Downloading that dating app was a mistake When I was a…
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Downloading that dating app was a mistake
When I was a child, I remember quite vividly being scared of mirrors. Whenever I would get up to pee, I would always avoid looking into the mirror. Darkness used to be scary as well, but since I was almost always with an adult during late hours, that wasn’t much of a problem. Since I turned fourteen or fifteen years old, I remember no longer being scared of these things. It was around that age, or maybe soon afterwards, that I started saying that ghosts weren’t real, and that only living people could hurt you.
I start by saying this because I assure you, I’m not a superstitious person, nor am I prone to believing in paranormal explanations. In spite of that—or maybe precisely because of it—I’m so confused by last night’s events.
I had been in a toxic relationship—a situationship, if you like—that never really bloomed, but that had got me hooked for almost one year. That ordeal ended around three weeks ago. As tough as it was, I cried a lot at first and, though I no longer do that, I feel like crying sometimes, but it’s as if my body can’t get those tears out, so the sadness remains inside.
It was during this grief that I admitted that she was not coming back, so I decided to hook up. I downloaded a dating app and started swiping. By no means was this unknown territory; I knew the drill: nice pictures, a short bio, wait a little while before swiping and, above all, don’t look desperate. Since I wouldn’t call myself ugly, but not that handsome either, it was somewhat surprising to find eight likes after only thirty minutes. That initial surprise quickly turned into disappointment after seven of them turned out to be rather unappealing options, while the only attractive one unmatched me as soon as I texted her. Adding insult to injury, it had taken me a while to come up with an interesting message.
After that initial, though rather disappointing, boost, I found myself liking women without getting any matches. I quickly ran out of free likes, so I bought an upgraded subscription so I could like more women.
Nothing.
I got bored, so I started playing some chess online. I had barely touched it during most of my aforementioned relationship, so I was rather glad to be winning most of my matches and even pulling off a five-win streak.
Sleep was getting the better of me, so I turned off my laptop and checked my phone. During that “flow state,” I had forgotten that I had paid to get my self-esteem even more damaged. However, I had gotten a notification: someone had liked me.
Based on my former disappointment, my expectations were low, even though I quickly tapped on it. Since my upgraded subscription let me see the profiles of those liking me, that’s exactly where I went.
There she was.
Twenty-eight years old, black hair, white skin, light-brown eyes. Her features were not that remarkable: she didn’t look particularly short or tall, nor fat or thin. I know you might think I’m being superficial and hypocritical by giving people ratings, even when my performance on this dating app hadn’t been that successful, but I would like to give you a more appropriate picture of her: she was a solid seven. Some generous people would give her maybe an eight, and maybe I would have been tempted to be one of them if she had uploaded better pictures.
As for this point, she didn’t look unattractive in any of them at all, but every picture looked rather… boring. All of them showed her in her bedroom with a serious facial expression.
I liked her back and we matched.
It rubbed me the wrong way seeing an immediate message right after that notification. It was a simple:
“Hi! How are you doing?”
I replied:
“Not much, wbu?”
Her next message removed any desire to sleep.
“Well, you might think this is weird, but… I’d like to be as clear as possible with you: I want to have sex with you tonight.”
Don’t get me wrong. The reason why I installed the app was because I did want to have sex, but such a blunt message right away was rather a deterrent. It was unsettling and… scary.
That should have been my first and last signal that something was off.
I didn’t want to ghost her, and rejecting her outright seemed too harsh, so I tried what I considered a “soft rejection”: I asked her for pictures.
She replied without delay with several pictures, which I would rather not describe, but that got me going twenty minutes later to a part of town I had never been to.
I took an Uber and jokingly told her that some friends had explicit orders to inform the police if I hadn’t communicated with them within two hours.
She just sent a cold:
“Ok.”
I wondered if she could see through my bluff, since I have no close friends at this point in my life.
I got to a residential area with two-story houses. It didn’t look bad or cheap. It was just fine.
When I got to her address, I texted her that I was already there.
Instead of replying, I found her opening the door.
Never in my entire life had I felt such an urge to run as fast as possible.
Something from within that house seemed nefarious, but I had no reason to use that as an argument.
Certainly not her, who looked much better than in the pictures. She smiled at me, which only increased my need to flee, but I still wasn’t able to say why.
She let me in, and I followed her directly to her bedroom upstairs, while feeling that my legs were shaking.
We sat on her bed.
She hadn’t spoken so far.
“Are you scared?”
That voice froze me.
At this point, even the thought of it gives me goosebumps.
It sounded like it came from somewhere else and didn’t sound feminine. To be fair, it didn’t even sound human.
My need to run away was at its peak, but my body was completely still.
She took the phone out of my hand and unlocked it by entering the PIN.
A single attempt.
She went to the dating app and showed me my matches.
None.
“I know you didn’t tell anyone you were coming here tonight.”
That deep, horrendous voice again.
It was rather more unsettling when I noticed that her facial expression didn’t match the words or the voice: she just looked calm and pitiful.
“You have no friends, your parents don’t care that much, and that woman never truly chose you.”
Even through the fear I was feeling, that last line managed to hurt me.
I was about to ask her how she knew about that, but no words came out of my mouth. I just felt that the bedroom was much smaller than it had been at first.
