“Don’t sleep with a mirror facing your bed!” My grandmother once told me when I was a kid. She was a batty old widow at that time, and I remember a 12-year-old me rolling my eyes at her superstitions.
It was this exact memory that I distinctly remembered as I stared at the dilapidated old mirror in my ‘new’ apartment bedroom. The mirror had a black wooden frame, which was cracked in a few places from age. The glass itself had several blemishes and dark spots, again from age. I glanced over my shoulder and saw where the moving company had placed my bed – directly in front of the mirror.
To be fair, the bedroom was tiny; this was New York City after all, so there wasn’t anywhere else to put the bed except right in front of the mirror.
The mirror had been the only thing left in the apartment when I moved in. The previous tenant hadn’t taken it with them.
I took a step back and glanced around my new apartment. While admittedly small, it was still much larger than most people could afford. And I’d gotten it for a hell of a deal…
I glanced back into the mirror and stared at myself. At the same time, the nagging suspicion that had shadowed my mind since I’d seen the listing crept back to the surface of my brain. Maybe my sister had been right - maybe there was a reason the price had been so low.
My phone vibrated, rousing me from my thoughts. It was the group message from my NYU buddies – we were doing a bar crawl.
Leaving the unpacking for tomorrow, I jumped in the shower and then grabbed some clothes from a suitcase, before heading out.
Around 2 am me and ‘Big Vic’ stumbled to my apartment. Vic was almost 7 feet and had played college ball for UNC before he shredded his knees and had to finish his career at NYU. I’d watched him drink near a whole bottle of jack tonight and he was sloshed.
He was leaning all over me, nearly crushing me because of his size, but I managed to get him to my sofa and he passed out. His legs were hanging off the edge as he began to snore.
I chuckled, then headed to my bedroom, kicking off my shoes and pants and climbing in. Before closing my eyes, I saw the dark reflection of me in the mirror. The whites of my eyes shone back at me in the darkness.
My drunken sleep was restless and I felt like I was spinning all night. Finally, I felt the sun touch my eyelids. At the same time, my alarm for 9am went off. I opened my eyes.
The old mirror was only an inch away from my face. I was so close to it my breath had fogged the glass and the tip of my nose was touching the glass.
I recoiled in surprise, stumbling over the bed and falling back onto it. My stomach flipped and I gagged. I sprang back to my feet and barely made it to the toilet before vomiting. I felt a little better and shakily got to my feet. I glanced back in the bedroom and stared at the mirror. Surely, I hadn’t woken up looking into it? That must have been a bad dream.
I stepped closer to examine it and my heart skipped. The fog from my breath was on the mirror.
I gaped at the mirror, trying to figure out what the hell was happening. I put a shaking finger out and touched the glass, but only felt coldness. Again, I stared into the mirror at myself. What the fuck was this?
My phone rang, rousing me from my stupor. I tore myself away from the mirror and grabbed my phone off my nightstand. It was Vic. I glanced over into the living room and saw that he was not there. He must have taken off before I woke up.
“Vic?” I answered.
“Hey…” he replied. But his voice was soft. Almost, frightened. I’d never once heard Vic sound scared. Hard to be scared of anything when you’re giant.
“Yeah,” he continued. “Sorry I split so early… thanks for giving me a place to crash.”
“What was the hurry?” I asked, trying to sound nonchalant.
“Uh…” he muttered. “Nothing. Just uh… felt like getting the day started…”
For a moment neither of us spoke. Then…
“What are you doing for dinner?” Vic asked.
“Dinner?” I asked jokingly. “What about lunch?”
There was another moment of silence.
“Mike, it’s 5 o’clock.”
Everything became very quiet. Except for the ringing in my ears. I pulled the phone away from my face and looked at the time. Vic was right. I turned slowly to the bedroom, feeling my heart thumping in my chest. The bedroom window showed a darkening sky. I looked at the old mirror, the fog was gone. I’d been staring at the mirror for eight hours.
I raised the phone back to my lips.
“I gotta go.” I tossed the phone and approached the mirror, doing my best not to look at it. But it was impossible, I couldn’t help but to sneak a peak.
“NO!” I tore my gaze away, and then seized the sheets off my bed. I threw them over the mirror, then grabbed the frame to pull it off the wall. It didn’t budge. I tried to lift it, perhaps it was on a nail, but no… nothing. I pulled the bed sheet up just enough to look at the edge of the frame. It was firmly pressed against the wall. There was no gap. I searched all along the edge and confirmed this observation. Perhaps it was glued on? Or bolted somehow?
