Tell A Tale — Gothic Fiction

Fractured Reflections By Ellie Wilson

I look into the mirror, covered in sharp, angular cracks that spread far along the surface of my reflection, and continue deep into the gaping mouths that cover the wall upon which the mirror’s hanging; they distort my face, pulling at my forehead and dragging down the left side of my jaw, making what stares back unrecognisable.

Except, wait-

A cruel smile inks its way onto the monstrous image before me, the lips curling back in the same way a beast would right before it attacks its prey. The canines are distinctly sharp, replicating the jagged pieces of mirror. The evil glimmer in the eyes is magnified by the fracture that splits the right pupil, creating a bottomless black hole. The hairs on the back of my neck stand tall; goose bumps cover my arms. I can feel fear coursing through my bloodstream, the darkness integrating with the deep red river that flows inside of me. The cold sweat on my forehead; one single bead running along the curve of my face and dripping off my chin, and my parted lips that cannot seem to heave out anything but short staggered breaths are not reflecting back at me in the cobweb of mirrors. No. The malicious smile only widens; clearly enjoying my suffering, like an addict on a high. The eyes shine in pleasure, but also in something much worse: hunger. Hunger for more. The high is still not enough to satiate its greed.

My breath quickens.

More sweat pools in my hairline.

The blood rushing through my ears is screaming at me.

I am frozen.

This must have been amusing, because the cruelty in the mouth is replaced by laughter, and although the sound is lost to my ears, it echoes in my head, creeping into every crevice of my mind and invading my body with such force that I flinch, taking a step away despite what little help that will give me. The head was thrown back like a wolf howling at the full moon; the canines gleaming from some source of light that I couldn’t pinpoint. The eyes were closed, crow’s feet pointed outward, extending as far as the other distorted features did. The laughter slowly died, dissipating into the black abyss that separated the two of us. Then time seemed to slow down, and those deviant, broken lips, so similar to mine and yet, so unfamiliar, formed into a sneer; no longer hungry but hunting. The pale, bony fingers from their right hand lifted to show the grotesque deformities which the cracks emphasised. Then it started reaching out to me, wanting to grab me. I thought I was safe, with the mirror as a barrier. But no. The broken shards clattered all around me, the hand getting closer and closer and closer. Then it stopped. And waited. Then-

A scream.

My scream.

see more submissions for the Tell A Tale — Gothic Fiction click here