I considered the possibility that she was probably using the Forer effect—that is, saying vague things about someone while making them believe the statements are tailored specifically to them—but how would that explain her unlocking my phone?
“You know… you have been disrespecting us by not believing in us. But trust me, I’m real.”
At that moment, she placed her hand on my neck.
I expected it to feel cold, but it was rather warm and comforting.
“I’ve been watching you for many, many years… since you were just a little kid. I’ve always hidden near you. I used to appear on the mirrors in your house when you were too short to look at yourself in them. I’ve watched you sleep for hours. I’ve never held a grudge against you… quite lucky, but your arrogance in affirming that we’re not real has always put me off.”
“You are just crazy.”
I finally found the courage to speak.
“What do you mean by crazy?”
She—or it—then proceeded to tell me the exact name of the woman I had been in a relationship with and recount the way we had met and how I had felt.
“I’ve seen you cry many times. Indeed, I pity you. So much that I invited you here.”
I was in utter shock.
Who was this woman, and how did she know so much about me? How did she know that name?
Was this a prank?
Was this a prank from her?
“You think that your life has no longer meaning because she’s no longer in your life. I have bad and good news for you. Which ones would you like first?”
“The bad ones,” I said.
Though I was still scared, my body was no longer frozen and my legs had stopped shaking. I had endured so much pain during and after that relationship that, finally being listened to, even though by this… person, was rather liberating.
“The bad one is that she doesn’t miss you… at all. Deep down, you know it, since you haven’t blocked her. She’s not coming back. I’ve seen her. Believe me.”
That last sentence was followed by a very disturbing grin that scared me more than anything else had up to that point.
She then added:
“The good one is that you can always be worse off, and I would like you to be grateful for that.”
With that, she took my chin and turned my head toward a mirror in front of us.
It showed the two of us.
But she was by no means a woman, nor a human.
It was such a monstrous figure that I feel like crying when trying to describe it. I can barely describe it, but it was a dark figure whose face had big, predatory eyes. It had a very macabre grin with very sharp teeth.
I screamed and tried to get up, but its other hand grabbed me firmly while the one resting on my neck was still soft.
“It’s so out of character seeing you this scared. I’m not going to lie to you, it’s pleasurable. But it isn’t me you should be scared of.”
I looked back at it, only to see the face of her.
The woman I had been in a relationship with.
“Look around,” it added. “I know you recognize this place.”
It was familiar, indeed.
It was her bedroom.
The bedroom where I had cried when I said goodbye to her.
“Look at me.”
It also looked exactly like her.
Only the voice was different.
“I know it was unfair, but so what? You know an apology isn’t coming. You think three weeks is still early, but this isn’t a matter of time. She was already with someone else before that last-ditch speech you had. But I can help her make it up to you.”
“How?”
I stared at its face in awe.
“I could give her a long, terrible, painful disease… starting tomorrow. Well, today.”
It was already past midnight at that point.
“She would never know it was you,” it continued. “As an extra gift, I could also appear in her dreams using your face and tell her the disease is fate’s way of reckoning for the way she treated you. Just call it.”
My legs started trembling again.
During that grief, filled with anger, disgust, and contempt, I had wished upon her that maybe life would give her pain, but I would never have caused it myself.
“What’s going on? Are you scared of your own desires?”
It smiled.
“You know, it’s not like I can just watch you. I can also interpret your emotions and thoughts. Remember, I’ve been with you since you were just a child. You just stopped believing in me.”
It paused.
“When you got scared of darkness and mirrors, it wasn’t an irrational fear. I was right there. So, when you overcame that fear, I got a little bit resentful. Still, I don’t hold a grudge against you… I can’t.”
Its smile became almost tender.
“In fact, this is my way of making it up to you. A gift, if you will.”
“Why would you do that? What would you get in return?”
“Nothing. That’s the best part. The only price you’ll have to pay is knowing that you were the one who caused her disease.”
It then moved my head toward the mirror.
And there it was.
The last time I had met her.
I was crying and hugging her.
But the mirror showed me an angle I had never seen before.
Her face wasn’t sad.
She just looked annoyed.
“You know,” it added, “things were quite different from the way you remember them.”
A sudden gush of anger flowed from within me.
I felt humiliated.
“Do it.”
After saying that, I found myself waking up in my bed.
I was extremely confused.
I had no idea what had happened.
Everything just looked normal.
I didn’t feel bad or sick.
I went to the kitchen and made some coffee.
Then it struck me: I hadn’t checked my phone yet.
It was on my bed.
No new messages.
No notifications.
I saw the dating app icon, which gave me a transient trembling sensation in my legs.
I tapped on it to see if I had had any more matches or likes.
When I checked my matches, there it was.
The same woman from last night.
The first picture was the same, but I felt an urgent need to check her profile.
However, the bio was different:
**“Yes, it was real.”**
I felt uneasy, but told myself that this was by no means evidence of something supernatural.
I then proceeded to check her other pictures.
They showed the same woman, now grinning at me, but the bedroom was different.
I zoomed in on the picture.
Her smile became clearer.
It wasn’t the smile I remembered.
It was wider.
Not impossibly wide, not inhuman.
