I’m writing this and posting it here on Reddit. I dont want your advice, I damn sure dont need anybody’s pity. I know that soon police or somebody will come looking for me and will find me dead. So I want to preserve my side of things, and hopefully save your fucking life. Now then, to get to the point, it’s the mirrors in this house. I know, perhaps I am going to seem insane to you all. No, fuck it, I am insane, and I have been for years, but I fucking swear its the mirrors. Every single mirror in this fucking house, I swear to God, every single one! I can’t trust them, and you shouldn’t either. Nobody here will believe me Im sure, but the mirrors and the reflections… they watch. They’ve peered deep into my soul and into a darkness I have lived with all my life. If you were here you’d ask, “why dont you just break them?”. Well, because they don’t fucking break. I tried already, my God have I tried, so so many times; smashing them with bats and hammers! …And not even a crack. My reflection just stands there completely unaffected. I would simply throw them out, but I can’t even pull them off the walls. It’s like they’re held in place by cement!
So right now I’m sitting in my closet typing this, praying that, that… thing, hasn’t gotten back up and is now somewhere roaming the house. If you stumble across this and decide to come here, then know, it might look like someone you know, but its not. I don’t know what the fuck it is, but what I can tell you is it sees you. It knows what your fears are, and it’s gonna use them. This wont be easy to understand, I know, but… I have to explain what it does. There’s a bit to tell however. Honestly if you’re reading this on here, stay the fuck away from this place. Also, for whoever is looking for my body and finds this on my phone, read it only once you’re safe… if you are, and I hope you are.
Where to even start…? I remember when my “fiancée” Tara and I first moved into this house. The house was completely empty except for the mirrors. I admit it was odd yes, but we had been searching for a new home for months and every other option was out of our league in some way. I didn’t like this house. Not the rotten wood on the outside, or the sick pale yellow walls inside this motherfucker. To much like home. But hey, it wouldn’t have taken much money to renovate. My… “fiancée”, must have really felt like playing Martha Stewart however, because she fell in love with everything on first sight. Looking back maybe that should have been the first red flag! I just stood there as she eagerly shook the hand of the real estate agent and agreed to a purchase. I hadn’t said a word throughout the entire tour. Sometime later we moved in only bringing the bedroom furniture out from storage, the plan was to work on renovating the inside first then hiring someone to work on the outside once we recouped a bit of money.
Our first few nights were peaceful, nothing strange, but that sure as fuck didn’t last long. I remember I had gotten up early for work one morning when I heard this droning noise coming from bathroom, like a machine. It was still dark out and I was still very groggy, and the noise only got louder as I approached the door. It was almost deafening. I felt this dread come over me, but I had to get ready. When I opened the door, it stopped. That’s when I first noticed my reflection in the mirror. Sure it mimicked my every movement perfectly, but something about my eyes seemed… off. They slightly twitched out of synch. I mean, I was looking at my reflection but my reflection’s gaze just darted about my face as it looked back at me. Kinda like it was studying me, trying to predict what I was going to do next. It was very slight and almost imperceivable, but it was there and I noticed. I remember my face so clearly. My expression was dead, lifeless even, and my eyes seemed so cold and icy.
Yeah, it was unnerving as fuck, but at the time I just figured that all the repainting and lack of sleep was playing with my mind, so I casually dismissed it. Besides… I was going to be late for work and didn’t have time to try and rationalize my delirium. I finished getting dressed and walked over to my fiancée’s side of the bed. I kissed her on the forehead. She too had to get up in an hour, so I wanted to head out quietly and quickly so she could actually rest. Before I officially left out the front door I glanced back at the living room walls to admire my handiwork. I gotta say I did one hell of job, not that you can tell now. The walls were a beautiful blend of beige and gold and all that remained were the wooden floors. A good restaining and the vibrant cherry red would be glistening. After that the kitchen would be dealt with. I closed the door and headed off to work, and that was that.
On my way home that afternoon I stopped by a bar for a drink. Well more like a few. Now I’ve never been a saint, and I admit that at one point I was a slave to the bottle, but that was years ago and after dealing with my boss, well, I fucking earned it. I swallowed the bottles as fast as I could so that I could make it home before my old lady, and hopefully sober up a bit. When I arrived home however, I noticed her car in the drive way. It’s not like Tara to leave work early, so I assumed either something happened or she was feeling very tired from the renovating.
