I looked at Reginald Bough through one-way glass. He sat in a dark room with his hands shackled to the middle of a table. Above him, a light flickered, briefly plunging the small room into darkness before it hastily lit up again, casting a bright light onto the table.
I opened the door across from him. Reg had his long, greasy hair slicked back and fastened into place by a cap that fit snugly onto his remarkably thin head. His nose was hooked, almost brushing against his pale and chapped lips.
“Reginald Bough?” I asked. Reg nodded in affirmation, and I entered the room, the door squeaking again as it shut behind me. The chains were chafing Reg’s wrists badly, and the metal tinkled like chimes as he massaged them. Reg leant back into his chair, eerily relaxed for the situation he was in.
“You want to hear my confession, don’t you,” Reg said. The legs of the chair shrieked as I pulled it out and sat down, resting my hands on the table.
“Yes,” I said. Reginald took a deep breath, cocking his head slightly, most likely thinking about how he would put the events into words.
“I was going to tell you a lie. Plead for insanity, but I guess the true story will make me seem insane anyway, it was another man who killed my wife,” Reginald said.
I scoffed, taking out a pen and paper and placing it on the table. “You really are as mad as they say you are,” I said, leaning in closer, a slight smile on my face, “I’ve always enjoyed hearing the stories. I’ve met cannibals, serial killers, drug lords…I could go on. But I’ve never heard the story of someone like you before. So, tell me, Reg. What was the reason you murdered your wife?”
“Well…” Reginald started.
Every night I dreamed, and every morning I forgot the events of whatever had happened inside my mind. But every morning, there was something I could never forget. Every morning I would wake up in a cold sweat, my heart beating a thousand miles an hour and my whole body trembling uncontrollably. Afterwards, my soul was filled with an inexplicable dread, an almost grieving feeling. Sometimes I trembled so much with pure fear that I could barely get myself out of bed. So many times, I had to change the sheets, which constantly reeked of my perspiration. My wife had had enough of the smell and decided I had to do something about it soon.
“Face your fears, and you’ll learn there is nothing to be scared of,” she said, putting down her morning newspaper to look at me.
I gulped down a mouthful of scrambled eggs before I spoke again. “How can I face them if I can’t remember what I’m afraid of,” I asked.
She stroked her chin, thinking. “Write down what happened in your dream before you forget. You’ll see how dumb it is once you know what you’re dreaming about,” she said, returning to reading her paper.
That night, I set a piece of paper and a pen beside me, ready to write down whatever happened in my nightmares. I felt excited. Finally, I could stop the soaked sheets and the feverish feeling every morning. For a while, I sat in bed with my eyes shut. Another thing I had to deal with every night was the reluctance to go to sleep. It was rare that I’d get a good rest. Most of the time, I’d get only two hours of sleep. These night terrors were not only becoming a problem for my wife, who slept peacefully beside me now, but they had also been a major issue for me for a long time. I could feel myself teetering on the edge of insanity and sanity, barely managing to keep myself together. My wife was my rock, the one who held my hand, so I didn’t fall off. But I couldn’t hold onto her forever. Sometimes, I could feel her grip loosening, my hand slipping. Our love for each other was slowly fading, and it felt like all it would take for her to leave me forever was one more argument. One more argument and I’d never be the same again.
The next morning, I could barely remember writing down my dream, my arms glistening with sweat. I had decided to sleep in, and when I woke again, I took the paper from the beside the table. There was only one sentence written there, written in an untidy scrawl like my hands were shaking as I wrote it.
In three days, I will kill my wife.
I re-read the paper, again and again, holding it with trembling hands. I felt fear, the same pure terror I woke up with every morning for as long as I could remember.
“What does it say?” My wife asked from beside me. Before I could even try and stop her from reading it, she took it from my hands. She stared at it, reading it over and over just as I had. “Why did you write this?” she asked, holding the paper up to my face.
“I- I don’t know, I just…” I spluttered, my heart going ice cold.
