I wanted to get away from my shitty life, wanted it gone so badly. I was sick of being that weird kid on his own. I was tired of getting picked on and mocked by Russell and his douchebag friends. I didn't want to come home to my foster parents' feigned empathy anymore. I hated being looked down on because of the music I listened to, because I wasn't into sports, or because I wasn't "a real man", whatever that means. I spent a lot of time thinking and wishing for some escape, some way to get out. I'd look into the old silver-backed mirror my mother left me, my real mother, and pretend I was someone else.
Yesterday, something changed. The worked metal covering the back of it suddenly became hot as I lay down, turning it over in my hands as dusk faded to darkness. I dropped it on my bed, sheets half-covering it. There was some kind of light shining through the threadbare covers, emanating from the mirrored glass. I flinched, both afraid and curious. I cautiously pulled back the cover, and dared to meet my reflection.
The mirror was rippling. I don't mean it was broken, or the light was hitting it in a strange way. The backwards world literally moved in waves, and my reflection became lost and muddled as it shifted. I knew that this wasn't right, that something about this was wrong and possibly dangerous, but I couldn't tear myself away. I felt a breeze on my face; a dry, hot whisper of a distant wind. My room wasn't well insulated, or well air-conditioned, but the stained window was shut, and my posters may have covered the walls, but they certainly weren't concealing any cracks. The more I looked at the mirror, the more the reflection distorted, the stronger the breeze felt. I leaned closer, trying to make out shapes in the glass. I caught a glimpse of a face...but it wasn't my face. It was a different face, female and beautiful with odd green-eyes and--and an intent look on her face, cold in some predatory way. Her face looked rough around the edges, like little bumps were creeping up and over her face. I tried to look at her more closely, but everything shifted again, changing into a mess of colour and light. I drew closer to the mirror, trying to focus. I quickly realized that I'd see better if I turned on a light. I reached for the switch, fingers trailing along the wall until they found the plastic switch casing.
That's when the mirror stopped. The colours grew darker, more vibrant, until it was green, swirling very slowly. One little circular spot grew brighter, and brighter, and brighter, until it was a drop of pure amber, slit by a line of black. I froze, hand extended, head half-turned as a line of white thickened and curved into a point. A faint hiss emitted from the mirror, like a tiny valve being released. Then, the line of colour sprang from the mirror, wicked fangs set into a terrifying mouth that closed around the side and back of my neck. I screamed, clawing at the thing as pain welled up. My head throbbed. I felt the base of my spine seize, and my everything went white.
When I woke up, I was lying back on the bed. My hand flew to my neck, but the only thing there was a deep bite mark. For a while, I sat bolt upright on my bed, afraid to step off and expose my ankles...but apparently it was gone. I went to the bathroom, too afraid to look into my mother's hand mirror anymore. The bite looked bad, red and raw. I bumped into Joe, on his way to bed after a long evening of watching whatever game happened to be on instead of talking to his reject foster kid. He grunted noncommittally at me, blind to the injury. Today, nobody I talked to can find anything wrong with my neck, but I can feel it. I can see it.
I put the mirror in a small black box, put the box deep into my closet, covered it with clothes. I've cleaned everything out, swept it with a flashlight and a baseball bat. Whatever attacked me is gone.
What's happening to me?
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