hurt him? Injure him? Worse? I had to make sure he was ok.
I got off the bus at campus and headed towards the dorms. Jack still lived in them even though only freshmen were required to. He preferred the chaotic nature that housing a thousand brand-new adults under the same roof fostered. As I approached his building, I saw his truck outside. "Thank god he's here" I said softly to myself, relieved that I wouldn't have to go all around town hunting him down. I quickly made my way up to his floor.
When I knocked on the door, there was a long pause. A linger that was just longer than usual to rouse suspicion. Even when no one knew you were coming over, it typically wasn't long for someone to get up and answer the door. Jack's roommate, Bill, answered. "Oh, uh hey Will." Bill had a perpetual lack of confidence in every situation. He was studying ornithology, and everything about him matched what you'd expect from an aspiring bird scientist.
"Hey Bill, can I come in? Is Jack home?" I lightly pushed the door as he opened it and stepped inside before he could answer. Bill pushed his oversized Windsor glasses up the bridge of his nose. "Uh, yeah Jacks in his room. He seemed a little weird earlier, is everything alright?"
"Everything is peachy Bill, thanks for your concern." I said in a rushed tone as I walked through the common area and down the hallway.
I didn't bother knocking before I went into Jack's room. The worst thing he could be doing, I'd probably seen before. "Hey Jack, have you noticed anything-" I stopped mid-sentence when I saw the state of his bedroom. I wouldn't call Jack OCD per se, but he was always on top of keeping things tidy. Most of his family is former or active military, so it was instilled in him from a young age. The typical state of his personal space was a neatly made bed, a clean and clear desk, and all personal belongings in their designated organizational containers. The floor was always clean as he vacuumed every single day as part of his morning routine. This was not the state that I saw on that day.
The first thing I noticed was the broken glass on the floor. Apparently, the body mirror hanging on the back of Jack's door had been shattered, and the shards of glass still lingered on the carpet. Next, the TV had been taken off the dresser and thrown face down onto the floor. There was a blanket haphazardly mounted to block the window, and even the chrome of his desk had been wrapped in jackets and sweatpants to completely cover any reflective parts. Jack was lying in his bed, unmade with the sheets in a wad in the corner. He was fully clothed with his shoes on.
"Jack what the hell happened in here?" I inquired as I cautiously approached him. "Your reflection do some crazy shit too?"
"I think we messed up man." Jack said shakily without turning to face me.
"Just what did yours do to you dude?" I reached out and grabbed Jack's shoulder, turning him towards me. As his face was revealed, so was a deep laceration from the outer edge of his eyebrow down to the rim of his jaw. "Oh my god dude, are you alright?" I touched the clotted mess as if to confirm it was real. Jack winced as I did.
"It wants to kill me." Jack had a wavering to his voice that I had never heard before. "I think it wants to take my place."
"What makes you say that?" I asked as I scanned his body for additional marks. His knuckles bore evidence of the story behind the broken mirror.
"It tried to grab me." Jack said shakily.
"It tried to grab you?" The urgency in my voice grew with this revelation.
"I confronted it… In the mirror on the door." Jack started, sitting up to recount the story. "I got real close and… and I was yelling. I was just so fed up with it." He rubbed his knuckles softly in what I'm guessing was an attempt to calm his nerves as he relived the moment. "I got right in his face. That fucked up face that makes me look like I had a stroke or something. He wasn't reacting at all though. I didn't know what to do. Then out of nowhere he reaches up and grabs his neck and yanks it down to pull me in there with him. Luckily I was quick enough to break the mirror."
"And that stopped it?" I asked, hoping to find a way to at least temporarily stop an encounter with one's reflection. "Well, kind of." Jack said hesitantly.
"It took him out of that mirror. But when I turned around he was in the reflection of the TV. I think breaking the mirror pissed him off. He was holding a broken piece of the glass in his hand and he did this to my face." Jack pointed to the nearly 6-inch laceration, now dried and clotted shut.
"Well, I can see why you said to hell with the TV too." I added, attempting to bring even the slightest bit of levity to the situation. "Yeah." Jack chuckled lightly as he stretched his back. I didn't know how long he'd been lying there in what was basically a fetal position, but he must have been stiff. He looked at me curiously and asked, "What about you? Has yours tried to mess with you?"
"Just a bit," I responded as I leaned back onto his bed. "It stabbed my hand with a pencil and made me fall off my chair. Nothing quite as serious as what you've been through. I mean, your reflection sounds like a real dick." We both laughed at the grim reality of the outcome of our frivolous adventure into the unknown and unexplored.
We sat in Jack's room for the rest of the afternoon. There were no talks of plans or grand strategies. We'd both had a pretty rough weekend. I think we were both just relieved that we weren't going crazy. I know I was.
Monday came, and everything seemed mostly normal. We both went to our classes and even met up with some friends to go bowling that night. We didn't avoid our reflections or really let it dampen our activities in any way. There were no frights, mishaps, or situations. It was actually a very pleasant day.
"Did you notice?" Jack asked me as we walked from the bowling lanes to the parking lot.
"Notice what?" I asked in response.
"Nothing happened." Jack said, "Like, all day. It was just back to normal."
"Maybe the curse only lasts the weekend," I postulated as I grabbed my keys out of my pocket. "Maybe it's all good now."
"I hope so," Jack said, "That was pretty rough."
"Oh, I'm sure we'll be fine," I said as I gave Jack a reassuring grin and reached down to unlock my bike lock. "And hey, it worked." I leaned my head towards him and lowered my voice, "It fucking worked."
Jack got a bit of energy from that statement. His face perked up almost immediately. "Yeah, you're right. It totally worked!" His excitement grew as he spoke, "Bro! We totally communicated with the other side! Do you know what that means? It means all that shit is real!"
"Well, probably not all of it," I retorted with a smug confidence that was scarcely earned. "I mean, do you remember some of that dumb stuff we did? I mean, we almost had to have the fire department come to my apartment when we were trying to summon that spirit of the forest."
Jack chuckled. "Yeah, at least we didn't do it in an actual forest. The way that tree sap made all those herbs go up so quick was insane. We probably would've started a forest fire."
We laughed in the reminiscence of all the failed seances and rituals that had made us out to be fools throughout the years. The feeling of success was palpable. Sure, we'd gotten roughed up a little bit by the experience, and Jack's room took a little bit of damage, but all in all, we were totally fine. It was a perfectly reasonable price to pay for the knowledge that it wasn't all for naught. The knowledge that paranormal things weren't all just fairy tales and campfire stories. We had finally cracked the code to communicating with the other side for real, and the feeling was existential. It completely changed our perspectives on life. We were so glad that it was over…
What we didn't know was that Monday would be the last normal day of our lives. All of the triumph and valor we'd felt was far too premature. On Tuesday, I woke up and got ready like any other day. I went down to the parking lot, unlocked my bike, and started off for campus. As I arrived at the property of my higher learning endeavors, I caught up with Mike.
