Tell A Tale — Gothic Fiction
My Monster in the mirror By Athena Sagar
The Shadow… The Monster… It is always there. Lurking. Stalking. Existing. Hidden in shadows, mirrors, the corner of my eye, where I can almost see it, but never be certain It exists. I miss the days when It was always in the mirror, a quick flash as It dashed past, but now, It’s everywhere. Hand-prints are on every reflective surface, almost as if It is trying to push itself out. I’m scared. I’m scared It might be able to get out. I’m scared because I want to let It out. I want to let Her out of the cage. My Monster talks to me, dripping It’s poisonous thoughts into my mind, and it sounds so tempting, almost as if My Monster speaks my own deepest desires.
“Touch my hand. I’ll help you,” It’s seductive voice calls from beneath a covered mirror, “I can make them all like you. They will all love you with my help, and if they don’t, well, people will forget they exist. Just say yes.” The irritant tapping becomes urgent slamming, shaking the fleece from the mirror, leaving my reflection staring back at me. Her hands pressing firmly against the glass, her sharp teeth digging into her full lower lip, as my teeth nibble on my nails on my left hand.
“How have you taken my face?” My question comes out as a pathetic whimper but She hears it anyway, making her wicked smile wider, as she removes her hands to lean closer into the mirror, and closer towards me.
“My face. Your face. It’s our face. We’re the same person, Silly. I’m simply better, I will always be better than you.” Again, she firmly presses her hand on the glass. Temptation pulling me in, I press my hand against the glass, like a late mirror reflection of Her. Suddenly, her hand snaps around my wrist, pulling us closer together, her mouth sucking in the air between us, drawing me in. Her teeth grab my lower lip, tugging me into a kiss until nothing is there except my true reflection.
"I’m in your head. We will take turns." The Monster’s voice is in my head now, that is, if it had ever been out of my head. As I fall to the floor, Her laughing shrieks, "I’m slowly taking over your body. It’s my turn. You’ve had 18 years. It’s my turn." My arms lock, and I’m stuck, unable to move with no other choice than to let Her take over my body, and do whatever she wishes until she decides to give me control.
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