“Is this some sick joke? How could you write this!” she said, her voice growing in volume. She stood up, starting to pace. Her rage was slowly gathering into a storm of fury. I shrunk into the corner of the bed frame, hugging my knees and rocking back and forth.
“Please, no, don’t,” I muttered. She stopped pacing. Her back turned to me. When she faced me, I saw that she was paper white.
“Do you mean to kill me? Is that what you dream every night, a sick fantasy where you kill me?” she said quietly, scrunching up the paper in her hand.
“I would never!” I exclaimed, though, at the back of my mind, there was a shadow of a doubt. I could feel the madness trying to claw its way out. Growing more and more powerful as my wife grew angrier with me.
“Then why do you dream it every night?” my wife yelled.
“It was just a nightmare! Not reality!” I cried desperately, leaving my corner and standing up to face her.
“Dreams are reflections of reality! An indication of our mental states!” my wife spat back. She ran her fingers through her hair, turning her back to me again. “I don’t want to look at you,” she said quietly, and I felt my world collapse around me. She left the room, but I barely noticed. I could feel her hand slipping, so she only held me by her fingertips. Tomorrow morning, I will write down my nightmare again. It will be something completely different, something stupid. Of course it would be! She will see the truth that I don’t dream this every night!
That night, I left the paper and pen on my bedside again. I would prove it to her, prove that my dreams weren’t real. Then maybe I could save myself from the wild madness. Reluctantly, I closed my eyes. There was a space beside me where my wife used to be. She was sleeping in the spare room, right next to the piano room. Soon she would be at my side again when tomorrow we wake up and find nothing on the paper.
When I woke the next morning, it was strange that I remembered nothing at all of the nights dreaming. There were usually at least a few moments I could remember, or at least a feeling, or the wet sheets, but today…today was different. The sheets were bone dry. I raised my hands in front of my face, no sign of a tremble. The last thing I had to check, of course, was the paper beside me. Would there be anything on it?
Excitedly, I turned the sheet over, expecting, hoping it would be blank, but how wrong I was. The pen was nowhere in sight, but on the paper, there was a sketch. Heavily detailed, like a photo almost, in black and white. It was a sketch of our living room, but everything was destroyed. The piano’s front legs had been knocked from under it, so it tilted forward. Everything in complete tatters except the mirror sitting in the corner of the room, completely untouched. And in the middle of the wreck, was a man crouched over a woman, holding a knife in the air, about to bring it down onto the woman’s chest.
“No…” I whispered.
“Yes,” a voice coaxed in a singsong voice. I turned around, trying to find the source.
“Where are you!” I cried, turning around and around.
“Right here,” the voice said calmly from my left. I turned to the long, dressing mirror on the bedroom wall. There I was, looking back at myself. But very quickly, the reflection changed. What I saw was impossible, plainly some vivid hallucination. On the other side of the mirror, it became nighttime. I saw moonlight pour through the window in the mirror, making a criss-cross pattern on the floor. My own reflection faded but just within the light, sitting in the corner of the room, was a man. His face was hidden by a dark shadow cast over it.
“Hey, Reg,” said the strange man in the mirror. He leant forward slightly, revealing a mad and toothy grin.
“Who are you? What are you!” I yelled, stepping back towards the bed. The man stood up, walking slowly toward me. He raised his arms, lowering his head slightly, that mad grin still on his face.
No…my face.
“Aint it obvious? Don’t you notice the uncanny resemblance?” he asked.
“No…no…” I muttered, clutching my head.
“Yes, yes,” the man coaxed.
“Not real, you’re not real,” I muttered.
“Oh, but I am. I am. Now, Reggie, I wanna cut a deal with you,” he said, walking right up to the mirror. I sunk onto the floor, back resting on the bed. I plugged my ears so hard that I could feel blood coating my fingers.
“Leave me be,” I said.
