This is my confession of sorts. As no one will listen to my story, I am forced to tell it here. My name has been on the news, I've been vilified as a monster, and no one will hear any explanation to the contrary. There was one that would, but she is now dead and again, I am blamed for that death.
I will claim responsibility for whatever deaths the police wish to blame me for, however know that I am not the one who killed them.
In broad daylight, on a day just like today, on a street just like yours, in a room just like any other, in a mirror atop a plain wood dresser, monsters appeared before me.
This is no philosophical mumbo jumbo about the man is the monster. No, there really are creatures that appeared in the mirror: ugly, distorted creatures that could have passed for human at one time, but now seemed burned, stretched and demented. Their true evil came in their size; they were small, so small that they couldn't even be considered cute as some miniature things are no matter what. Their size added to their creepiness as they can go anywhere they please and when they touch you there are squirming sensations throughout your body.
Certainly, I knew of urban legends like the Candyman and Bloody Mary, and I never tempted them. In that mirror was no ghost of Bloody Mary. I need not say any words to summon them; they come of their own accord. I see them there every day, sitting and waiting teasingly just out of the periphery. I long ago gave up looking for them in the room. They weren't there. Yet every once in a while I would hear one shift around, or feel one brush against me, but only while looking in the mirror.
So why look in the mirror? Covering it only angers them, besides once touched by them, you have little choice. They take over your mind, and you are compelled to look in the mirror just to keep them alive. Eventually, I will become one myself.
It's always in my weakest moment, in times of stress and uncertainty that they attack. Sometimes I see them inch closer, other times they come as a complete surprise. You probably think this is my imagination playing tricks on me; after all the human imagination is a powerful thing. It can make the unbelievable real and the unlikeliest things happen. It can destroy man, just as these creatures do.
However, I am not insane. Doctors from all over have examined me, they've run their tests, they've given me drugs, nothing helps. It isn't until I show them, in their own mirror, the creatures waiting for me to join them. I always hesitate to do this though, for I fear I condemn each man along with me that I show them too. No one doubted me after looking in a mirror with me.
Those men, those poor men, I don't know what really happened to them. Some killed themselves, and one was found ripped to shreds shortly after my appointment with him. They accused me of killing him, but could find no evidence. Of course not, they leave nothing behind.
That's when I met her, Maya Arran. The court appointed her to me. She seemed like a good enough lawyer, at least she sounded as if she knew what she was talking about.
I found her quite attractive, and had I not been a suspect in a murder case, the looks she gave me might have been softer. She sat stiff-backed across from me and prepared her notebook.
"Now, Mr. Brack, is it?"
"Yes," I said a little intimidated by her sharp voice.
"Mr. Brack, tell me, to the best of your knowledge, why you are here."
"My psychologist is dead."
"Yes, and...?" She prompted as if this were a test.
"And nothing. I don't even know how he died."
"I believe the detective told you. Did he not?"
He had, but I was in denial. I shook my head vigorously. I didn't want to think about it. They showed me the pictures, now burned into my eyes for the rest of my life. He wasn't even recognizable as a human; blood everywhere, chunks of his flesh missing, claw marks all over his body, and the hole in his chest, as if something had burrowed into his heart.
"They say during your last appointment you went mad and killed him."
"No." I said softly. "He was alive when I left." She looked at me skeptically. I knew what she was thinking. I fit the profile of every other psychopath killer out there, jobless, no family, antisocial, and nuts. I didn't blame her if she didn't want to be there.
"What did happen Mr. Brack?" I shook my head and stared at my hands. "Whatever it is, you can tell me, it's in strict confidence. Did you kill your doctor?"
"No."
"Do you know who did?"
"Yes." I barely choked the word out and I felt like I was going to be sick. They still had a hold over me.
"Who?" I shook my head violently. "You can tell me, Jonathan." She placed her thin fingers on my shackled hands. "If it will clear you, you have to tell me."
"You wouldn't believe me."
"I've heard a lot of things in my time as a lawyer; I'll believe you."