Mike was an Economics major, so we shared a few classes here and there. We had met in our Senior year of high school. Mike transferred from out of state. A lot of people thought it was weird to transfer when you only have one year of school left, and nearly every clique had already been established. That meant that Mike, at the time not quite socially awkward but certainly not a social butterfly, didn't have a place in the lunchroom to call home. Jack and I let him sit with us.
My friendship with Mike always felt like the friendships you have with your parents' friends' children. We got along well enough, but it always felt shallow. Jack was certainly closer to him than I was. "Hey Mike, what's up dude?" I greeted him with a nod as I pulled up and got off my bike to walk with him. "'Sup Will. Just heading to Microeconomic Principles"
"Oh that sounds thrilling. Want to trade for Business Statistics?"
"Nah, I think I'm good on that one," He laughed as he waved his hand through the air in a dismissive gesture.
"You hear about anything crazy going on this weekend?" I asked, "Any frats throwing a party or something?"
Mike really blossomed when we got into college. I think it was the larger social dynamic that changed his perspective, but these days he's the guy who knows everything that goes on around campus.
"Nothing on the radar yet, but I've got my ear to the ground." He stopped, cupped his hands around his ears, and made a robotic rotation of his upper body like a radar tower. I cringed.
"Sounds good man, keep me posted." I went to swing my leg back around the bike when he turned to look at me for the first time during our short conversation.
"Hey uh, Will?" He hesitated. "What's going on with your face?"
"What do you mean?" I was taken aback by the question. Did I have shit on my face that I didn't notice? I looked fine when I was getting ready that morning.
"It looks like your eyes are all messed up, are you feeling alright?" Mike had grown an alarmingly concerned look on his face.
As soon as he said it, I knew what he meant. My eyes were messed up? Where had I seen that before? A giant knot grew in my stomach as I excused myself and ducked away.
I went as quickly as I could to the nearest bathroom. I dashed inside and went right up to the mirror. It probably wasn't the most brilliant idea to immediately put my face inches away from the mirror and begin to inspect myself, but what can I say? The vanity of a 20-year-old knows no bounds.
I looked fine besides the beads of sweat from the mixture of high-octane biking and peak anxiety I'd come to know in the last 60 seconds. "What was Mike talking about?" I thought to myself as I breathed a sigh of relief. "Dude's been partying too hard." I straightened myself out and resumed my march to class.
As I walked through McCord Hall between classes, time slowed as I felt it again. That shivering chill that started at the base of my skull and ran jagged and agonizingly down my spine like a slow-motion frame-by-frame of lightning came over me. The moment it reached the bottom of my vertebrae, the study book and binder I was holding in my arms jerked downwards and fell to the ground. I looked to my left to reveal a mirror wall. In the sight were the dozens of other people around me walking through the hallway on the way to their designated classes, not a worry in the world. But through the commotion, I locked eyes with myself. I stared into those languid, wilting eyes, and my heart sank. It just looked at me. The emotionless face somehow had an almost smug air radiating from it. It was as if it were taunting me. Like it was reminding me of how much of a fool I was to think I was rid of it already. My stomach turned, and my palms became immediately slick. I just stared at it, expecting it to do something. I was waiting for it to bang its own head into the wall or throw itself onto the ground. I just stared at it. The seconds that passed felt like the longest eternities of anticipation. I just stared at it. The feelings of nausea and dizziness grew to the point that I was screaming in my mind for it to do it already. I just stared at it and it… just stared back at me.
I skipped the rest of my classes that day. I suddenly had no appetite for 'Uses of Accounting Information'. I went straight for my bike and had a very solemn ride home. It felt like I was trying to think, but my mind wouldn't let me. I was locked into this mental and emotional state of lockjaw invoked by the deadness in what appeared at least on the surface to be my own visage. A face that by every count of visual check looked like my own if I'd suffered some great ocular tragedy, but by feeling alone could be distinguished to be something very, very other.
I lay on the futon that night as I watched countless episodes of mindless reality TV shows. I felt like a zombie. It was like the experience sucked the will to keep being a person out of me that day. I don't know if it was simply the realization that this was an issue to which I had no solution for and seemingly was here to stay, or if something was taken out of me in those seconds that I stood there in a staring contest with an imposter self.
The next morning, I got up groggy. The futon wasn't the most comfortable thing to sleep on, and I'd probably stayed up later than I should have. Wednesday. Halfway through the week. I had every intention of going to class that day.
As I do every morning between my scheduled scrolling for memes on my phone and taking a shower, I brushed my teeth. I watched my reflection intently in the mirror as my muscles were primed like a grenade waiting to go off at the slightest twitch. At the end of my oral care routine, I always brush my tongue. I had just started when my phone rang. Instinctively, my eyes wandered down to see the Caller ID. It was my mom. Then it happened. Like clockwork, the moment my gaze averted, the icy feeling came back to haunt me yet again. I quickly darted my eyes back, but I was too late. When they reached back to the mirror, the reflection had gone to that omen of ill-feeling. I braced myself.
The toothbrush was still in my hands at the tip of my tongue. The imposter decided to take it upon itself to aid in my hygiene. It slid the brush up my tongue, and I felt its bristles scraping along its length. It kept pushing the toothbrush back into its throat slowly without any reaction. I could feel the hard plastic jam against my tonsils, and even the remnants of toothpaste suds filling the top of my throat. I gagged as the invisible bristles scraped deeper into my throat, feeling so real that I could feel liquid particulates flinging deeper as the individual strands bent and snapped back under their own elasticity. My throat closed around the hard plastic body of the toothbrush as I felt myself start to vomit. The imposter took this reflex as an opportunity and let go of the handle, and the recoil of my gag reflex swallowed the invisible brush. I felt the bristles scrape all the way down my esophagus, only to be met by my newly introduced breakfast. Needless to say, I never replaced that breakfast that morning.
The phone had stopped ringing by the time I composed myself. I called my mom back.
"Hello?" She answered in a low tone.
"Hey mom, what's up? Sorry I was brushing my teeth."
"Honey, I need your help. Can you come home for a few days? Do you have any tests that you can't miss?"
"Uh," I paused, wondering what could possibly warrant my mother suggesting I skip class. "No, I can come over. What happened?"
"It's your brother. He hurt himself and I need you to take care of him while I go on a work trip. Make sure he doesn't make it worse."
"Yeah," I said, "I can do that. I got it covered."