I had barely set my fucking foot in the door when I heard my fiancée’s footsteps approaching me, and she was pissed. Her footsteps thundered from our bedroom like she had gone completely batshit. I was in the process of asking her what happened, but I didn’t make it past the “what” part before she shoved me against the door. Seeing as I was good and tipsy I fell against it pretty hard.
“Why the FUCK did you do that this morning!!?” She screamed at me, and I obviously confused, proceeded to ask her if she had lost her God damn mind.
She continued, “No, but clearly YOU have. Now, why the fuck did you drag me off the bed!?”
I examined her for a while before I responded, in my head thinking this bitch must have really lost her sanity.
“I kissed you on the head and then I left.”
I said it as soft and composed as possible. I just wanted to deescalate things quickly. Well, she wasn’t having that. She came at me even more aggressively.
“No. No!! I was dead ass asleep when I felt you crawling onto the foot of the bed. You reached under the cover grabbed my leg and pulled me over the edge! Then you started to drag me into the closet! I begged you to stop, Mike.”
At that point I simply had to interupt her,
“What in the fuck are you talking about!? I KISSED your forehead and left for work!”
There was a long pause as she looked at me in disbelief. She was so furious, so hurt by what she thought was a lie.
“You know I was a little concerned with you going into the bathroom and talking to yourself in the mornings, but I said to myself, ‘gee this must have been a whole ordeal. Us finding a place is stressing him out’ “.
“Bathroom…???”
I remember looking over to the bedroom door into the hall. “Yes! The fucking bathroom!”
Again she studied my body language and after some time a look of realisation illuminated her face.
“You’re drinking again…” I felt shame.
I guess I have to confess to something dark now…
When I was an alcoholic I was a violent man. Hell I won’t mince words here, I beat her. Badly. I have no excuse, but had I not previously, before the alcohol, caught some other man’s face between her legs. That man, was my best friend btw. To be fair, we’ve fucked her together many times. But this time was different, I just remember her soft moans. The look of a pleasure that I was never able to give her as she lay on our bed back then, and the heavy breathing. The slight tremble in her breaths… it sickened me this time. All of it sickened me. Each sip I took afterwards only caused the memory to become more vivid, and even after the tearful apology, whenever she said anything to me all I could hear were the sounds she made that day. Well, when the whiskey was in full effect that is.
Still… my actions were never justified and I didn’t want her to leave me. I wanted things to work out between us so I gave up the alcohol, but I guess the love was gone. Ultimately, for the both of us I think. Or, maybe I never really had it to begin with. My struggle to actually love someone goes pretty far back honestly. My mother was… evil. I won’t dwell on all the trauma here, but to satisfy any sick curious minds I remember being locked the closets as punishment when I was a child. Usually, for some imaginary offence. I remember how tight my chest felt, how fast my heart would beat, and that it was pitch black. I would scream and scream and she, well… she’d laugh. She would laugh at me suffocating in there. No amount of banging on the door could change her mind and get her to come back to open it. After gasping for air, struggling to breath or move, I’d just let the darkness and silence take over. I wanted to die so many times back then. I would curl into a little six year old ball on the floor, and I would want to die in that closet.
Closets… all the things we are ashamed of are kept in those, far from the sight of prying eyes. In truth people don’t fully realise it but the closet is really a type of tomb. Its a place we keep dead things that are still very much alive, and shameful. I gotta say, it still scares me how much this house resembles my childhood home. It burned down by the way, and my mother (may she rot in Hell) burned with it.
But enough of that. I begged my fiancée to stay with me. I said we would sort through things together, and we could still make it work. She packed her shit and left anyway. I couldn’t blame her really, we both knew the type of monster I became when drunk. But what disturbs me most about what she told me that day, is that I can’t remember waking up any morning before that one. Not a single one. Much less going into any bathrooms to have psycho-babble with myself. All I can remember is sleep, actually being at work, and painting. Well whatever. It doesn’t really matter anymore. The rest of the day I sat alone in an empty house and I wondered if she would ever come back. I wondered if she ever should. I lay on the bed, our bed, the same mattress she betrayed me on, and fought the urge to cry. Then sleep came to me and my inner demons were finally silent.
At some point during the night I was awakened suddenly by an anxiety attack. My heart fluttered uncontrollably, but as I went to sit up I realised that I was completely paralyzed. My arms, hell my whole body… it wasn’t good for shit. I remember my eyes looking across the room trying desperately to adjust to the darkness. I could make out nothing but the silhouette of furniture and the faded glow of street lights against the walls.