Just wide enough to make me uncomfortable.
I looked at the room behind her.
A different bed.
Different curtains.
A different wall.
I checked the previous picture.
Same woman.
Different room.
Another picture.
Different room again.
I felt a strange pressure in my chest.
I went back to the first picture.
The bedroom was the one I had seen last night.
The bedroom where I had cried.
The bedroom where she had watched me leave.
Except I had never taken a picture there.
I zoomed in again.
The image became blurry.
There was a mirror.
I enlarged the image until I could barely recognize anything.
There was a reflection in it.
My reflection.
I dropped the phone.
For several seconds, I just stared at it lying on the mattress.
Then I laughed.
It was a short, nervous laugh.
“This is ridiculous.”
I picked up the phone again.
The picture had changed.
The woman was still there.
The mirror wasn’t.
I stared at the screen until my eyes began to hurt.
I checked the other pictures.
Nothing.
No mirrors.
No strange reflections.
Just a woman standing in different rooms, smiling at me.
I closed the app.
I opened it again.
The profile was gone.
I searched for her.
Nothing.
I searched through my matches.
Nothing.
I checked my messages.
Our conversation was gone.
For a moment, I felt relieved.
Then I noticed something.
There was a notification from the dating app.
I opened it.
**Someone liked you.**
I almost laughed again.
Then I saw the profile picture.
It was me.
Not one of my own pictures.
A picture of me that I had never seen before.
I was sitting on the edge of my bed.
Asleep.
I checked the time the picture had been uploaded.
12:17 a.m.
I checked the clock.
8:43 a.m.
My hands started shaking.
I zoomed in.
The picture had clearly been taken from inside my bedroom.
I could see the lamp beside my bed.
The curtains.
The chair where I usually left my clothes.
And behind me, reflected in the mirror—
her.
I couldn’t see her face.
She was standing too far away.
But I knew it was her.
I closed my eyes.
When I opened them, the profile had changed.
There was a new picture.
This time, she was standing much closer.
I could see her face clearly.
She was smiling.
Underneath the picture was a caption.
**“You said yes.”**
I stopped breathing.
I hadn’t told anyone.
I hadn’t even spoken the words after waking up.
I had only thought them.
I scrolled down.
There was another picture.
Then another.
They were all photographs of me sleeping.
Different nights.
Different bedrooms.
Different years.
One showed me as a teenager.
Another showed me at university.
Another showed me in a room I hadn't lived in for more than three months.
Another showed me crying.
I kept scrolling.
The pictures became older.
And older.
Until I reached one that I recognized immediately.
I was a child.
Maybe seven years old.
I was standing in front of the bathroom mirror.
I couldn’t remember that night.
But I remembered the pajamas.
I remembered the blue tiles.
I remembered being afraid.
And in the mirror, behind me, there was something.
I zoomed in.
It was too dark to make out.
Then I saw its eyes.
Two enormous eyes staring directly at the camera.
I threw the phone across the room.
It landed on the floor.
The screen remained lit.
A new notification appeared.
I didn’t want to look.
I looked anyway.
It wasn’t from the dating app.
It was a text message.
From an unknown number.
There were only five words.
**“She’ll call you when it starts.”**
I sat on my bed for what felt like an hour.
At 9:16, my phone rang.
I didn’t recognize the number.
I knew who it was.
I answered.
For several seconds, there was only silence.
Then I heard her breathing.
“Hello?”
Nothing.
I almost hung up.
Then she spoke.
Her voice was trembling.
“Can I talk to you?”
I couldn’t answer.
“I know this is strange.”
She started crying.
“I don’t know why I’m calling you.”
My heart was beating so hard that I could barely hear her.
“I just…”
She took a breath.
“I think I owe you an apology.”
I closed my eyes.
For one horrible second, I felt relieved.
Then I remembered the price.
The disease.
The bargain.
My stomach turned.
She continued.
“I don't know what's wrong with me.”
I stood up.
“What do you mean?”
“I’m not feeling well.”
Her breathing became heavier.
“I’ve been feeling strange since I woke up.”
I gripped the phone.
“Are you in the hospital?”
“Yes.”
She started crying again.
“They’re running tests.”
I didn't know what to say.
“Is it serious?”
“They don't know.”
A silence followed.
Then she said:
“I wanted to apologize.”
My chest tightened.
“Okay.”
“I know that doesn't mean anything anymore.”
“It might.”
“No.”
She took another breath.
“It doesn't.”
I remained silent.
“I treated you badly.”
I closed my eyes.
“I know.”
“I should have been honest with you.”
I didn't answer.
“I wasn't.”
Something in her voice changed.
Not guilt.
Something closer to resignation.
“There was someone else.”
I felt my stomach drop.
“What?”
“I had been seeing someone.”
I stared at the floor.
“For how long?”
She hesitated.
“Before we ended things.”
I felt something inside me become very still.
She began crying again.
“I'm sorry.”
I didn't know whether to laugh or cry.
The demon had promised me an apology.
I had imagined her saying that she regretted everything.
That she missed me.
That she had made a terrible mistake.
Instead, she was telling me that I had been even less important than I thought.
“Do you love him?”
There was a long silence.
Then:
“I think so.”