Part 3
I sent a text to Jack as I waited for the bus to arrive at its destination. "Everything good over there?" it read. I knew it would be a while before I got a response. Sitting on my lap, I had a bag with a couple of changes of clothes haphazardly jumbled together. I didn't bring my toothbrush. There's something about being force-fed an imaginary toothbrush that makes you feel that mouthwash would suffice for a few days. There was a feeling of melancholy to that bus ride. My emotions were generally a mixed bag. I was increasingly realizing that some escalation was bound to happen. Something needed to be done to prevent any lasting damage. I remember wishing Jack would text back faster; he was always the type to respond hours later, only to half the question.
I stared out the bus window at the houses and businesses as we meandered through the streets of Phoenix. Phoenix is a huge city. 1.6 million people in the city proper and nearly 5 million in the greater metro area. I wondered if any of them had experienced anything similar to what Jack and I were going through. I wondered how many of them had sought it out on their own volition. Who else would be dumb enough to get excited at the thought of cursing themself? Everything in Phoenix looks the same. All the houses, all the businesses —they were all copied and pasted throughout the 14,000 square miles referred to as "The Valley". Everything was stucco, everything was beige. The only thing different from one side of the city to the other was the street signs.
I thanked the bus driver as I got off at my stop. I started walking down the sidewalk listening to the same playlist I had just listened to a few days prior. Luckily, this time it hadn't rained. The fresh air was nice. It was really a lovely day out, and I tried to enjoy it as much as I could. I nearly bumped into a runner while walking because I wasn't paying close enough attention. I wondered what my face looked like to him.
When I got to my mom's place, she'd already left. My little brother Sam was on the couch watching TV. I didn't recognize the cartoon that was playing. I thought to myself, "Man, I must be getting old. These new cartoons look whack." My mom always hated it when I'd make comments about getting old. "If you're getting old, then what does that make me?" She would ask with a look that said, 'Give the right answer or get smacked. '
"'Sup Sam?" I nodded to him as I walked in.
"Hey Will." He replied without taking his eyes off the television.
Sam was wearing a cast on his left arm and had bandages sticking out of the bottom of his shorts wrapped around his left knee and shin.
"What happened?" I asked as I slung my backpack down near the couch and launched myself onto its cushions.
"I crashed my bike going really fast." He said, again without a glance.
"How fast?" I inquired.
"Well, we built a ramp that went from the roof onto the driveway, and I started at the top of the roof. So, like really fast"
"Damn son," I halfheartedly exclaimed, "A little daredevil now are we?"
"It was super fun though." He said, finally breaking his stare at the TV to look over at me. "Uh, Will? What's up with your eyes?"
The moment he said it, my heart sank. "Nothing, just uh, tired is all." I grabbed my backpack and quickly got up from the couch. I went straight for the hall leading to my old room. "Just yell if you need something, alright?"
"Uh yeah. Ok." He said, seemingly caught off guard by it all. I'm sure he was on pain meds, so he probably just passed it off as a result of those. I swept myself into the room and swiftly closed the door. My first instinct was to systematically find and cover any reflective surfaces in the room. The paranoia was growing. I could feel my grip on my mind loosening as I fumbled with an extra set of bedsheets I was shakily trying to tie around the polished brass doorknob. I fell on the bed exhausted. My day had seemingly just started. I'd only been awake for a few hours, but it felt as if I'd been a week into an insomnia episode. I closed my eyes and appreciated the blackness. There were no reflections on the safe side of my eyelids. I realized just how much this situation was getting to me when my phone buzzed.
"I'm over this shit" Jack's text read. An ellipse popped up for a moment, and then another text. "Where are you? We need to figure out how to make this nonsense stop."
I replied quickly to the text, letting him know that I was at my mom's house. I told him that the key was still where she always left it and that I'd be asleep by the time he got here. It must have been only seconds between hitting the send button and falling into unconsciousness.
I awoke to Jack standing over my bed, beckoning me to regain consciousness. I swear that as I opened my eyes, I saw the reflection of Jack, drooping, melty eyes, a general downturn of the face, and an aura that radiated loathing. As I blinked a few times, it disappeared, and the familiar face I'd known for years returned.
"What time is it?" I asked groggily
"I don't know, like 6?" There was an impatience to his voice as he spoke.
"What happened? What's got you so in a huff?" I sat up as I wiped the sleep from my eyes.
"What's happened?" Anger grew in Jack's voice. "What's happened is that this shit isn't
going away, and it's really starting to cramp my style, Will."
I reached for the bottle of water I didn't remember bringing in. Jack continued, "I think that it's like starting to get more real or something dude. I was talking to Jess and she looked at me like I was a monster. I asked her what was wrong and she told me I needed to get some sleep. That I needed to get some sleep, Will. Does that shit sound familiar to you?"
Jessica was a girl Jack had been pursuing for nearly 3 years. They were casual
friends, but Jack always wanted more out of the relationship. It was the classic 'Hot girl chooses
the jock when the normal guy thinks he's perfect for her' troupe from angsty movies. Sometimes
life imitates art.
"Yeah," I said, swallowing a mouthful of water, "That's been happening to me too. First Mike saw me like that, then Sam earlier."
"Well, what are we gonna do about it? We can't exactly look like stroke victims for the rest of our lives." Jack's frustration was nearly cracking his voice.
"I don't know right now." I said plainly, "Right now we're going to hang out with Sam because my moms out of town, and we'll look up someone who can help. Ok? The internet got us into this, maybe the internet can get us out." I slapped my knees as I got up from the bed. "Is Sam hungry? Did you check when you came in?"
I put some pizza rolls in the oven for the three of us. Sam knew not to expect any real cooking for the next few days. He was 11 anyway, I'm sure that he was stoked about eating greasy freezer food for every meal. I never asked. Jack and I went through the house, carefully reducing the number of reflective surfaces to nearly zero. We took the framed pictures off the walls, every side mirror and vanity was turned around, and the curtains were all pulled shut.
After a while, Sam noticed our unusual task and asked about it. "What are you guys doing?" He looked sleepy from what was surely an adult dosage of painkillers.
"Don't worry about it Sam. We have a thing for school. We can't look at our reflections all week. It's a Psychology thing." I admittedly hadn't put much thought into the excuse, but it was enough to convince Sam.
"Ok. College is weird." Sam yawned as he slunk down further into the couch, his face illuminated by the technicolor dream that was modern children's programming.
"Yeah, it sure is, Sam." I took the rotary drill from Jack's hand and began unscrewing the bathroom vanity mirror.
That night, we found every psychic and medium in town. By the time we conducted our search, it was too late to call any of them. We put together a list that took up a whole page of notebook paper by the time we relented. The three of us fell asleep on the living room furniture to the sounds of adventurous, daring children facing the big, bad world and conquering evil one step at a time.
In the morning we ate pizza bagels together. Jack and I questioned Sam about the events leading up to and following his accident.