“You see Reg. We’re two halves of a whole.” His voice was still clear, like he was right next to me, speaking into my ear, “Day and Night if you will. Now you, you are Day Reggie. You walk around, go about your business, work, drink…drink some more…I could go on. Me? I’m Night Reggie. I am your truth, tucked away where you can’t see me. I live in your nightmares,” Night Reggie shivered and then gathered himself again, “We’ve separated Reggie, two halves of a man ripped apart. That feeling of teetering on the edge of madness? just about to…” Night Reggie raised his hand in the air, then let it drop, “Fall off? That’s the feeling you get without me, your other half. If we become whole again…no edge to teeter on,” Night Reggie said, and I looked up at him. His grin widened.
“You are…me?” I said, taking my fingers out of my ears. Night Reggie clapped, laughing.
“That’s right, Reg! But…can I be honest with you?” he asked. I nodded, “Well, I’ve fallen off the edge. I’ve gone, how you would put it, mad. But, and this is my side of the bargain, if we were to become whole, I just might be able to climb back up on that ledge again.” Night Reggie extended his hand out, touching the mirror. “How about you help me climb back up?” Night Reggie asked, raising an eyebrow. I observed his extended hand and looked at the mad grin on his face. A grin filled to the brim with madness.
“No,” I said and stood up. Night Reggie dropped his smile for a second and glared at me. His smile returned almost as quickly as it disappeared.
“My offer still stands,” he said, returning to sit in his chair. I turned away and saw Night Reggie disappear in my peripheral vision. I got up and ran.
I burst into the piano room, leg scratching the piano chair as I passed by, and skidded to a stop in the spare room. My wife was lying down, reading a book. She sat up, and when she saw me, she put it to the side and crossed her arms.
“Come to explain?” she asked. I gulped nervously.
“There was a man…a man in the mirror. He said his name was Night Reggie and said he was half of me. On the other side of the mirror…it was impossible…it was nighttime. He said he wanted to cut a deal with me. I must be going mad,” I sobbed, falling to my knees at the foot of her bed. I grabbed the wooden frame, looking up at her. She sighed and uncrossed her arms.
“You’re doing it again,” she said.
“Doing what?”
“You’re trying to play the victim! Just like every time we argue. Every time it’s: Honey, why are you so mad? Sweetie, please calm down. You’re being irrational! It’s just a dream! Not reality!’” she spat. I stared at her, trembling.
“I swear! I’m not this time! He was there! He was there!” I cried.
“Then show me!” she said.
I led her into the bedroom, grabbing her shoulders and facing her toward the mirror. Night Reggie was sitting in the corner, twisting a knife. He stood up when he saw me and smiled. “Right there!” I said, pointing at him. Night Reggie walked right up to the mirror, waving at my wife. She shook her head and turned to me.
“You weren’t lying,” she said. Night Reggie started making faces, still smiling that crazed smile.
“Yes! You can see him!” I cried. My wife turned to me, tears in her eyes. ”
You are going mad,” she said and hugged me, “We’re gonna get you some help,” she reassured me. I stiffened and didn’t return the hug. She drew back, staring deep into my eyes.
“You’re lying,” I said.
“What?” my wife replied, seemingly perplexed.
I scoffed. “You can see him, but you don’t want to admit you’re wrong,” I said.
“What are you on about?” My wife asked, frowning. She took a step back from me, taking a good look at my angry face. Night Reggie watched her from the mirror, knife raised in the air.
“C’mon, Reg, let’s kill her together,” he said, cackling with madness. He raised and extended his hand again.
“If she doesn’t admit she can see you, maybe I will,” I said, glaring at her.
“Who are you talking to? Reg, you’re scaring me!” she said, taking a step back. I made a wild grab for her, but she jumped back out of my reach. Her eyes were wide with fear, mine wide with wildness.
“Get her, Reg!” Night Reggie screamed, cackling madly again.
She ran for the door, and I made a grab for her again but missed. She made it to the door, and I ran after her, chest heaving. I almost reached the door before she slammed it in my face. Clutching my nose in pain, I fell back. The room was whirling around and around, growing darker and darker by the second.