I felt something inside me collapse.
Not because she was sick.
Not because she had lied.
Because suddenly everything made sense.
The coldness.
The distance.
The excuses.
The way she had looked at me that last time.
The way she had hugged me without actually holding me.
“I never felt that way with you,” she continued.
She immediately began crying.
“I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that.”
“No.”
I swallowed.
“Don't apologize for that.”
She went quiet.
“I think you deserve to know.”
I looked toward the mirror.
For a second, I thought I saw something behind me.
Nothing.
“I don't hate you,” I said.
That wasn't entirely true.
But it wasn't entirely a lie either.
“I'm sorry.”
“I know.”
We stayed silent for a while.
Then she said:
“Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
“Did you know?”
“Know what?”
“That I was already seeing someone?”
I looked at the mirror again.
“No.”
She breathed out.
“I thought maybe you did.”
I almost told her about the demon.
Instead I said:
“I didn't.”
Another silence.
Then she whispered:
“I'm scared.”
And for the first time since she had called, I felt something other than resentment.
I felt sorry for her.
Not because I wanted her back.
Not because I wanted to forgive her.
Just because she was scared.
“I'm sorry,” I said.
This time, I meant it.
We hung up shortly afterward.
I remained sitting on my bed.
The room was completely silent.
I looked at my phone.
Then at the mirror.
“Are you happy now?”
Nothing happened.
I waited.
“Was that what you wanted?”
Still nothing.
I stood up.
“Fine.”
I walked toward the mirror.
“I changed my mind.”
The lights went out.
I froze.
A voice came from behind the glass.
“You didn't.”
I stared at my reflection.
It wasn't smiling.
“What?”
“You didn't change your mind.”
The reflection tilted its head.
“You discovered you didn't want what you thought you wanted.”
I felt anger rising again.
“She’s sick.”
“Yes.”
“Fix her.”
“No.”
My hands clenched.
“You said you could.”
“I said I could give her the disease.”
“Then take it away.”
“Why?”
I stared at it.
“Because I don't want her to die.”
The smile disappeared.
“After everything she did to you?”
I said nothing.
“You spent months crying over her.”
“I know.”
“She destroyed your self-esteem.”
I looked away.
“She made you anxious. You questioned yourself constantly. You spent nights wondering what you had done wrong. You begged for clarity. You accepted things you would never have accepted from anyone else.”
I remained silent.
“She made you feel unwanted.”
My jaw tightened.
“I know.”
“She chose someone else.”
“I know.”
“She has just told you that she never felt for you what she feels for him.”
My throat tightened.
“I know.”
“And now you want me to save her?”
“Yes.”
The creature stared at me.
For the first time, it looked genuinely angry.
“You are an extraordinary creature.”
I said nothing.
“I offer you exactly what you wanted.”
“I know.”
“I make her understand.”
“She doesn't.”
“She apologized.”
“She did.”
“You wanted her to suffer.”
I looked away.
“I did.”
The creature stepped closer to the glass.
“And now?”
I looked at it.
“I don't want her to suffer.”
“Why?”
I couldn't answer.
“Do you still love her?”
I opened my mouth.
Nothing came out.
The creature smiled.
“You don't even know.”
“No.”
“But you want her to live.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
I looked down.
“Because she's a person.”
The creature's expression became almost disgusted.
“After everything she did to you?”
I didn't answer.
“You don't get to do this.”
“Do what?”
“Turn yourself into the victim again.”
I looked at it.
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
It pressed its hand against the mirror.
“You think suffering makes you noble.”
“I don't.”
“You think sacrificing yourself makes what happened meaningful.”
“No.”
“You think that if you suffer enough, perhaps someone will finally understand how much you loved her.”
“That isn't it.”
“Then what is it?”
I looked directly into its eyes.
“I don't know.”
For several seconds, neither of us spoke.
Then it whispered:
“Fine.”
I felt my stomach tighten.
“You want her disease?”
“Yes.”
“You can have it.”
I understood immediately.
“You mean…”
“She won't.”
I stared at it.
“You will carry it.”
“For how long?”
“Until you die.”
I didn't hesitate.
“Do it.”
The creature's face changed.
Not surprise.
Disgust.
“Why?”
“Because she doesn't deserve to die.”
“And you do?”
“No.”
“Then why?”
I looked at the mirror.
“Because somebody has to.”
The creature stepped back.
For the first time since I had met it, I saw something I hadn't expected to see in its face.
Confusion.
“You're still a coward.”
I frowned.
“What?”
“You're no longer afraid of darkness.”
It stepped farther away.
“You're no longer afraid of mirrors.”
Its reflection began to distort.
“But you're still a coward.”
I felt something warm rise in my throat.
I coughed.
Blood filled my mouth.
The creature looked at me.
“You still think pain makes you virtuous.”
I wiped my mouth.
“Maybe.”
“You think suffering for someone makes you strong.”
“No.”
“You think you can decide who deserves to suffer.”
I stared at it.
“No.”
The blood was still in my mouth.
I leaned toward the mirror.
And spat.
The blood landed directly on its reflection.
For a moment, neither of us moved.
The creature looked at the blood.
Then it looked at me.
For the first time since I had met it, it wasn't smiling.