"Did you cry?" I asked.
"Did you pee your pants?" Jack added.
"What did your friends say when they saw it?"
"Have you seen any of them since? Do they think you died?"
We laughed and talked well into the morning. It was nice spending time with Sam. I hadn't seen my little brother much since I went off to college. We'd only spent time together at the occasional dinner or family event. Most of the time when I came over to spend time with my mom, he was either with his friends or staying at our dad's house. I was glad I never had to do the back-and-forth thing. My parents divorced right as I was graduating high school. I didn't have to attend any court hearings or custody battles. They even amicably settled on an even split of financial contribution toward my schooling.
We set Sam up in front of the television, as any responsible guardian would, and went to the other room to make our phone calls. We split the list and just started dialing. We quickly found that business postings for paranormal industries found online can be a bit shaky at best. A large portion of the numbers we called were disconnected. Then an equally sized chunk connected to people who just wanted us to come in and buy a reading before talking about anything.
The disappointment and frustration built quickly, and at one point Jack screamed at a rather unpleasant lady on the phone about "Maintaining the integrity of the craft" and "The reason no one takes this shit seriously" It seemed no more quickly than we'd started on our long list of names and numbers, we had gone through them all with nothing that felt solid enough to pursue.
"Are all psychics bogus?" Jack asked with a huff.
"I guess so dude. I certainly didn't talk to anyone who sounded like anything more than a snake oil salesman." I rubbed my forehead as I spoke.
"There has to be someone we can go to. Do we go to a church?" Jack asked, depleted.
"I doubt that a church will do much good either. They'll just go on about demons and sprinkle holy water on our heads." I chuckled at the thought. I was raised in the church, and I suppose that I do believe, but this problem seemed a bit out of the scope of the do-gooders of the cloth.
"Maybe it's not a business that we're looking for." I continued, "Maybe we go about this in the same way we found the curse, on a creepypasta bender and just hope for the best."
"I mean, it seems like a better option than whatever the hell that was." Jack agreed.
This new avenue was one that we were both very familiar with. Being horror junkies for most of our lives, we had bookmarked anywhere that stories get posted for easy access. We eventually rejoined Sam in the living room and even turned on Friday the 13th to set the tone. We spent hours scouring the internet for any semblance of a lead that could help us. We went through forums and writing boards. We messaged mods and authors, and snooped through every chat server we could find relating to anything paranormal. By the end of the day, we had 2 leads that felt like they might bear fruit.
The next morning, I slept in. I woke up in a panic as the sound that roused my slumber was Sam screaming. I sprang out of bed and dashed out into the living room. What I saw made me furious. Sam was sitting on the floor in front of one of the body mirrors we'd turned around in our tirade against reflection. His bandages that were wrapped around his knee had been taken off to reveal a wide, scabby gash. Jack was kneeling in front of him with his hands on Sam's leg. It looked at first as if he was helping Sam clean and wrap his wound, but upon closer inspection, Jack was digging his thumbs into the gash, ripping it back open. Blood started to pool and drip past Jack's rough hands and onto the carpet. Sam wailed bloody murder. I ran up and shoved Jack's shoulder back.
"What the fuck dude?" I shouted as Jack's head whipped back, unveiling the thing I feared. His eyes were sluggish and drooping. My eyes darted back and forth from the real Jack sitting perpendicular to the mirror and the mirror itself. Both images of Jack stared deeply into my eyes. I ripped his hands off of Sam's leg, and Sam scurried away, whimpering. I quickly grabbed the mirror and slammed its back against the wall, shattering it in a spectacle of twinkling glass and breaking the spell on Jack.
In the moments after, the air grew thick, and there was little to be heard besides the soft whimpering of Sam, now huddled in the corner of the room. Jack didn't defend himself or apologize. Instead, he softly wept into his bloody hands, trying to fathom what he'd just done. I wasn't angry. I knew that Jack had no control over his actions. Instead, I felt remorse. A whirlwind of regret washed over me like the flood of a monsoon. It was my direct action that ultimately led to this. My mother's voice rang over and over in my head. "It's your brother. He hurt himself and I need you to take care of him while I go on a work trip. Make sure he doesn't make it worse." The only thing I could do now was wrap my arms around Jack and weep with him.
After a few moments, Sam built up the courage to ask the question growing ever obvious with each passing second. "Are you guys ok?" His voice was small and shaky. There was a quivering fear that bordered on anxiety and anticipation. "You're not doing a school project, are you?"
"No Sam, we're not." There were still tears running down my face. "We did something very stupid. But we're going to fix it. I promise buddy."
Jack raised his head from his hands, Sam's blood staining his face and beginning to roll down his cheek, intermingling with his own tears. "I'm so sorry Sam. I didn't want to hurt you."
I got up and started walking towards Sam. He flinched visibly. "Let me fix your bandage." I said as I reached my arms out toward him.
"N- No. That's ok Will." Sam was shaking and cowering as he scooted his back fully into the corner of the room.
I paused for a moment, arms still outstretched. Grief. I had turned us into monsters. "Ok." was all I could say, defeated. I let my arms fall to my sides with a slap. A sound which invoked yet another visible flinch from Sam. The weight of my actions were crushing my soul, smothering my very identity. My kid brother now saw me as a threat, not to be trusted within arms reach. I hadn't even been the one to hurt him; in fact, I tried to save him.
I swallowed the lump in my throat and took on my best brave voice. "Jack, go clean yourself up and get in the truck. We're figuring this shit out, now." Jack rose to his feet, still quietly sobbing, and walked head down to the bathroom.
Part 4
Once we were in the truck, I called our first lead. A forum user by the name 'Vicious_Ned' that I'd found the socials for through internet sleuthing the night before. They were the only user who had interacted with the original post, as far as I could tell. From the interaction, it seemed like they had found themselves in a similar situation to the one in which Jack and I found ourselves now. His comment on the post had only one word: "Don't".
The phone rang to voicemail the first time I called. I wasn't about to accept defeat. I called again. It rang almost all the way through before the call connected. There was a silence for a moment before any sound came through. "Uh, hello?"
"Hey, is this Vicious Ned?" I asked, feeling the silliness in my own question but too focused to care.
"Who is this?" the voice on the other line deflected.
"I really need your help man, it's about the mirrors." The words left my lips, and I instantly regretted my approach. The line clicked disconnected.
I called back. The phone rang through to voicemail. I hung up and tried again. I called 4 times before I got connected again.
"Look man, I don't know what kind of sick joke you're playing, but never call me again. I'll call the cops." Ned answered.
"Look, Ned, I need your help. Please dude I'm not joking. I did the same ritual you did and now my whole life is fucked up. I need to know how to get rid of it." The desperation in my voice must have struck a heart string.