Well, I wasn’t so fortunate for very long. As my eyes began to adjust, for the first time in that house I could see them. On opposite corners of the room, from the foot of my bed, they just stood there facing me. Two figures. They were completely nude and were a slight pale color, and both, had their heads tilted up looking at the ceiling with their mouths opened. Then both started gargle. If you’ve ever heard someone whose throat has been slit, so they start choking on their own blood (of course you sickos from r/watchpeopledie have), well it was like that but nastier and loud.
My heart was pounding and I furiously tried to move at least one of my limbs with not so much as a twitch happening. Then I slowly began to recognise who they were. It was me and my fiancée! As I began to fully recognize them that nasty ass gargle turned to rattling, then silence as they both slowly closed their mouths in unison. They then lowered their faces from the ceiling to me. Without saying a word the one who looked like Tara walked painfully slow from the corner to the door and out into the hall, closing the door behind her. Then while still standing in the corner the other began to decend to the floor. It was so haunting, as if he did it in slow motion with a strobe light stutter. He fell from my line of sight at the foot of my bed, and from there he crawled, from the corner to my closet. Before fully entering he rose to his feet and faced me one more time. Then he spoke.
“We’re watching.”
He entered the closet and the door shut behind him. I don’t recall actually seeing a hand reach for the handle. And, for one final chill, I heard my mother begin screaming from inside the closet. The way she did as she burned alive in my childhood home.
And thats all I can remember from that night. Fuck, I don’t even remember waking up the next morning. I do remember being at work however, and I desperately tried to ask others what they knew about the paranormal and demons. Nobody would even listened to me, I may as well have been a ghost. Not one person so much as glaced up at me. Oh well… fuck ‘em.
Jesus, this is taking longer than planned. Still I hope you get the point, so I think I’ll skip ahead a bit. Now of course spooky shit like that happened throughout the week, but as the weeks turned to months it got fucking worse. Because of course it would.
I began to completely avoid the mirrors in this house, my reflection didn’t even mimic me anymore. I would pass by one and in the mirror my reflection would be living out nightmarish scenes. One of me stabbing my mother in her face repeatedly. One of my fiancée burning alive in the closet trying desperately to escape. Like I said before, flying into a rage and smashing them didn’t do anything. The reflection Tara, for instance began to bloodcurdlingly scream and beg me to stop. Once I did she would laugh at me as her reflection faded.
Since the mirrors couldn’t be pulled from the walls I decided to cover them with blankets and sheets. This never stopped them from appearing in the house though. I would pass by a room and one of the entities would be standing there, watching. On one especially difficult occasion my reflection began to walk toward me. It was approaching me pretty quickly. The that horrible garggle getting louder as it reached out to grab my arm, and I just barely managed to slam the fucking door shut. Then after a short period of silence I heard a gentle sobbing on the otherside. The sobs lowered in volume and soon a tiny voice called out from the other side.
“Mama, please! Please! Open the door! I swear to God, I won’t be loud anymore. I swear to God mama, I swear to God…”
So much pleading in that little voice. So much pain… and fear.
Then the sound of the tinest fists started to pound against the wooden door. That small creature begged for me to open the door, he begged for me to come back and open the door with everything his little body could muster. And… I knew what that little boy felt. The dread, the fear, the hopelessness, I knew it better than any man or woman ever could. I still do. But… I also knew that that little boy died in that closet long ago, and he was burned alive with that house and my mother. In one final desperate plea he gently spoke,
“It’s okay mama. I know you love me, and you’re gonna come get me. You aways come back and let me out. … and I love you too… I promise.”
That angel. That poor angel, who never did anything to anybody. Who would go another eight years without holding a grudge. Who would never know his father or the truth about why he left. That poor poor angel, who would never get to learn why his own mother hated him so much before she died. How could I ever open that door? What was I going to tell him? But I’m a weak fucker, and after thinking on it I relented and opened the door. And nothing. Just a tiny handprint on the floor, and a room filled with wishes that I had been there sooner. I wish I would have been there for myself when I so desperately needed it. But I can’t go back in time.
So for anybody reading this post, be kind to yourself. Find that small child inside you, the one who’s scared and alone. Tell them its gonna be okay because things won’t always be that way forever. I don’t mean to be sentimental, it’s just… well, it’s just that sometimes you need your own love and affection too. Just as much and sometimes even more than anyone else ever has or ever will, you need it too.