"Not this. This isn't... It's..."
"It's what, Jonathan?"
I looked up into her eyes, such soft brown eyes; they watched me with concern and sympathy.
"It's supernatural," was all I could manage to say.
Her eyes widened at this. I knew it; she thought I was crazy too. "How so?"
I shook my head again. It's not as if I didn't want to tell her; I just couldn't. The words wouldn't leave my throat. I physically was unable. At least this interview room had no observation room, which meant no mirrors. When the police interviewed me, they tormented me entire time. Without them watching me, I felt more free but still the words would not come.
"I want to help you." She rubbed my hand softly, and my spine tingled, for once out of excitement, not fear. "Let me help you."
So I told her everything I've already written here. The creatures in the mirror, the doctor visits, and my own fears.
She stared at me, eyes widened. "I told you, you wouldn't believe such a load of crap."
"Show me."
"No."
"Why not?"
"I showed Dr. Stephenson just before he died."
"John, I can't help you, if I don't know what I'm up against."
"That's what Dr. Stephenson said." I mumbled, but I knew she wouldn't help me if she didn't believe me, and there was only one way to make her believe me. "Do you have a mirror?"
"Yes..." She reached in her purse hesitantly and brought out a small round mirror.
"Put it on the table," I instructed and sat back so I wouldn't be reflected. "Look in it and tell me what you see." She leaned over, and admired herself in the mirror while I admired her. I didn't want to do this, but now that their secret was out, they forced my hand.
"I only see my face."
"Yes, a lovely face," I whispered. She jerked her head up at me, yet I didn't see hatred in her eyes. She seemed on the verge of saying something when I pointed at the mirror and slowly leaned into view. "Now?"
She barely glanced down before she jumped out of her seat. "Wha-what-" she couldn't finish, and she could hardly breathe.
"It's them, the men in the mirror. They killed Dr. Stephenson, they drove Dr.s Shah and Pratt mad, eventually to kill themselves. They are killing me, and now..." I couldn't look her in the eyes; I've condemned her.
I leaned away from the mirror again and said, "Look now."
"No." She shook her head furiously. With only a glimpse of them, was her will strong enough to fight them? I doubted it; eventually she'd have to look, even by accident. To keep her from temptation I reached for the mirror, they only stared back at me eerily, as if they were expecting her. I slowly flipped the mirror over and slid it to the side out of her reach. I swear I heard them screaming at me.
"Thank you," she said looking kindly at me.
"You've seen them, but there's still nothing you can do for me. No way you can show it was them and not me."
"How do they come out of the mirror?" She glanced at it almost as if she wanted to turn it over. I almost cried, for I knew she wouldn't last long.
"I don't know. I've never seen them do it. I'm not sure they do come out of the mirror, or if they use it to get inside of us." I thought of the large hole in Dr. Stephenson's chest. Had they burst through it to get to the rest of his body?
"Why would they do this?" she asked almost to herself.
"I don't know. Why do ghosts haunt their old houses? Why do vampires drink blood? Is it our place to ask these questions?" I fought hard not to get angry; the stress of watching her decline, and my own guilt started to bring it out. Maybe they fed on the emotion as well? So I tried to stay calm. "I don't know why."
"Okay then... Why you?" To me the answer was the same. I was just some random guy they chose. Why? Who knows? Yet as I looked at the overturned mirror, I swear it moved just slightly. Maybe it was my imagination. Were they as drawn to me as I was to them?
"I think like them."
There was that skeptical look again. "You think like them? You want to rip people to pieces?"
"No, but I'm small... Insignificant. I want to leave my mark on the world. Maybe I thought about it too much: greed simply could be why. I have no idea really. I just know I'm in tune with them. Before he died, Dr. Stephenson told me how he felt when he looked at them. He felt their pull, they made him uncertain, and he began rambling to me about people watching him. I tried to warn him, but he didn't listen."
"Have you tried talking to them?"
I shrugged. It's not that I haven't but it never really occurred to me to try to have a full conversation with them; they would probably just snarl back at me anyway.
