I threw away the mirror after my reflection attacked me…
0 reactions
I threw away the mirror after my reflection attacked me. Then things got worse.
My reflection in the bathroom mirror stole my wife three days ago. I know how that sounds. If someone else posted those words I'd assume they were insane. But before you decide if I’m crazy or not, let me tell you what happened.
I'd been standing in the bathroom admiring the progress in my weight loss journey. Thirty pounds gone. My torso looked tighter, my shoulders broader. Everything was looking good. Maybe not my face, I had a strange look. I remember thinking it was judgmental. Not what I thought my normal face looked like. It was more like I was looking down at someone.
Anyway, just then my wife came into the bathroom behind me and wrapped her arms around my waist.
She told me I looked good.
She started kissing my neck and running her hands slowly up my thigh. She started guiding me toward the bedroom. Before I followed her, I turned back to turn off the bathroom light, and glanced back at the mirror.
My reflection was screaming. Its mouth stretched wide, eyes bulged and angry, fists pounding against the glass. There was no sound, just the reflection trying to rip through the mirror.
I closed my eyes and shook my head real fast, trying to rattle something loose in my brain.
I opened my eyes again. The reflection was normal. I laughed it off. Blood wasn't exactly flowing to my brain at that moment. I turned off the light and closed the bathroom door.
The next morning, I nearly died trying to shave. I still shave the old-fashioned way. Scalding hot water in the sink, a brush with cream and a straight razor. When I finished, I leaned down to rinse my face.
Suddenly my head slammed into the sink. Scalding water flooded my eyes. I tried to pull back but something forced me down. The underside of the faucet smashed into the back of my head. The air escaped my lungs in an underwater scream. Panic exploded through me. I clawed blindly through the water until I found the drain stopper and yanked it free. The water finally began to drain.
I staggered backward, gasping for air. My face felt like it was on fire.
The mirror above the sink was fogged from steam, but through the haze I could have sworn my reflection was smirking. Like it knew exactly what had happened. I splashed cold water from the faucet on my burning face and eyes and looked up at the mirror again. The expression on my reflection was gone. It was just me. It had been my imagination, or that's what I kept telling myself anyway.
Later that afternoon I decided to prove it. I locked myself in the bathroom and stood in front of the mirror. The reflection looked immediately angry. It wasn’t me though, it was the thing in the mirror. Its face wasn't burned like mine, which was red and blistered.
Then it raised its hand and gave me the middle finger. I froze. The reflection started shouting and gesturing like it wanted to fight. Still, no sound. Just a pissed off version of me.
So in typical angry me fashion, I returned the gesture, flipping it off. That was not a good idea. Its face filled with rage. It began slamming its fists against the inside of the mirror.
CRACK!
A spiderweb of fractures exploded across the glass. At the same instant, pain shot through my hand. I looked down. My hand was balled into a tight fist, blood dripped from my knuckles. When I looked back up, there was a bloody smear across the mirror.
The thing behind the glass held up its hands. They were clean. No blood.
I don't remember deciding to remove the mirror. I just remember running to the garage for tools.
When I returned, the reflection looked afraid. It pressed its face against the glass, desperately watching me unscrew the mounting bolts. It hammered against the inside harder and harder, creating new cracks.
I finally removed the last bolt. The mirror came free. The reflection screamed silently as I carried it outside. I threw it into the dumpster. The glass, and the reflection with it, shattered.
For a few days we went without a mirror. My wife hated it. Eventually she convinced me to install a new one, which I finally did a couple of days ago.
I never told her why I'd gotten rid of the first mirror. Who would believe me? Hell, I barely believed myself.
This morning, after my workout, I found myself standing in front of the new mirror. Admiring my progress. The exact same thing I had been doing when this all started. This time, however, my face carried a bit of disappointment from all that had happened, not to mention the pain from the burns.
My wife walked into the bathroom. I saw her reflection before I felt her touch. Her hands slid around my wait. Her lips brushed my neck. I smiled.
Then something felt wrong. I turned around. The bathroom was empty. My wife wasn't there.
My stomach dropped. I looked back at the mirror. Inside it, my wife was still kissing me.
My reflection turned and smiled. The two of them began walking toward the bedroom.
I started screaming. Banging on the glass. Yelling at them to stop.
My reflection reached back toward the bathroom door. Toward the side of the mirror I was standing on. It switched off the light and closed the door behind it, leaving me standing alone in the dark.