I smiled instead.
And spat again.
#entertainment
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When I was a child, I remember quite vividly being scared of mirrors. Whenever I would get up to pee, I would always avoid looking into the mirror. Darkness used to be scary as well, but since I was almost always with an adult during late hours, that wasn’t much of a problem. Since I turned fourteen or fifteen years old, I remember no longer being scared of these things. It was around that age, or maybe soon afterwards, that I started saying that ghosts weren’t real, and that only living people could hurt you.
I start by saying this because I assure you, I’m not a superstitious person, nor am I prone to believing in paranormal explanations. In spite of that—or maybe precisely because of it—I’m so confused by last night’s events.
I had been in a toxic relationship—a situationship, if you like—that never really bloomed, but that had got me hooked for almost one year. That ordeal ended around three weeks ago. As tough as it was, I cried a lot at first and, though I no longer do that, I feel like crying sometimes, but it’s as if my body can’t get those tears out, so the sadness remains inside.
It was during this grief that I admitted that she was not coming back, so I decided to hook up. I downloaded a dating app and started swiping. By no means was this unknown territory; I knew the drill: nice pictures, a short bio, wait a little while before swiping and, above all, don’t look desperate. Since I wouldn’t call myself ugly, but not that handsome either, it was somewhat surprising to find eight likes after only thirty minutes. That initial surprise quickly turned into disappointment after seven of them turned out to be rather unappealing options, while the only attractive one unmatched me as soon as I texted her. Adding insult to injury, it had taken me a while to come up with an interesting message.
After that initial, though rather disappointing, boost, I found myself liking women without getting any matches. I quickly ran out of free likes, so I bought an upgraded subscription so I could like more women.
Nothing.
I got bored, so I started playing some chess online. I had barely touched it during most of my aforementioned relationship, so I was rather glad to be winning most of my matches and even pulling off a five-win streak.
Sleep was getting the better of me, so I turned off my laptop and checked my phone. During that “flow state,” I had forgotten that I had paid to get my self-esteem even more damaged. However, I had gotten a notification: someone had liked me.
Based on my former disappointment, my expectations were low, even though I quickly tapped on it. Since my upgraded subscription let me see the profiles of those liking me, that’s exactly where I went.
There she was.
Twenty-eight years old, black hair, white skin, light-brown eyes. Her features were not that remarkable: she didn’t look particularly short or tall, nor fat or thin. I know you might think I’m being superficial and hypocritical by giving people ratings, even when my performance on this dating app hadn’t been that successful, but I would like to give you a more appropriate picture of her: she was a solid seven. Some generous people would give her maybe an eight, and maybe I would have been tempted to be one of them if she had uploaded better pictures.
As for this point, she didn’t look unattractive in any of them at all, but every picture looked rather… boring. All of them showed her in her bedroom with a serious facial expression.
I liked her back and we matched.
It rubbed me the wrong way seeing an immediate message right after that notification. It was a simple:
“Hi! How are you doing?”
I replied:
“Not much, wbu?”
Her next message removed any desire to sleep.
“Well, you might think this is weird, but… I’d like to be as clear as possible with you: I want to have sex with you tonight.”
Don’t get me wrong. The reason why I installed the app was because I did want to have sex, but such a blunt message right away was rather a deterrent. It was unsettling and… scary.
That should have been my first and last signal that something was off.
I didn’t want to ghost her, and rejecting her outright seemed too harsh, so I tried what I considered a “soft rejection”: I asked her for pictures.
She replied without delay with several pictures, which I would rather not describe, but that got me going twenty minutes later to a part of town I had never been to.
I took an Uber and jokingly told her that some friends had explicit orders to inform the police if I hadn’t communicated with them within two hours.
She just sent a cold:
“Ok.”
I wondered if she could see through my bluff, since I have no close friends at this point in my life.
I got to a residential area with two-story houses. It didn’t look bad or cheap. It was just fine.
When I got to her address, I texted her that I was already there.
Instead of replying, I found her opening the door.
Never in my entire life had I felt such an urge to run as fast as possible.
Something from within that house seemed nefarious, but I had no reason to use that as an argument.
Certainly not her, who looked much better than in the pictures. She smiled at me, which only increased my need to flee, but I still wasn’t able to say why.
She let me in, and I followed her directly to her bedroom upstairs, while feeling that my legs were shaking.
We sat on her bed.
She hadn’t spoken so far.
“Are you scared?”
That voice froze me.
At this point, even the thought of it gives me goosebumps.
It sounded like it came from somewhere else and didn’t sound feminine. To be fair, it didn’t even sound human.
My need to run away was at its peak, but my body was completely still.
She took the phone out of my hand and unlocked it by entering the PIN.
A single attempt.
She went to the dating app and showed me my matches.
None.
“I know you didn’t tell anyone you were coming here tonight.”
That deep, horrendous voice again.
It was rather more unsettling when I noticed that her facial expression didn’t match the words or the voice: she just looked calm and pitiful.
“You have no friends, your parents don’t care that much, and that woman never truly chose you.”
Even through the fear I was feeling, that last line managed to hurt me.
I was about to ask her how she knew about that, but no words came out of my mouth. I just felt that the bedroom was much smaller than it had been at first.
