Let me start off by explaining that I have a fear of mirrors. Sure, as kids, my cousins and I would dare each other to go and lock ourselves in a completely dark bathroom and chant “Bloody Mary” three times in the mirror to see if she would appear and eat our souls out through our eye sockets. As I’m sure many of us kids did.
However, that’s not where my fear of mirrors started. It was when my mother hung a large, golden-framed mirror in the hallway of my childhood home. It was gifted to her after a family member passed away and quickly became one of her favorite pieces in our home.
Myself on the other hand absolutely hated it. It gave me the creeps with the way the strange designs on the gold frame formed in malicious looking faces. My mother just laughed at my “overactive imagination” when I commented to her about it.
Then when I would sit to watch TV in our lounge area, I could see the mirror from my peripheral vision (since our hallway connected to the left of the room). I always felt an angry stare coming from the reflective glass. Most of the time, I brushed this off…. until the shadows started appearing.
At first, this too was only from my peripheral view that I would see what looked like a shadow figure darting across the glass. That changed late one evening when I was watching cartoons from the lounge room couch and I heard my name whispered. I just knew it was coming from the mirror as my heart sank to my stomach and every hair on my body stood up. I slowly turned to look down the hallway when I caught a glimpse of someone or something glaring at me through the mirror. In a split second of me wanting to run and scream, I watched the mirror suddenly drop and hit the hard wood floor beneath it with a loud thud.
I was too shocked to say anything as I heard my mother’s rushed footsteps coming down the hall and her gasp when she saw her prized heirloom laying on the floor. “What happened?!” She asked as she knelt to pick it up. “Did you do this?!” She demanded in a tone she only used when she was truly angry. “No, I didn’t! There was someone there! It just… it just fell!” I felt my cheeks burn hot as I stumbled over my words.
My mother’s tone stayed stern as she explained there was no one else home but she and I and how she had my father check multiple times to be sure the mirror was securely hung on the wall. “Objects do not just jump off walls!” She exclaimed as she held the mirror out from her to inspect the damage.
I was surprised to see the only damage to the mirror was a jagged crack right down the center of the glass. My mother tucked the large mirror under her arm as best as she could as she walked down the hallway mumbling about getting it repaired soon.
My mother stored the wretched mirror away in a supply closet and I was grounded for the evening for “lying about a serious incident”. While I was angry for being grounded for something I didn’t do, I was more relieved that I’d not have to look in or at that stupid thing for a while.
Not long after the incident, my father accepted a promotion at his job which required us to move away from my childhood home. We moved into our new home a couple of towns over and I never saw the mirror again nor did I dare to ask about it. While my mirror phobia stuck with me, I never had anymore actual creepy experiences with mirrors. Well… at least not until 3 months ago.
Life was great 3 months ago. My husband and I purchased our first home and we had finally got settled in. I could not wait to show my mother just how much of her interior decorating skills I inherited. She came down one evening and we had the best time. I gave her the grand tour then we reminisced over coffee on the enclosed porch. As the sun began to hide behind the mountains, I walked my mother to her vehicle as she had quite a drive home and work early the next morning.
“I cannot believe I almost forgot!” My mother half shouted as she excitedly tore open her backseat driver-side door. Before I could ask what she was talking about, she pulled out a large package that was wrapped in sky blue shiny wrapping paper. “There’s no way I could not give my baby girl her first house warming gift!” She grinned while rubbing her hands together. “Go on! Open it!” She laughed.
I smiled at her as I gripped the beautiful paper and began tearing it to shreds. Just as I was telling my mom this was not necessary, I stopped mid sentence. My eyes locked on the person staring up at me with a shocked expression. It was as if time had froze as I realized the person staring back into my soul, looking dumbfounded, was my own reflection. My own reflection encased by an all-too-familiar creepy golden frame.
“Do you remember it? Oh, you just loved it as a kid and it’s time to pass this beautiful piece on!” I heard my mom’s voice bring me back into reality.
“I… it’s…. uh, yeah… I remember it.” I fumbled over my words as confusion burned like acid deep into my brain. Did she not remember? How did she forget how much I hated this mirror? Where did she find it? Where was the once very noticeable crack going down the center?
“Oh, darling, this mirror would be so beautiful in your entry way! You know, right over the side table you showed me.” All I could do was smile and force a nod. As confused as I was, I did not want to hurt my mother’s feelings. Especially given how excited she was.
“I’m afraid I’ve got to run,” my mom started as she slid into the driver’s seat of her car “but do send me pictures when you get it hung up, okay? Love you bunches, baby girl! I’m so proud of you!” With that, she blew me a kiss and was gone.
I stood out in the almost completely dark outdoors completely bewildered.
I had no idea what horrific events awaited me in the weeks to come as I, dreadfully, carried cursed looking glass into my home.