Around a month ago, I noticed an oddity when I passed one of the many mirrors around my house. It seemed as if my reflection wasn’t complete, and it was blurry and unrefined. I brushed it off as fatigue because I returned late from urgent work at my office. I had only caught it out of the corner of my eye, and the image seemed to right itself before I could get a good look.
Two days later, I saw it again, a different mirror this time. It was in passing once again. I played it off as a trick from the dim light that filled the room. For example, when it gets just light enough to see, but if you move your hand quickly, there would be an afterimage. Still, it didn’t seem like a true afterimage. It was too distinct. It was falling behind. It wasn’t synced with me.
This time, I took more action, walking back and forth across the room while looking directly at the mirror. It seemed fine, so I tried again, looking straight ahead, only leaving the mirror in my peripheral. I would then quickly snap my eyes back and look directly at my reflection. Nothing.
Another week passed, and I hadn’t seen the phenomena. I started to forget about it, not deeming it important enough at the time to put any further investigative efforts into it.
Two days later, the phenomenon happened again as I walked into my bathroom. This time, it didn’t go away. I froze in place, staring at my reflection. It was me, but it was blurry. The edges of my features blended, and my silhouette was undefined. It was like my form was evaporating into the air. I stood staring directly into my own blurred eyes. It was only for a moment, but they moved ever so slightly to look at something behind me; it felt so slight that I thought I had just moved my own eyes.
No, that wasn’t it. It had looked through me.
The phenomena finally ended when I blinked. In that split second, it had returned to normal.
I continued staring, frozen as to what I had just seen. I looked at my hands, half expecting the same blurry visage I saw in the mirror. Nothing. They were normal. My eyes were working correctly. I tried to reassure myself that it was in my head, and a lack of sleep and stress made me see things. To ease my mind, I went downstairs and pulled out a glass and a liquor bottle. My hands shook as I poured the liquid a little higher than usual into the glass.
I wasn’t scared of most things, spiders, clowns, dark hallways, and most of the horror media I consumed didn’t have a lasting effect. This was different. I couldn’t get it out of my head. The distorted visage that looked through me stayed in my mind and wouldn’t leave.
The days following were riddled with thoughts and theories of what I saw. I lost focus at work and was behind on many of my duties. I was usually a good worker and was well-trusted by my boss, so he let me be for the time being. Still, he came to check on me now and then throughout the day. He said I looked more disheveled than usual and asked if I needed the day. I declined. I didn’t want to be in that house at the moment; I just wanted to get my mind off my experience with the mirror. To little avail, though, my mind still mulled over the experience, and I was dreadfully engrossed in the spectacle.
I made a plan that evening while trying, with little success, to finish an email. I would figure out what was happening, even if it took all night, hell, all week.
To understand what was happening, I took a chair from my kitchen and sat in front of the mirror in the bathroom. My thought was either I see something again and gain more information, or nothing happens, and I can chalk it up to stress. So I sat there, looking into my own eyes. I studied every feature and blemish on my face. Looking into a mirror for long enough will make your mind play tricks. If you are looking for something, it will be there. It would manifest itself as an answer to your mind’s questions. Still, I sat there, waiting.
I was in that chair for an hour, and at this point, my mind was starting to play tricks on me, flashes in the background, making me whip my head around to see what was there. My face, matching my every move, felt independent from what I felt like I was doing.
I reached forward to touch the reflection. Why? To wipe away the reflection? I did not know. I pressed my fingers onto it and noticed something. There was no gap between my finger and the finger’s reflection.
I knew what this meant, and my breath hitched in my throat. I stayed there blankly, not daring to move or breathe. Fear rocked my body as my blood went cold.
It was a one-way mirror.
I’m sitting in my living room now, I’m too scared to go back into the bathroom. I don’t know what to do, call the police. Landlord? A priest?