I considered the possibility that she was probably using the Forer effect—that is, saying vague things about someone while making them believe the statements are tailored specifically to them—but how would that explain her unlocking my phone?
“You know… you have been disrespecting us by not believing in us. But trust me, I’m real.”
At that moment, she placed her hand on my neck.
I expected it to feel cold, but it was rather warm and comforting.
“I’ve been watching you for many, many years… since you were just a little kid. I’ve always hidden near you. I used to appear on the mirrors in your house when you were too short to look at yourself in them. I’ve watched you sleep for hours. I’ve never held a grudge against you… quite lucky, but your arrogance in affirming that we’re not real has always put me off.”
“You are just crazy.”
I finally found the courage to speak.
“What do you mean by crazy?”
She—or it—then proceeded to tell me the exact name of the woman I had been in a relationship with and recount the way we had met and how I had felt.
“I’ve seen you cry many times. Indeed, I pity you. So much that I invited you here.”
I was in utter shock.
Who was this woman, and how did she know so much about me? How did she know that name?
Was this a prank?
Was this a prank from her?
“You think that your life has no longer meaning because she’s no longer in your life. I have bad and good news for you. Which ones would you like first?”
“The bad ones,” I said.
Though I was still scared, my body was no longer frozen and my legs had stopped shaking. I had endured so much pain during and after that relationship that, finally being listened to, even though by this… person, was rather liberating.
“The bad one is that she doesn’t miss you… at all. Deep down, you know it, since you haven’t blocked her. She’s not coming back. I’ve seen her. Believe me.”
That last sentence was followed by a very disturbing grin that scared me more than anything else had up to that point.
She then added:
“The good one is that you can always be worse off, and I would like you to be grateful for that.”
With that, she took my chin and turned my head toward a mirror in front of us.
It showed the two of us.
But she was by no means a woman, nor a human.
It was such a monstrous figure that I feel like crying when trying to describe it. I can barely describe it, but it was a dark figure whose face had big, predatory eyes. It had a very macabre grin with very sharp teeth.
I screamed and tried to get up, but its other hand grabbed me firmly while the one resting on my neck was still soft.
“It’s so out of character seeing you this scared. I’m not going to lie to you, it’s pleasurable. But it isn’t me you should be scared of.”
I looked back at it, only to see the face of her.
The woman I had been in a relationship with.
“Look around,” it added. “I know you recognize this place.”
It was familiar, indeed.
It was her bedroom.
The bedroom where I had cried when I said goodbye to her.
“Look at me.”
It also looked exactly like her.
Only the voice was different.
“I know it was unfair, but so what? You know an apology isn’t coming. You think three weeks is still early, but this isn’t a matter of time. She was already with someone else before that last-ditch speech you had. But I can help her make it up to you.”
“How?”
I stared at its face in awe.
“I could give her a long, terrible, painful disease… starting tomorrow. Well, today.”
It was already past midnight at that point.
“She would never know it was you,” it continued. “As an extra gift, I could also appear in her dreams using your face and tell her the disease is fate’s way of reckoning for the way she treated you. Just call it.”
My legs started trembling again.
During that grief, filled with anger, disgust, and contempt, I had wished upon her that maybe life would give her pain, but I would never have caused it myself.
“What’s going on? Are you scared of your own desires?”
It smiled.
“You know, it’s not like I can just watch you. I can also interpret your emotions and thoughts. Remember, I’ve been with you since you were just a child. You just stopped believing in me.”
It paused.
“When you got scared of darkness and mirrors, it wasn’t an irrational fear. I was right there. So, when you overcame that fear, I got a little bit resentful. Still, I don’t hold a grudge against you… I can’t.”
Its smile became almost tender.
“In fact, this is my way of making it up to you. A gift, if you will.”
“Why would you do that? What would you get in return?”
“Nothing. That’s the best part. The only price you’ll have to pay is knowing that you were the one who caused her disease.”
It then moved my head toward the mirror.
And there it was.
The last time I had met her.
I was crying and hugging her.
But the mirror showed me an angle I had never seen before.
Her face wasn’t sad.
She just looked annoyed.
“You know,” it added, “things were quite different from the way you remember them.”
A sudden gush of anger flowed from within me.
I felt humiliated.
“Do it.”
After saying that, I found myself waking up in my bed.
I was extremely confused.
I had no idea what had happened.
Everything just looked normal.
I didn’t feel bad or sick.
I went to the kitchen and made some coffee.
Then it struck me: I hadn’t checked my phone yet.
It was on my bed.
No new messages.
No notifications.
I saw the dating app icon, which gave me a transient trembling sensation in my legs.
I tapped on it to see if I had had any more matches or likes.
When I checked my matches, there it was.
The same woman from last night.
The first picture was the same, but I felt an urgent need to check her profile.
However, the bio was different:
**“Yes, it was real.”**
I felt uneasy, but told myself that this was by no means evidence of something supernatural.
I then proceeded to check her other pictures.
They showed the same woman, now grinning at me, but the bedroom was different.
I zoomed in on the picture.
Her smile became clearer.
It wasn’t the smile I remembered.
It was wider.
Not impossibly wide, not inhuman.
Just wide enough to make me uncomfortable.