#entertainment
source
My reflection in the bathroom mirror stole my wife three days ago. I know how that sounds. If someone else posted those words I'd assume they were insane. But before you decide if I’m crazy or not, let me tell you what happened.
I'd been standing in the bathroom admiring the progress in my weight loss journey. Thirty pounds gone. My torso looked tighter, my shoulders broader. Everything was looking good. Maybe not my face, I had a strange look. I remember thinking it was judgmental. Not what I thought my normal face looked like. It was more like I was looking down at someone.
Anyway, just then my wife came into the bathroom behind me and wrapped her arms around my waist.
She told me I looked good.
She started kissing my neck and running her hands slowly up my thigh. She started guiding me toward the bedroom. Before I followed her, I turned back to turn off the bathroom light, and glanced back at the mirror.
My reflection was screaming. Its mouth stretched wide, eyes bulged and angry, fists pounding against the glass. There was no sound, just the reflection trying to rip through the mirror.
I closed my eyes and shook my head real fast, trying to rattle something loose in my brain.
I opened my eyes again. The reflection was normal. I laughed it off. Blood wasn't exactly flowing to my brain at that moment. I turned off the light and closed the bathroom door.
The next morning, I nearly died trying to shave. I still shave the old-fashioned way. Scalding hot water in the sink, a brush with cream and a straight razor. When I finished, I leaned down to rinse my face.
Suddenly my head slammed into the sink. Scalding water flooded my eyes. I tried to pull back but something forced me down. The underside of the faucet smashed into the back of my head. The air escaped my lungs in an underwater scream. Panic exploded through me. I clawed blindly through the water until I found the drain stopper and yanked it free. The water finally began to drain.
I staggered backward, gasping for air. My face felt like it was on fire.
The mirror above the sink was fogged from steam, but through the haze I could have sworn my reflection was smirking. Like it knew exactly what had happened. I splashed cold water from the faucet on my burning face and eyes and looked up at the mirror again. The expression on my reflection was gone. It was just me. It had been my imagination, or that's what I kept telling myself anyway.
Later that afternoon I decided to prove it. I locked myself in the bathroom and stood in front of the mirror. The reflection looked immediately angry. It wasn’t me though, it was the thing in the mirror. Its face wasn't burned like mine, which was red and blistered.
Then it raised its hand and gave me the middle finger. I froze. The reflection started shouting and gesturing like it wanted to fight. Still, no sound. Just a pissed off version of me.
So in typical angry me fashion, I returned the gesture, flipping it off. That was not a good idea. Its face filled with rage. It began slamming its fists against the inside of the mirror.
CRACK!
A spiderweb of fractures exploded across the glass. At the same instant, pain shot through my hand. I looked down. My hand was balled into a tight fist, blood dripped from my knuckles. When I looked back up, there was a bloody smear across the mirror.
The thing behind the glass held up its hands. They were clean. No blood.
I don't remember deciding to remove the mirror. I just remember running to the garage for tools.
When I returned, the reflection looked afraid. It pressed its face against the glass, desperately watching me unscrew the mounting bolts. It hammered against the inside harder and harder, creating new cracks.
I finally removed the last bolt. The mirror came free. The reflection screamed silently as I carried it outside. I threw it into the dumpster. The glass, and the reflection with it, shattered.
For a few days we went without a mirror. My wife hated it. Eventually she convinced me to install a new one, which I finally did a couple of days ago.
I never told her why I'd gotten rid of the first mirror. Who would believe me? Hell, I barely believed myself.
This morning, after my workout, I found myself standing in front of the new mirror. Admiring my progress. The exact same thing I had been doing when this all started. This time, however, my face carried a bit of disappointment from all that had happened, not to mention the pain from the burns.
My wife walked into the bathroom. I saw her reflection before I felt her touch. Her hands slid around my wait. Her lips brushed my neck. I smiled.
Then something felt wrong. I turned around. The bathroom was empty. My wife wasn't there.
My stomach dropped. I looked back at the mirror. Inside it, my wife was still kissing me.
My reflection turned and smiled. The two of them began walking toward the bedroom.
I started screaming. Banging on the glass. Yelling at them to stop.
My reflection reached back toward the bathroom door. Toward the side of the mirror I was standing on. It switched off the light and closed the door behind it, leaving me standing alone in the dark.
#entertainment
source
| 2,000 mlx | |
| 3 | |
| 0 |