I stepped back, my mind racing. I needed information.
I quickly cleaned up, then left the apartment and headed for the leasing office. I arrived but groaned; they were closed on Sunday. I started to turn around, but then saw the mail room. An idea sprung to mind. Previous tenants often had some mail go to them even after they changed addresses due to the time it took them to change it.
I pulled out my apartment keys and found the mailbox key. I went to my numbered box and opened it. Sure enough, I found some mail. It was all junk, except there was a thick envelope with a company name emblazoned on it. I shrugged and opened it. Inside was a stack of fresh business cards. Jackpot.
I called the cell phone number.
“This is Rick,” he answered in a professional business tone.
“Rick! Sorry for the call. I just moved into your old apartment and needed to ask you about the mirror.”
Rick hung up. Swearing, I redialed. No answer. I redialed again; it went straight to voicemail. He’d blocked me.
“Son of a bitch.” I looked around the leasing office and found a public phone. I grabbed it and dialed his number again. He answered.
“Don’t hang up on me! I need answers. Please!” I begged him.
For a second, I heard nothing. Then…
“Did you sleep in front of it?” his voice, softer than a whisper, asked. My stomach dropped and I felt my hands start to go numb.
“Yes,” I breathed.
There was another agonizingly long silence. Finally, I heard him breathe.
“Break your lease and get the fuck out of there. Not One More Night.”
And then he hung up. I redialed but it went to voicemail. He’d blocked me again. I dropped the phone and sat back, stunned.
I couldn’t break my lease; I had a couple hundred bucks to my name and over eighty grand of debt, courtesy of NYFuckU. I was 22, fresh out of college and living paycheck to paycheck right now. That’s why I took this apartment in the first place, because it was so cheap.
My mind spun all evening as I tried to think of a solution.
Until at last, I found myself, at 11pm, standing in my bedroom. I’d barely touched my pizza, preferring to hit the bottle for sustenance, and nerve calming. I glanced at the old mirror, still covered by the bedsheets.
My hands balled into fists. Fuck this thing.
I reached into one of the unpacked boxes, where a tool kit was. I withdrew a hammer and then stood in front of the mirror.
“Fuck you.”
I slammed the hammer into the covered mirror, feeling the satisfying shatter of the delicate glass. I grinned, and then hit it again, and again and again. I smashed it into pieces, until the whole damn frame split apart and fell off the wall, leaving a dark stain behind.
Relieved and victorious, I threw the hammer into the wreckage and then headed to the shower to clean off. After emerging, I walked to the sofa in the living room, content to clean up the mess after work tomorrow. I pulled a blanket over me and grateful sleep took me in an instant.
I awoke staring at the ceiling.
It was cold. My blanket must have fallen off.
No.
I was on the bare mattress in the bedroom.
I took a long, slow shuddering breath.
Then looked forward.
The old mirror, completely undamaged, reflected me as I laid spread-eagled on the mattress.
In the reflection of the mirror, hanging above me on the ceiling, was a man.
He was pitch black. Blacker than tar, like he was made entirely of shadow. And he was staring down at me.
I looked back up at the ceiling.
It was bare.
I looked back at the mirror.
The man was now staring at me. The whites of his eyes shone in the darkness. I was trapped in his stare. I don’t know for how long.
Then he dropped on me.
I screamed and jumped off of the mattress. Howling in horror, I tore through the apartment, crashing into the door and barreling out onto the street.
With no other options, I went to my sister’s apartment. It took me two hours since I had to go on foot because my phone, wallet and keys were still in the apartment. I knocked on her door for five minutes before she finally woke up and answered. I gave her a lie, which she knew was fake, but didn’t press and let me in. She led me to her guest bedroom before heading back to bed herself.
I went straight to the bathroom, not even daring to look at the bathroom mirror, and took a long warm calming shower. With that done, I stepped out, shut the bathroom door and climbed into the guest bed.
I laid my head on the pillow and sighed, utterly exhausted. I’d call in sick at work tomorrow and then try to figure out the apartment situation. Vic was in law school - maybe he could help me break my lease without having to pay money I didn’t have.
As I reached down to pull the covers up to chin, I happened to glance forward.
The old mirror was in front of me on the wall.