I looked at the room behind her.
A different bed.
Different curtains.
A different wall.
I checked the previous picture.
Same woman.
Different room.
Another picture.
Different room again.
I felt a strange pressure in my chest.
I went back to the first picture.
The bedroom was the one I had seen last night.
The bedroom where I had cried.
The bedroom where she had watched me leave.
Except I had never taken a picture there.
I zoomed in again.
The image became blurry.
There was a mirror.
I enlarged the image until I could barely recognize anything.
There was a reflection in it.
My reflection.
I dropped the phone.
For several seconds, I just stared at it lying on the mattress.
Then I laughed.
It was a short, nervous laugh.
“This is ridiculous.”
I picked up the phone again.
The picture had changed.
The woman was still there.
The mirror wasn’t.
I stared at the screen until my eyes began to hurt.
I checked the other pictures.
Nothing.
No mirrors.
No strange reflections.
Just a woman standing in different rooms, smiling at me.
I closed the app.
I opened it again.
The profile was gone.
I searched for her.
Nothing.
I searched through my matches.
Nothing.
I checked my messages.
Our conversation was gone.
For a moment, I felt relieved.
Then I noticed something.
There was a notification from the dating app.
I opened it.
**Someone liked you.**
I almost laughed again.
Then I saw the profile picture.
It was me.
Not one of my own pictures.
A picture of me that I had never seen before.
I was sitting on the edge of my bed.
Asleep.
I checked the time the picture had been uploaded.
12:17 a.m.
I checked the clock.
8:43 a.m.
My hands started shaking.
I zoomed in.
The picture had clearly been taken from inside my bedroom.
I could see the lamp beside my bed.
The curtains.
The chair where I usually left my clothes.
And behind me, reflected in the mirror—
her.
I couldn’t see her face.
She was standing too far away.
But I knew it was her.
I closed my eyes.
When I opened them, the profile had changed.
There was a new picture.
This time, she was standing much closer.
I could see her face clearly.
She was smiling.
Underneath the picture was a caption.
**“You said yes.”**
I stopped breathing.
I hadn’t told anyone.
I hadn’t even spoken the words after waking up.
I had only thought them.
I scrolled down.
There was another picture.
Then another.
They were all photographs of me sleeping.
Different nights.
Different bedrooms.
Different years.
One showed me as a teenager.
Another showed me at university.
Another showed me in a room I hadn't lived in for more than three months.
Another showed me crying.
I kept scrolling.
The pictures became older.
And older.
Until I reached one that I recognized immediately.
I was a child.
Maybe seven years old.
I was standing in front of the bathroom mirror.
I couldn’t remember that night.
But I remembered the pajamas.
I remembered the blue tiles.
I remembered being afraid.
And in the mirror, behind me, there was something.
I zoomed in.
It was too dark to make out.
Then I saw its eyes.
Two enormous eyes staring directly at the camera.
I threw the phone across the room.
It landed on the floor.
The screen remained lit.
A new notification appeared.
I didn’t want to look.
I looked anyway.
It wasn’t from the dating app.
It was a text message.
From an unknown number.
There were only five words.
**“She’ll call you when it starts.”**
I sat on my bed for what felt like an hour.
At 9:16, my phone rang.
I didn’t recognize the number.
I knew who it was.
I answered.
For several seconds, there was only silence.
Then I heard her breathing.
“Hello?”
Nothing.
I almost hung up.
Then she spoke.
Her voice was trembling.
“Can I talk to you?”
I couldn’t answer.
“I know this is strange.”
She started crying.
“I don’t know why I’m calling you.”
My heart was beating so hard that I could barely hear her.
“I just…”
She took a breath.
“I think I owe you an apology.”
I closed my eyes.
For one horrible second, I felt relieved.
Then I remembered the price.
The disease.
The bargain.
My stomach turned.
She continued.
“I don't know what's wrong with me.”
I stood up.
“What do you mean?”
“I’m not feeling well.”
Her breathing became heavier.
“I’ve been feeling strange since I woke up.”
I gripped the phone.
“Are you in the hospital?”
“Yes.”
She started crying again.
“They’re running tests.”
I didn't know what to say.
“Is it serious?”
“They don't know.”
A silence followed.
Then she said:
“I wanted to apologize.”
My chest tightened.
“Okay.”
“I know that doesn't mean anything anymore.”
“It might.”
“No.”
She took another breath.
“It doesn't.”
I remained silent.
“I treated you badly.”
I closed my eyes.
“I know.”
“I should have been honest with you.”
I didn't answer.
“I wasn't.”
Something in her voice changed.
Not guilt.
Something closer to resignation.
“There was someone else.”
I felt my stomach drop.
“What?”
“I had been seeing someone.”
I stared at the floor.
“For how long?”
She hesitated.
“Before we ended things.”
I felt something inside me become very still.
She began crying again.
“I'm sorry.”
I didn't know whether to laugh or cry.
The demon had promised me an apology.
I had imagined her saying that she regretted everything.
That she missed me.
That she had made a terrible mistake.
Instead, she was telling me that I had been even less important than I thought.
“Do you love him?”
There was a long silence.
Then:
“I think so.”
I felt something inside me collapse.
Not because she was sick.