“Reg!” Night Reggie cooed, “C’mon, wake up!” he yelled. I opened my eyes, staring at the ceiling. Night Reggie rapped on the mirror, still calling my name. Massaging my throbbing head, I stood up.
“Shut. Up.” I growled. Night Reggie stopped calling my name.
“Reggie, shake my hand. Just shake my hand, and no more madness,” Night Reggie said, grinning.
“I’m not as dumb as you think I am. I’ve already gone mad. If we’ve both fallen off the edge, who’s gonna help the other climb back up,” I said. Night Reggie’s grin faded, turning into a smirk. Night Reggie extended his hand, fingertips brushing against the glass.
“Then let’s kill her together,” he said. I stood up, walking over to the mirror. Night Reggie started grinning again as I slowly raised my hand.
“Face your fears,” I muttered and touched the glass.
Then…
the…
whole…
world…
melted…
away…
I woke up the next day lying on the floor. Something felt strange. Our- no, my lives alongside each other, from two different perspectives. I knew what it felt like to live in a nightmare and what it felt like to live in the real world. There was a sense of completion, a feeling that I was whole. I walked over to the phone and dialled the number for my mother-in-law’s house, the one place I knew my wife felt safe, where she would go if things went bad. As I dialled the number, I could feel pressure at the back of my head, slowly growing stronger and stronger.
“What are you doing?” I muttered. “Stop…”
“Sorry, Reg,” Night Reggie said through my mouth.
“What…”
“I’m taking over,” Night Reggie said. He forced my legs to move, stumbling over to the mirror. I grimaced.
“No,” I muttered. My legs were out of my command. Slowly, each step became stronger and more confident.
“You never asked why we separated in the first place, Reggie. YOU did this. You tucked me away, deep down inside, turning me into nothing. All for her, your stupid wife. So I’m gonna kill her and make you pay for what you did to me,” he said, raising my hand, his hand, OUR hand toward the mirror.
“I’ve been out of sight for too long, alone. Now it’s your turn. Your turn to live in the dark,” he said and touched the mirror. I felt myself moving, being sucked in.
“No!” I tried to yell, but no sound came out. Night Reggie cackled, eyes wide, wide smile exposing his gums. I fell back, seeing that the time of day had changed. It was nighttime. Night Reggie rapped on the glass, and I looked at him. On his side of the mirror, it was daytime. He waved and walked away.
“NO!” I cried, banging my hands on the mirror. Night Reggie walked out of the room, closing the door behind him. I ran to the door, trying to open it. It wouldn’t budge. I ran to the window and tried the latch. It wouldn’t budge. I rammed my shoulder against it and fell back, crying in pain. “No…”
“Don’t worry, Reg, I’ll kill her for ya,” Night Reggie said. I looked into the mirror again. The setting had changed to the dashboard of a car. In the position, the rear-view mirror would usually be. Night Reggie was looking into it, smiling brightly.
“Please! I don’t want her dead! Let me out!” I said, banging on the mirror.
“No.”
“Don’t you wanna be whole again?” I said desperately. Night Reggie’s grip on the steering wheel tightened. “Didn’t it feel great to be…complete. Don’t you wanna feel that again?” I asked. There was a slow change in his expression.
“Yes,” Night Reggie said quietly. He pulled over to the side of the road and looked up at me. I moved closer to the mirror, my hand pressed against the glass.
“Then shake my hand, Reg, then we can be whole,” I said, mimicking Night Reggie. He slowly raised his hand toward the mirror, a tear spilling out of his eye. He paused…and then smiled that mad smile of his. Night Reggie started to chuckle and dropped his hand. His chuckles slowly turned to wild, mad laughter.
“You- hahaha! You thought! Oh my god, you’re so DUMB!” Night Reggie wheezed,.”I don’t care about being whole! I wanna make you HURT!”
“You monster!” I yelled, and Night Reggie threw his head back, laughing hysterically.