"Where are you?" Ned asked shortly.
"I live in Phoenix, but we'll come to you. Wherever you live."
"We? You said I. Who all is we?"
"My friend and I. We did it together. We both need your help." I hoped that my verbiage hadn't scared him away.
There was a long pause on the line.
"Dallas. Get here first then call me back. I'll let you know from there." Ned stated, then quickly hung up the phone.
I brought the phone down from my ear and set it on my lap.
"Well, is he going to help us?" Jack asked. "Where does he live?"
"Dallas," I said as I buckled my seatbelt. "Looks like we have a bit of a drive."
I wouldn't recommend driving interstate after cursing your reflection. Jack had removed his rearview mirror and blacked out his side mirrors with paint. Beyond the fact that driving in this fashion is almost certainly illegal, it made other drivers incredibly angry every time that Jack changed lanes and unknowingly cut someone off. I thought one guy was going to try to fight us when we both stopped at the same rest stop along Interstate 10. The drive from Phoenix to Dallas is 14 hours if you floor it, and we had no intention of stopping along the way.
We pulled into a rest stop in Odessa to fill up on gas, snacks, and use the bathroom. I went to do the latter while Jack filled up the truck. As I walked into the gas station bathroom, my eye caught a body mirror mounted on the dingy subway tile to the left of the door. Just as the door swung shut, I felt the shivering, sickly tingle jolt down my spine. My body jumped into action. I felt my face flush and my whole body tense with rage. Like a spring-loaded trap, I swung my body around and threw a haymaker punch that would make a professional boxer blush. I didn't care who else was in the bathroom, or what diseases this nasty truck stop mirror held; the last thing I was willing to do was have another encounter with that imposter. The torque of my hips swinging into the punch put fluid power into my fist as it came crashing into the mirror. I braced for the explosion of stardust, but none came.
It took me a moment to realise what had happened. I was sure I'd hit the mirror squarely, but it still hung there, perfectly intact. When I noticed what had happened, I retched, as my stomach's only known solution to the feeling it was flooded with was to void itself. The imposter stood motionless in the mirror with its hand meeting mine, open palm, and catching the punch that I had thrown. When I saw this, my body went on high alert, frantically checking all 5 senses to assess the situation I found myself in.
I could feel it. It's hand grasping mine. I could feel its cold, dead skin making contact with the warm, very much alive hand at the end of my arm. It gripped my fist tightly.
I couldn't hold back the scream as it began pulling me in. My hand phased through the mirror like a portal to a hell I couldn't imagine. I scrambled to brace my free hand and feet against the scum covered walls as I stared into its despondent, unnerving eyes. A rush of adrenaline came over me as I pulled with all my might away from the kidnapping abomination before me. As much as I pulled, it seemed as though I could not best its grip. I panicked as the question of what would happen if it succeeded at pulling me in began to flood my mind. My elbow had reached the edge of the mirror when the door opened. An overweight man in a cowboy hat and blue jeans had to use the bathroom on his way home from work. He was my hero.
Once the door opened, the reflection's grip on my still-fisted hand broke free. The tension that I had pushed against the wall with the rest of my body sprang loose, flinging me back across the vile bathroom floor, and the explosion of glass I had expected moments before finally came.
I couldn't help but laugh. The irony of my situation was more than I could handle. I had spent nearly my entire life searching for fear. I had looked high and low for something that would truly terrify me. I'd sought out any and every bit of horror media I could get my hands on, trying to recreate that feeling I felt as a child. I tried every ritual, performed every seance, and I don't even know how many times I brought the Ouija board out to try to get my heart pumping.
Nothing I had done for my entire life had ever borne any fruit. I'd never gotten the rush I was so desperately seeking until now. At that moment, I realized as I was sitting on the putrid floor of a rest stop bathroom in Odessa, Texas, that I had finally found it. The feeling of sheer terror I had been looking for the entire time. I was so genuinely afraid of what would happen if the reflection had pulled me in successfully that the rest of my body shut down. I was in pure fight-or-flight mode.
The subsequent realization that came with it was equally comical. The feeling of relief and divine grace I felt for the overweight Texas man needing to relieve himself was astronomical. I never thought my savior would wear Wrangler jeans and a 10-gallon hat. When he saw me sitting there, covered in filth on the bathroom floor, panting and laughing to myself, he turned and walked out of the room. I never got to thank him.
I got up, ran my fingers through my hair, and walked out. As I sat down in the truck, Jack asked me what had happened. He cracked a joke about difficult bathroom experiences that I'll spare you from now. I kept my eyes locked forward and said nothing. Jack went inside to purchase beef jerky and orange Gatorade.
When we got to Dallas, I called Ned back.
"Hello?" Ned answered.
"We're in Dallas, where do we go now?" I asked.
"I'll text you the address." Ned replied, and such was the end of our conversation. Neither of us said goodbye; we just hung up the phone.
As we pulled up to Ned's house, I couldn't help but notice how normal it looked. I didn't know what I was expecting, but it certainly wasn't the suburban paradise we found ourselves in. All the houses on the block had neatly kept lawns, novelty decorations, and his-and-hers cars in the driveway. Ned's house only had one car. I wasn't surprised. Jack and I got out of the car and silently walked up to the front door. I rang the doorbell.
"Are you Will?" Ned peeked through the crack in the door allowed without undoing the security chain.
"And this is Jack. Can we come in?" I responded.
Ned closed the door and undid the chain holding him in and, more substantially, us out. He opened the door wide and gestured for us to come inside. The inside of Ned's house was nothing like its appearance from the curb. All of his furniture was finished in some sort of cloth. His walls were all painted with a noticeably matte finish, and even the TV screen had some kind of film over it to get rid of the reflections. There was no glass; the windows had been blocked and covered, leaving the overall appearance of a cave.
"Let me guess, you never got rid of it?" Jack deduced quickly from his surroundings.
"It's not quite that simple." Ned started.
This response made Jack immediately furious. It probably didn't help that, for the remaining few hours of the drive, I was uninterested in talking or interacting with Jack, and I hadn't given a reason. Jack lost his cool.
"Not that simple? Are you fucking kidding me? We drove out to Texas from Arizona in one shot because you couldn't say that over the phone? I thought you had some actual fucking answers here Ned! Give me one reason why I shouldn't knock you out and set your ass up in a house of mirrors to wake up in?"
I put my hand on Jack's shoulder, but it didn't help.
"Woah there hoss, you came to me. I don't want you in my life just as much as you don't want to be in it." Ned put his hands up in defence. "Do you want what I know or not?"
Jack controlled himself from another outburst but started pacing in the living room connected to the entryway as he spoke.
"Alright, go for it Ned. What do you have that could help us?"