But by this stage of things there’s no use for regret, besides I’m getting sidetracked. I just needed to release that, I guess I owe myself that much. Anyways those things I’ve experienced daily. My reflection toying with me, the reflection of Tara toying with me. Making sport of my pain and preaching at me in a way. Telling me I can’t run from myself forever. Like I don’t fucking know that already, it’s sickening. So sickening. And draining. Again enough time has been spent on that. I need to tell you about today, and the whole fucking point of writing this post.
You see the reflections fucked up big time. They finally pushed me over the edge. I arrived home early from work today. I needed the rest of the day off to cope with the stress of this house, and since my boss was acting like the cocksucker he is, when he didn’t respond to my request to go home… I just left. Fuck that job and fuck those people. But as I came into the house… as I came into the house… I heard my fiancée in our bedroom. The heavy breath, and soft moans tumbled into the hall, filling the air. It was all the same. Her ecstasy only pausing for shallow gasps. My stomach began to turn, and I had to once again swallow the lump in my throat, which at this point I’m pretty sure was actually my heart. I made my way to our bedroom door as quietly as I could, and slowly opened it.
There she was, laying on our bed, her hands wrapped around another man’s head with her fingers laced between his locks of hair. My love, my fiancee, Tara and some stranger. His head bobbed and swayed as his face was buried between her legs, and that… bitch… that disgusting bitch… she looked dead into my eyes as her smirk gave way to a gentle passionate lip bite. I backed away and I closed the door.
I felt a lifetime of bitter bitter hatred burn inside my chest. All I had strength to do was collapse in the hallway, rest my back against the wall, and cry. It must have been only a few minutes but it felt like a lifetime. But as I sat there crying my eyes out I realised something. There were no other vehicles in the drive way. That wasn’t MY fiancée… that was one of those fucking reflections. So I went into the bathroom and as I sat on the floor to put the pieces together, and it dawned on me. It wasn’t in it’s world anymore, it was in mine, and maybe, just maybe, this time a hammer would do some good.
That’s when I heard the purr of an engine outside the house and I heard the front door close. Then laughter drifting across the living room as my fiancée walked into the kitchen. I waited for Tara to call out to me to let let me know it was really her and she was back, but it never happened. More fucking trickery and more fucking deception. I decided then to kill it, so I walked quietly from the bathroom to my bedroom and entered. Of course there was no one there, only the hammer on the nightstand, which I grabbed and made my way into the kitchen.
The bitch was at the sink. She didn’t even notice me approaching from behind. Turns out whatever these reflections are, ghosts or demons, they can be fooled too. And that was my chance. Just so you know you can’t catch these motherfuckers off gaurd very often. I grabbed that bitch’s hair and pulled it’s fucking head so that I could see it’s face. My God did I wanna see its face. Every ounce of fear and suffering, and I was not disappointed! It screamed… it screamed in absolute horror. Finally it felt what I did… and finally, I felt good. It begged me to let it go, but not again… I wasn’t falling for the same shit again. That bitch was in my world, and I wasn’t going to play by it’s rules. Ever again.
I swung the hammer as hard as I could against her forehead, right where I had kissed my real fiancée. It may have imitated Tara, but I knew better. You should have heard it, like a billiard ball landing on wood floor. After three more swings it was over. I chuckled as it gasped struggling to breath on the flood, that time gargling on blood made sense.
That was one down and I had one more to go. But my reflection is clever, in the mirror in the hallway I watched it. It was in anguish holding Tara’s reflection sobbing inconsolably. There was, and is, no way it was going to come into my world again. Well not as long as I’m alive, so I have a little backup plan. You see a while back I puchased a gun, and now, I am sitting here in my closet. Ironic, because even now as I wrap this little tale up, tiny fists are banging against the door begging me open it.
Poor thing, trying to save me. I’m not opening that door though, I can’t do that ever again, so I’m not. I’m going to blow my fucking brains out. I hope it works, but obviously I wont be around to know for sure. Or maybe I will. I just don’t know anymore. Anyway, I placed the sheets back over the mirrors for your protection. If you’ve found me then hope you are safe… and to my fiancée I am sorry. For everything. Take care of yourself and I love you more than I could ever say. Please Forgive me.
Also I’m sorry about the mess