“Yes! Yes! Now you’re getting it!” he said and turned away from the mirror. The image reverted to the original dark room I was sitting in. I punched the mirror and screamed.
A while later, the mirror lit up again. I crawled over to it from the bed, relishing in the light. Night Reggie was in my Mother in Law’s house, sitting at a glass table with her and my wife in the middle of a conversation. Night Reggie was looking down at the table, smiling slightly at me.
“I just wanted to say I’m sorry for how I acted. If you don’t wanna get back together, that’s fine, and I didn’t come here expecting that. I’m gonna get some help, I promise,” he said. I looked over to the underside of the mirror, where my wife and mother-in-law were sitting. My wife looked up at him.
“I’m glad you’re getting help. But I don’t want to get back together after what you did. I’m coming to get my stuff from the house tonight, and tomorrow I’m going to put a restraining order against you as a precaution. You’re sane again now, but I don’t know when you’re going to go downhill again,” she said. Night Reggie nodded and turned away from the mirror to look up at her. The image faded.
I was sitting on the bed for a few hours, cradling myself in the corner of the bed frame, before the mirror lit up again. Night Reggie was in the piano room, standing over my wife with a knife in his hand. Everything was destroyed. The piano’s front legs had been knocked from under it, so it tilted forward. The only thing intact was a mirror sitting in the corner of a room, untouched, which I was looking through now.
“Please! No!” I cried, running toward the mirror and banging against the glass. Night Reggie slowly lowered the knife, staring at me all the while. “Don’t do it!” I yelled. The tip of the knife entered my wife’s chest, slowly delving deeper and deeper. My wife moaned in pain, thrashing on the floor, but she was too groggy to do anything about the knife slowly slipping through her rib cage. Probably concussed.
“Honey!” I screamed, rapping on the mirror. I clutched my face, dragging my fingers across my cheeks and wailing uncontrollably. She looked up to Night Reggie.
“Why?” she said softly. Night Reggie looked directly into her eyes, and the perspective changed to my wife’s, reflected off her pupils. I saw myself hunching over her, a wild smile on my face, sweat glistening.
“I never loved you, I never cared for you, I HATE you,” Night Reggie whispered and shoved the knife into her heart.
“You’re a madman,” I whispered.
“Yes, I am,” Reginald said calmly. I leant forward, lacing my fingers in front of me.
“I want to explain this so maybe you’ll understand what you’ve done. Night Reggie and Day Reggie? They don’t exist. There is only Reginald Bough. The man in the mirror was a hallucination, a representation of suppression of your true nature. Those ‘nightmares’ you had every night were probably sick fantasies, like your wife said. You should know that I’m making sure you’re going to the worst asylum there is, and you’re lucky the death sentence doesn’t exist anymore. You’d be first in line on death row,” I hissed. Reginald smirked.
“I know Night Reggie exists because I am Night Reggie. I know Day Reggie exists because if I look at that two-way mirror right now, I’ll see him in that room,” Reginald said.
“You know why I know that’s not true?” I asked. Reginald sat back, still smirking.
“Go on,” he said.
“Which Reggie are you?” I asked.
“Day Reggie,” he said.
“And you said when I first met you that another man killed your wife, Night Reggie,” I asked.
“Yes,”
“But your confession, told through the eyes of Day Reggie, still in the mirror. How can that be if you never switched back?” I asked.
“Stop,” Reginald said, his smirk disappearing.
“You aren’t Day Reggie…” I said, standing up. Reginald clutched his head.
“Shut up,” He said, gripping tufts of hair.
“You aren’t Night Reggie,” I said, moving closer to him.
“NO!” he bellowed.
“You are Reginald Bough, and you slaughtered your wife,” I said. Reginald’s scream echoed throughout the room, and he started thrashing in his chair.
“I am Day Reggie! I am Day Reggie!” he kept screaming.
“There was no Night Reggie! Night Reggie wasn’t your truth. Night Reggie was who you blamed this on because you can’t bear the idea that you killed the one person in this world who loved you!”