She sighed and appeared to be contemplating her options. "I know you don't want to plead insanity, and I can even vouch for you, but perhaps you should consider it. I may believe you, but I don't know how well I can convince others."
"You'll help me?"
She smiled sweetly. "I'll see what I can do."
"Thank you." I took her hand in mine and she didn't pull away, instead I felt her squeeze my fingers slightly.
"I'll be back tomorrow." My heart leapt at the thought of seeing her again. Could it be this way, that I could finally find someone I could connect with? Maybe this was fate that brought us together? Her eyes told me much more than that, and so did the blush in her cheeks. She picked up the mirror and looked into it as she brought it to her purse.
"Don't!" I tried to reach out to her but it was too late, she stared at them as if they fascinated her. "Look away!" She became startled at my words and dropped the mirror. It shattered into a hundred pieces, and as she looked down at them, saw hundreds of tiny men.
I watched as her beautiful face convulsed. It was happening already, there were too many of them and they overwhelmed her. It looked almost as if her flesh bubbled, her smooth, soft skin stretched and grayed. She couldn't scream for she couldn't breathe and I could only stand there. I couldn't even call for help, they wouldn't let me, for I saw them in those small shards looking up at me with murder in their eyes; their sharp teeth like fangs gripping me in that spot. Scratches, burns, and holes transformed her body into a bloody mess, and I watched as the life washed from her face.
The guard finally peeked in the window, obviously not hearing a sound, not a second later he and several others burst in.
"I didn't do it. I didn't! They're the ones! They did it!" I screamed as the guards piled upon me.
***
A short while later, the detective sat across from me and I tried not to look at the large mirror on the opposite wall. I sensed them though, peering over his shoulders, drilling me with their gray eyes. The detective was big and a guard stood in the corner. They didn't understand the danger they were really in, even with me chained to the chair. I tried to warn them.
"Not here, not in a room with a mirror."
"Not gonna happen, bub. You're under surveillance from now on."
"You don't understand. They're in the mirror. They'll kill you too."
"Right..." the detective drew the word out. Why didn't they ever believe me? "Now, why don't we take this one step at a time: why'd you kill Ms. Arran? I know she's a lawyer but that ain't no reason to go halfcocked."
"I didn't."
"We found you with the murder weapon in your hand." He pulled out a sliver of the broken mirror. "You slashed her up with this."
"How could I? It's so small."
"You were the only one in the room, who else could have?"
"Them." I nodded at the mirror then I told him everything that happened, including the fact that I liked Maya and wanted to see her again. "Why would I kill her if I wanted to be with her?"
"I don't know, why does any sicko do what they do? You've probably already been with her. You probably raped her before you killed her. We'll find out after the autopsy."
"It was them!" I pointed at the mirror.
"Who? My boss?" He glanced over his shoulder and smiled at the mirror as if sharing a joke with somebody.
"Don't you see them?" I asked incredulously.
"See who?" He turned this time to look directly in the mirror. "The only thing I see is you and me, bud. If you think I'm going to believe your wacko story about little men from mars probing her then-"
"They're not aliens; they're monsters in the mirror!" I yelled, and they mocked me now by hiding when he looked, or perhaps they were just choosy about whom they infected.
"Right. I think we're done here." He picked up his folders and headed for the door. "You're gonna fry pal, but if you decide to get a conscious and confess just let the guards know."
I lost all hope at that point. No one would defend me. No one would believe me. They were all I had left.
Now I know what will happen to me the next time I look in the mirror. With each day I feel it coming and so I write this in my moments of sanity knowing they may be my last words and confession. I killed them all, if not with my own hands, then with whatever lies within me and the mirrors. Each life taken, I come one step closer, and mine is the last life I will destroy. When they burst from my insides and eat my flesh, I will be one of them.
I glanced at the small, dingy mirror in my cell and felt them crawling inside me.
I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it. Please send me any comments you might have, good or bad. Copyrighted 2009 by Christine Schnell. Go ahead and share it with others just keep my name with it.
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