Ned walked to a desk in the corner and picked up a stack of papers. He walked back and handed it to me.
"I did the ritual two years ago. These are my notes." Ned began. "I don't know exactly how to beat it, but I think I've figured out what it wants." I scanned through the notes as he continued. The ramblings on the pages of notebook paper were nearly incomprehensible. You could tell clearly which entries were from good days and which were from bad days.
"The ritual from what I could find dates back to ancient Chinese folklore. They had a lot of stuff going on with mirrors."
I cut Ned off as he spoke. "I don't think that spell was in Chinese. It sounded like Latin. I mean I don't know either language but-"
"Exactly. It's not in Chinese." Ned resumed. "Your guess was correct. The spell is in Latin. Around 100 AD a Chinese general named Ban Chao sent an envoy west to improve relations along the Silk Road. That envoy was stopped by Parthian soldiers."
"Get to the point!" Jack exclaimed.
"The point," Ned gave a snarky look to Jack, who was still pacing like a madman. "Is that it never actually happened like that. The envoy got through the Middle East just fine, and reached Rome. When they got to Emperor Nervas court, they shared their mirror magic with the Romans. They explained how mirrors ward off evil spirits and send them to the mirror kingdom."
"But isn't folklore supposed to be mostly superstition and stories to teach children lessons?" I asked.
"If you're talking Brothers Grim and fairies and stuff, yes." Ned rebutted. "Apparently the Romans found some truth in the mirror stuff. Nerva set his best Magus to the task of using this against the Chinese. He thought if he controlled both sides of the silk road, he'd control the world."
I rubbed my temples, trying to wrap my head around the history lesson that was just laid out before me. "So you're saying that a forgotten part of history led to a Roman Emperor creating a curse that I found on the internet?"
Ned replied, "That's the part I could never figure out. I don't know who posted this or where that website came from. I went so far as to hire a freelance ethical hacker to try to track down info on it, and he came up with nothing."
"A freelance ethical hacker?" I asked, the tone of my voice measurable.
"He works for an internet security company and he does ethical hacking on the side." Ned said dismissively. "The point is, there's no trail. He couldn't find the IP it was posted from, or even the domain that the forum is hosted on. It seems to exist in some obscure state of the internet that can't be found."
Jack couldn't take any more of the story. He burst out, "Oh cool. I've got it now. The internet is cursed and it wanted us to find a 2,000-year-old spell that would make me shit my pants every time I see a mirror. You've been super helpful!" Jack walked out the front door, slamming it behind him.
"I'm sorry," I said, "he's been driving for a long time and I think he was envisioning this conversation going differently."
"I understand." Ned replied.
"So," I started, "how do we use that information to make it go away? That is kind of what we came out here looking for."
"I don't know." Ned said. My face fell, and my shoulders slumped as the words left his mouth. "But if I were you, I'd try some kind of Chinese spiritualist."
I thought for a minute and realized that it did seem like a weird place for his story to end. "Why haven't you done that yet?" I asked.
"I stopped trying after I got so far. There was an accident, and-" He paused. "And lets just say my religion really doesn't want me to off myself. So instead I live in this cave. I order my groceries and I work from home. It's not a great life, but it's better than the alternative."
I respected his wish to not explain further. I could only imagine what the 'accident' must have been after seeing what lengths this curse could go to. I thanked him for his help and left just as quickly as I'd arrived.
I ended up driving most of the way back to Phoenix. Jack slept off his rage in the passenger seat. I was nervous at first about what would happen if we got pulled over, but then I realized it was probably the least of my worries. What I can say is this: a 14-hour drive with no sleep sucks. Doing it twice in a row with a 10-minute stop in the middle without any mirrors because you cursed your own reflection? I really wouldn't recommend it.
When we finally pulled up to my mom's house, I nearly collapsed onto the driveway. It was 8:31PM on Saturday. Luckily, my mom hadn't returned from her work trip yet. She ended up getting home early Monday morning. I didn't have the energy to investigate whether Sam was still scared of us or not, and Jack didn't have the stomach for it without me. We quietly went inside, went straight to the room, and passed out.
Part 5
Sunday morning came, and strangely, I felt nothing. I expected to feel motivation to tackle the next stage of my quest to solve my ever-growing problem. I didn't. I half expected to feel anxiety and hopelessness amid the seemingly insurmountable horror that grew in influence in my life every time that I encountered it. I didn't. There was a numbness that washed over my entire self that filtered out all of those emotions and left me with very little sensory or emotional feedback. I sat up in my childhood bed, looked over to Jack sleeping on the floor, snuggled up in a discordant mess of blankets and pillows haphazardly thrown together in an informal sleeping wad. Its nature was so antithetical to the personality of the man quietly lying on top of it, and I felt nothing.
As I washed my hands in the bathroom, I looked at the space where the vanity mirror usually hung. The paint had faded under its typically immutable position. There was a perfect outline where the angle of the only light in the bathroom could no longer illuminate behind its reflective surface. I thought about my life and what it had turned into. It had been twelve days since I first stumbled upon that damned post. If I'd known that this would be the outcome, surely I would have closed my laptop and gone to bed. Even knowing that what I had been seeking so long for had actually been found, if I could understand the gravity of the consequences, I would have certainly declined. The weight of my actions surely overcame whatever small feeling of accomplishment I had felt from the ritual's success. I stood there, lingering ever longer with my hands under the running water as I contemplated these certainties provided by hindsight, and yet, deep inside of myself, I knew that they weren't true.
As Jack slept, I researched our next step. I didn't have the stomach to check on Sam. I didn't know where to begin. I didn't even know what a Chinese spiritualist was called. After a couple of searches, I found that they are called 'Wu Shaman' and they were seemingly impossible to find in the middle of the Sonoran Desert. Most searches where I sought an establishment brought me straight back to the list of psychic mediums that we'd depleted a few days before. Chat boards and forums were filled with people talking about encountering them in China's rural areas and offering advice to tourists on how to find them on vacation. Then I found something.
There was a Taoist temple in the city that had reviews where people were talking about how the shaman helped them in profound ways. I knew that this would probably be our best shot at finding a way to rid ourselves of the reflective scourge we'd been saddled with. I saved the address and waited quietly for Jack to wake up. The house had an eerie silence and a melancholy that permeated its walls.
Jack woke up around 11am, and I informed him of my findings. We quickly got ready and left without a word to Sam, who hadn't made a peep since we got back. There was little conversation on the ride, and neither of us cared to listen to the radio.
When we arrived at the temple, I found comedic value in the sight even though a laugh would not leave my lips. I had known there were Eastern religious temples in the city, but I had always assumed they would blend into the surrounding environment. What I saw before me was a pagoda-style wooden structure with flamboyant painted beams and flares. There were gardens that looked fabulously well-kept, and ornamental statues and decorations dotted the property. This storybook property came to a very deliberate halt, instantly mutating back into the cityscape I was accustomed to: a run-of-the-mill asphalt parking lot with faded white-painted lines, neighbored by a thin fence and a 6-lane highway behind it.