Not because she had lied.
Because suddenly everything made sense.
The coldness.
The distance.
The excuses.
The way she had looked at me that last time.
The way she had hugged me without actually holding me.
“I never felt that way with you,” she continued.
She immediately began crying.
“I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that.”
“No.”
I swallowed.
“Don't apologize for that.”
She went quiet.
“I think you deserve to know.”
I looked toward the mirror.
For a second, I thought I saw something behind me.
Nothing.
“I don't hate you,” I said.
That wasn't entirely true.
But it wasn't entirely a lie either.
“I'm sorry.”
“I know.”
We stayed silent for a while.
Then she said:
“Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
“Did you know?”
“Know what?”
“That I was already seeing someone?”
I looked at the mirror again.
“No.”
She breathed out.
“I thought maybe you did.”
I almost told her about the demon.
Instead I said:
“I didn't.”
Another silence.
Then she whispered:
“I'm scared.”
And for the first time since she had called, I felt something other than resentment.
I felt sorry for her.
Not because I wanted her back.
Not because I wanted to forgive her.
Just because she was scared.
“I'm sorry,” I said.
This time, I meant it.
We hung up shortly afterward.
I remained sitting on my bed.
The room was completely silent.
I looked at my phone.
Then at the mirror.
“Are you happy now?”
Nothing happened.
I waited.
“Was that what you wanted?”
Still nothing.
I stood up.
“Fine.”
I walked toward the mirror.
“I changed my mind.”
The lights went out.
I froze.
A voice came from behind the glass.
“You didn't.”
I stared at my reflection.
It wasn't smiling.
“What?”
“You didn't change your mind.”
The reflection tilted its head.
“You discovered you didn't want what you thought you wanted.”
I felt anger rising again.
“She’s sick.”
“Yes.”
“Fix her.”
“No.”
My hands clenched.
“You said you could.”
“I said I could give her the disease.”
“Then take it away.”
“Why?”
I stared at it.
“Because I don't want her to die.”
The smile disappeared.
“After everything she did to you?”
I said nothing.
“You spent months crying over her.”
“I know.”
“She destroyed your self-esteem.”
I looked away.
“She made you anxious. You questioned yourself constantly. You spent nights wondering what you had done wrong. You begged for clarity. You accepted things you would never have accepted from anyone else.”
I remained silent.
“She made you feel unwanted.”
My jaw tightened.
“I know.”
“She chose someone else.”
“I know.”
“She has just told you that she never felt for you what she feels for him.”
My throat tightened.
“I know.”
“And now you want me to save her?”
“Yes.”
The creature stared at me.
For the first time, it looked genuinely angry.
“You are an extraordinary creature.”
I said nothing.
“I offer you exactly what you wanted.”
“I know.”
“I make her understand.”
“She doesn't.”
“She apologized.”
“She did.”
“You wanted her to suffer.”
I looked away.
“I did.”
The creature stepped closer to the glass.
“And now?”
I looked at it.
“I don't want her to suffer.”
“Why?”
I couldn't answer.
“Do you still love her?”
I opened my mouth.
Nothing came out.
The creature smiled.
“You don't even know.”
“No.”
“But you want her to live.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
I looked down.
“Because she's a person.”
The creature's expression became almost disgusted.
“After everything she did to you?”
I didn't answer.
“You don't get to do this.”
“Do what?”
“Turn yourself into the victim again.”
I looked at it.
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
It pressed its hand against the mirror.
“You think suffering makes you noble.”
“I don't.”
“You think sacrificing yourself makes what happened meaningful.”
“No.”
“You think that if you suffer enough, perhaps someone will finally understand how much you loved her.”
“That isn't it.”
“Then what is it?”
I looked directly into its eyes.
“I don't know.”
For several seconds, neither of us spoke.
Then it whispered:
“Fine.”
I felt my stomach tighten.
“You want her disease?”
“Yes.”
“You can have it.”
I understood immediately.
“You mean…”
“She won't.”
I stared at it.
“You will carry it.”
“For how long?”
“Until you die.”
I didn't hesitate.
“Do it.”
The creature's face changed.
Not surprise.
Disgust.
“Why?”
“Because she doesn't deserve to die.”
“And you do?”
“No.”
“Then why?”
I looked at the mirror.
“Because somebody has to.”
The creature stepped back.
For the first time since I had met it, I saw something I hadn't expected to see in its face.
Confusion.
“You're still a coward.”
I frowned.
“What?”
“You're no longer afraid of darkness.”
It stepped farther away.
“You're no longer afraid of mirrors.”
Its reflection began to distort.
“But you're still a coward.”
I felt something warm rise in my throat.
I coughed.
Blood filled my mouth.
The creature looked at me.
“You still think pain makes you virtuous.”
I wiped my mouth.
“Maybe.”
“You think suffering for someone makes you strong.”
“No.”
“You think you can decide who deserves to suffer.”
I stared at it.
“No.”
The blood was still in my mouth.
I leaned toward the mirror.
And spat.
The blood landed directly on its reflection.
For a moment, neither of us moved.
The creature looked at the blood.
Then it looked at me.
For the first time since I had met it, it wasn't smiling.
I smiled instead.
And spat again.
#entertainment
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