Jack and I got out of the truck and headed up to the Tori gate separating this serene paradise from the drab modern purgatory outside. To our surprise, the people inside were dressed in casual clothes and paid little mind to us. I expected to be accosted by a bald man in flowing orange robes immediately upon entry. I asked someone tending to the plants where I could find the shaman, and they directed me without a single question. In the corner of the property was a much smaller pagoda, roughly the size of a studio apartment. As we approached, my heart sank when I noticed a major roadblock. Two large mirrors on either side of the entryway door were perfectly unavoidable if one wished to enter the building.
"What are we going to do?" There was a weariness to Jack's voice, even with those being the first words muttered between the two of us. We sat there staring at our seemingly insurmountable task.
"We have to rush it. Keep our eyes closed and just walk right through." I said begrudgingly. I thought to myself, "Why are we treating this like a certainty? It hasn't been every mirror we've seen." But I knew somewhere deep down that we were right to be hesitant about these.
"You think that will work?" Jack asked.
"It's our only shot." I replied.
We inched closer to the building, anticipation in every step. I closed my eyes the moment I hit the stairs. I counted the stairs as I went up them. One, two, three. My sneakers were dead silent, but I could hear Jack's boots thud against the wooden deck with every step. I reached out my hands and felt for the doorway.
My eyes were shut so tightly that I thought they might fuse together. That I'd never be able to open them again. I didn't mind that so much. I would almost rather live my life blind and learn to adjust than risk seeing another damned reflection. The painted wood of the threshold met my hand. Jack and I bumped into each other going through the doorway. It wasn't big enough to fit both of us at the same time. We hadn't thought about the order in which we would enter or how to communicate it.
I let Jack slip by first. Once we were both on the other side of the doorway, I opened my eyes. The room was empty, save for a man on a prayer mat in the middle of the room. He was meditating in some capacity. As we approached, he spoke:
"What brings you here, Juwairen?"
"We need your help." I stated.
"What troubles you?" He still hadn't opened his eyes or broken his pose.
"We messed with our reflections, and now they want to kill us." The last semblance of sanity or shame I had left my body with those words.
"The mirror world is a dangerous place. What compelled you to antagonize it?" The man's voice was so cool and calm, soothing even. This was just another day for him.
"We were being stupid." Jack chimed in. "We thought that we wanted to mess with the paranormal, and now we see that was a mistake. Can you help us?"
"The mirror has a long history of preventing evil." The man started, "Many things have been warded off by the protection of a mirror. Where do you think they go?"
"I suppose they get trapped in there. It sure seems like there's a bunch of evilness trying to leak out now." I rubbed my hands together, waiting to see where this went.
"That is correct. Typically a mirror is a one way door. It seems you have opened it the other way."
"Well, how do we shut the door then?"
"How you opened it to begin with." The man opened his eyes and stood.
"So just do the ritual again, and it will be gone?" Jack asked.
"Yes shaonian, but you will find that it will not be so easy this time."
"What the hell did he just call me?" Jack turned to me as if I had any idea.
"I guess the reflection will fight back, huh?" I asked, ignoring Jack. "How will we do the ritual if it's fighting us the whole time? We can't overpower it for just about anything."
"Only one may break through at a time. You must choose who will face it." The man sat back down and resumed his meditative position. It seemed that he was done speaking with us.
Jack and I tried asking more questions, but received no more answers from the man. After a couple of minutes, we gave up and headed back outside. Walking out the door, I knew that as long as I didn't turn around, I wouldn't catch even a glimpse of the mirror, but it still made the hair on the back of my neck stand. We went back to the truck and got inside before we discussed further.
"So one of us has to provoke it out and then just hope that the other person can perform the ritual in time before it kills us?" Jack asked.
"I guess that's what he said." I replied, the defeat in my voice was noticeable.
We decided that we would perform the ritual in a nearly identical way to the first time. We headed back towards campus as we planned.
We stood silent in my living room. The futon and TV had been moved, and the mirror now stood in its center. We each took sips from our beers. It was probably not the best idea, looking back on it now, to decide to drink just as much as we did the first night. I believe that part of that decision-making process was for parity between the two nights, and the other part was because a small part of us knew that if we were going to die, we wanted to die drunk.
The hours passed by, but this time we didn't distract ourselves with video games and merriment. We sat silently on the futon that had now been moved to the kitchen, slowly but surely drinking down the 12-pack that we had acquired much similarly to the first.
The air was indescribable in the time leading up to that night. The disdain and frustration that hung in the air surely came from a place directed mostly at the self. We had gotten ourselves into this after all. It was obvious that both of us were trying to fight back the feelings of helplessness. In all of our encounters with the imposter selves, neither of us had come close to besting it yet. Most of all, there was a feeling of finality and fate that kept me uncomfortable, to say the least. The uncertainty in knowing that the thing we had chased for so long was now seemingly here to stay, and the best word we had to go on for getting rid of it came from a stranger in a silly wooden building off of Interstate 17.
As the clock ticked closer and closer to 3am, my palms started to sweat. Normal anticipation is one thing. Being the next in line at a roller coaster, or the quiet eeriness in the buildup before a jump scare. This was different. The thing I was counting the seconds before facing had hurt me before. It had hurt Jack. My stomach sank as the next thought came through my mind. It had hurt Sam. I thought about Sam. He was too scared to interact with us in the short time we'd been around since the incident, and we were too focused and broken-hearted to approach him about it. My mom would surely be home soon. I wondered what she would say when she found out. She'd certainly be furious. I was supposed to keep him from hurting himself, not get him hurt more. The consequences of my hubris reached its decrepit talons further than simply myself. I thought, "Maybe it would be better if I just let that thing kill me." I quickly pushed the thought away from my mind.
The clock turned over to 3:00AM, and Jack and I stood synchronously. There were no words, only the hanging trepidation of two men headed for the gallows. Jack drew the pentagram while I lit the candles. When everything was ready, we stood on either side of the mirror, outside its line of sight, and removed the tarp that had been covering it.
There were several seconds of unmoving anxiety before either of us breathed. The plan was for me to stand in front of the mirror and wait for the imposter to take hold. I would leave enough room for Jack to stand between us to minimize the effect that the reflection could have on me in the seconds it took for Jack to recite the spell again. Once that was completed, according to the man in the temple, we would be rid of this curse forever. I wish that had been how it happened.
Swallowing my anxiety, I jumped out in front of the mirror. I made sure to put several feet between my body and the mirror, as our plan dictated. I don't know if it was the beer or the fear, but the moment I did so, I felt myself retch. I quickly turned my head to the side to relieve myself, fully ready for the icy shot to slither down my spine, indicating our "guest" had arrived. I felt nothing. I looked down at the contents of my stomach for a moment, then I wiped my mouth and returned my eyes to the mirror.
When my eyes met their reflection, the sight I had expected was true, but something was off. As I looked at my reflection, I saw the comatose expression I'd expected. Lethargic, apathetic eyes- those damned eyes. My body filled with rage at the sight. But something was different. I was still in complete control of the reflection. I felt no stranger vying for control of the metaphorical ship that was me. I tested this strange encounter by raising my hand and waving it gently through the air. Every movement was copied exactly. There were no incongruencies or struggles. The mirror was behaving exactly as it should, but I saw the imposter in the image instead of myself.
Despair rushed over me. "This can't be good," I thought to myself. This was the first time that I had seen the imposter face without it actually being there. I thought back to the several times others had seen me like this. This was what they were looking at. I felt my stomach start to tighten and flex again, but I pushed the feeling down. Jack was looking at me from the wing of the mirror, perplexion on his face.
"What the fuck is going on?" Jack pestered.
I said nothing. I slowly put my hand closer to the mirror, feeling almost compelled by the curiosity of the situation. My outstretched finger glided closer and closer to meeting its reflective copy when Jack swatted it away.
Jack jumped in front of me, cutting off my line of sight to the reflection. A wave of indescribable emotion came over me, and I fell backward. As my vision blurred in and out of focus, I heard Jack start to recite the incantation. I hit the ground. Hard.
I think that I blacked out for a few seconds when I hit the ground. I don't remember hearing Jack say the spell more than once. For all I know, he didn't. When I came to, I looked up at Jack, and he stood there silently. I was a little too wobbly to get all the way up right away, but I scooted my body around to get a better look at his face.
My heart sank when I saw that his face was overtaken by the imposter. He stood in front of the mirror, immobile.
"Jack! Snap out of it!" I yelled, but I received no response. The whole world slowed down when he started to move. Jack's right hand crept up from his side and slid into his pocket. My eyes darted back to his face, where I found that he was still taken. As his hand came out of his pocket, it had in it a small pocket knife.
"No! Jack wake up dude! You have to snap out of it!" I scrambled to get to my feet, but as I pushed off the floor, I was met with the same immovable barrier I felt at my mom's house when I tried to put my chair safely back onto the ground. My eyes darted to the mirror. The imposter version of myself was lying there on the ground, the same as I was, staring at me with those wilting, sickly eyes. This time, there was something I'd never seen before: a smile. The smile it wore was that of a serial killer caught, feeling no remorse for its actions. It was the type of cartoonish smile you see in cheesy movies when the bad guy explains his plan. It was the smile of an entity that knew that whatever it had in store for Jack, I would be forced to helplessly watch.
I continued to yell and scream, but it made no difference. It was as if Jack couldn't hear me. I tried calling out for help, but even if my neighbor heard me and jumped off his couch to run over, it certainly wouldn't have been quick enough to prevent what happened next. Jack slowly raised his arm up in front of his body. His other hand came to meet the first, deliberately unfolding the pocket knife. As I screamed at him, I questioned why it was even in his pocket to begin with. Was he really that naive to overlook having something like that on his person while we did this? Something told me that Jack wouldn't do that.
Jack raised the knife up to his neck. Tears ran down my face as I could do nothing but watch. As the tip of the blade broke the skin, I watched the crimson blood leak out of my best friend. There was no expression on his face, only the facade of the imposter hanging over his true likeness. The skin slowly started to rip as Jack slid the knife from left to right across his neck. It moved purposefully and agonizingly slow. The initial drip turned into a stream running down his chest and soon into a fountain as the knife pierced his trachea. I could hear the gurgling as blood ran down his throat into his still breathing lungs. The imposter didn't stop until the knife had reached the opposite end of his neck.
I was completely hysterical by the time Jack turned to look at me. For a split second before he fell, the visage of the imposter left, and the kid I grew up with came back. The expression on his face was the one that we'd searched for when we performed this ritual the first time. The look on Jack's face as he fell to the ground was fear. I flinched as his limp body hit the floor with a thud. As it did, the prison I found myself in was released.
Wailing, I launched my body forward, balled my fist, and hit the mirror as hard as I could. A shard of broken glass cut my cheek as it flew by me. I didn't notice that until much later. My hand went through the wooden backing, and my arm was caught in the hole. I haphazardly pulled my arm out and fell to the ground, my arms wrapping around Jack's lifeless corpse. I cursed myself for getting us into this mess. I cursed him for jumping between me and the mirror. I cursed the imposter for all it had done. I cursed this life for being so cruel.
I fell asleep next to Jack's corpse that night. I had the worst nightmares of my life. I dreamed of twisted amalgamations and Lovecraftian horrors. I dreamed of a house of mirrors in which, everywhere I looked, I saw Jack's face as he fell to the ground, blood spewing from his neck like a low-budget slasher film. I dreamed of the imposter taking Sam, my mom, and everyone I loved one by one. I dreamed of the imposter taking me into the mirror. Right as I crossed the threshold into the hellscape I'm sure lies on the other side, I woke up.
I woke up well into the afternoon. I fully expected to be woken up by the police taking me in to question why I was sleeping next to a dead body. I heard birds chirping outside. There didn't seem to be anything outside the horrific scene I found myself in that would lead one to believe there was anything different about that day. That was yesterday morning.
I didn't leave the house yesterday. I sat around, mostly crying and panicking about what I would do next. The third time my mom called, I smashed my phone. I waited for the police to show up, but they never did. It was certainly surprising that they never showed up, considering how much screaming I did the night before and how I completely ignored my mother, who probably wanted a reason her house was turned upside down and her youngest child was traumatized. Part of me wishes that they had turned up and arrested me. At least then I wouldn't be sitting here writing what feels like a suicide note.
I've decided what I'm going to do next. The imposter wants me in the mirror world with it. It made that much clear in a gas station in Odessa. I'm going to give it what it wants. I've mounted my bathroom vanity mirror once again, and I'm going to let it take me. I've thought about what the shaman told us in that silly pagoda off the freeway, and my best idea is to try to shut the door from the other side. I don't fully know what that looks like, and it probably means I'll never come back. I'm prepared to face that reality. For you, dear reader, it means this: If I do come back, I'll make sure to finish this story and recount how I dared to defeat the devil in the mirror. If this is where the story ends, then take my advice. Don't toy with summoning evil. Most of it's fake, but you'll never fully understand the risks until you find something that isn't. To my mom and my little brother Sam, I love you, and I'm sorry.