TW: Abuse, Blood
I wasn’t dealt a good hand in life as a child. My father was the sole breadwinner, sloughing away till dead in the night for meagre wages, while my mother gave up her job as a kitchen assistant to take care of me - a pale, feeble baby plagued with constant bouts of fevers and whopping coughs.
Poverty was the theme of our interior design, paint peeling off the walls and mismatched second-hand furniture scattered around, save for a single antique floor mirror. Its bronze grandeur was always hidden behind a tattered old blanket, but whenever my curiosity got the better of me and I tried peeking at it, my mother would come rushing to smack my tiny hands away.
The usual “Don’t touch that! It’s our family’s heirloom, Aymya!” shrieks in my ear would be enough to deter me from trying again for a while. My parents ended up slipping the mirror behind our creaky cupboard for safekeeping, and similarly as I grew older, the odd furniture piece slipped to the back of my mind.
When I was six, my family’s situation unexpectedly changed for the better. Maybe Lady Luck herself took pity on us, or maybe through sheer hard work, but either way, things were finally looking up for us.
I remember toddling into our dingy kitchen and a miraculous sight greeted me. For once, our dining table had a full spread, it was a mystery how the rickety wooden legs did not snap under the weight of all the roasted meat, seafood and even dessert. My parents sat at both ends, eyes beaming with joy as my jaw dropped at the feast.
“Aymya dear, your father’s business is finally taking off! No more worrying about your doctor bills and we afford your surgery!” my mother started, while beckoning me to join them. “And we can have family dinners like this every day in the future!” she continued.
Being six, I barely understood what my mother was saying, but hearing that I could spend more time with my parents meant the world to a young child like me. With a delighted squeal, I scampered across the room and jumped into my mother’s arms.
My father then chimed in. “We will be moving into a bigger, nicer house in two days, Aymya. You will get your own pretty bedroom and a big pool to splash in when you are older.”
He then paused in contemplation, before quickly adding, “How about you start packing your favorite toys and clothes right after dinner? We don’t have much time to move.”
“Okay daddy! I will! I can’t wait to moveeeee!” I eagerly promised in a singsong voice as I wolfed down my dinner, no longer able to sit still and contain the excitement bubbling within me.
Well, apparently, they were not kidding about having no time.
When moving day rolled about, I scrambled out of bed the moment the warm, golden rays hit my face. Turning to my left – where my parents usually slept in the corner of the room we shared, I stopped short. Gone were my parents and gone was their bed and clothes that were usually strewed all over the floor.
Taking their place was a full-sized doll house, an entire mahogany bookshelf of children’s books and a full walk-in closet filled with beautiful dresses in all colors imaginable.
For a moment, I thought I was dreaming, but as I was backed off in horror, I stumbled and fell, yelping out in pain. Within seconds, my parents rushed in with worry plastered across their faces.
“Aymya! Are you okay, sweetheart? Did you hurt yourself anywhere?” my mother cooed as she spun me round, fussing and checking for injuries.
“Mom..? Dad? What is going on?” I whimpered, completely bewildered by the foreign surroundings. “W..what is this place?”
A hint of apprehension flickered as my parents exchange a quick glance, before my dad sat me down at my now – silky, feather-soft bed.
“Aymya, you were sleeping so soundly that we did all the moving. Sorry kiddo, but at least you get to enjoy our new home the moment you wake up, right?” my father said, disquiet well-concealed behind a faint smile.
As disappointed as I was, my six-year-old self was quickly placated with a little coaxing from my parents and a pinky promise to bring me out for dinner. Within minutes, I was running through the hallways of my new house, exploring every nook and cranny.
***
With sufficient funds and better living conditions, soon my health was in the clear and I started school. Although it was generally fun and I made many new friends, my grades were nowhere near stellar. Initially, my teachers made me join extra classes and my parents sent me for tuition, but it barely improved.
Soon, it became apparent that I had a problem grasping languages. Over a teacher-parent meeting, my principal suggested that my parents brought me to see a professional child psychologist, to determine if I had any learning disabilities. I was a hardworking kid, always attentively listening in class and handing in my homework, but somehow my efforts would never reflect in my exams.
Sure enough, after a couple of assessments, I was diagnosed with dyslexia.
I was always mixing up the letters in the alphabets, and I could barely discern the words that form a sentence. Whenever I stare words, the letters seem to come alive and they start dancing around, completely confusing my brain. Apparently, the most common letters that dyslexic individuals get muddled up with was ‘d’ and ‘b’, which was exactly what happens to me.
“Don’t worry, Mr & Mrs Smith. Since we discovered Aylya’s dyslexia early, I am confident that we can come up with an effective approach to help her overcome it. The success rate is quite high, with many dyslexic individuals turning out to be competent readers.” my psychologist assured, my parents nodding in silent agreement.
My psychologist was right. Within a few years of training, monetary and mental support from my parents, my grades vastly improved, and I was at least passing every subject in school. Nothing valedictorian-worthy, but it was still a great achievement considering my condition.
Not that it really mattered – I led an almost perfect picture life, a true reflection of what my parents have worked and sacrificed for me.
***
I was as usual, studying late at night while my parents went out for their anniversary dinner, when a heard a soft wail. I looked around, wondering if it was my neighbors or the stray cats that roamed around outside our estate. Deciding to ignore it, I continued burying my head in my books.
The next moment, the wail escalated into a full-on shriek, it was muffled, but it sounded like coming from above.
The roof?
Concerned and already distracted from my studies, I decided to investigate.
I went out of the house and headed to the front yard, tipping my toes, trying to catch sight of anything on the roof.
Nothing.
But the pandemonium was getting louder. The echoes of a frenzied cry reverberated around the walls, with the tinkling of glass shattering and furniture crashing against each other conjuring the eeriest orchestra.
I went back into the house again, trying my best to locate where the sounds were coming from. The noise felt far away while I was outside, but it got louder and closer the moment I walked in.
Weird.
Tiny goosebumps covered my trembling arm as I cautiously wandered around the house, silently treading, and gripping my phone close. The ruckus got louder and louder, and I finally stopped right beneath my attic.
It’s here.
‘Are there burglars up there?’ was my first thought, but it didn’t made sense. The attic was locked shut, and it could only be opened from the outside. There was no way someone would have gone up and locked themselves in.
Maybe a stray animal that got in from tiny window?
At the thought of this, I calmed down. I released the stairs and started to make my way up, half anticipating a squirrel or wild skunk to jump out.
When I finally hurled myself up into the attic, it was in complete darkness aside from a small stream of moonlight. Boxes of old toys, photo albums and trinkets were carelessly littered around, accompanied by glints of cobwebs hidden in the dark corners.
How much memories and secrets has been hidden away here?
A sudden, inhumane scream from the darkest corner jolted me out of my thoughts. Under the soft glow of moonlight, I saw a glimpse of metallic shine peeking out.
Fumbling on my phone to switch on the torchlight, the view of a bronze mirror from my childhood appeared in my peripheral vision. It was still shielded with a dusty old fabric, but this time, the bottom half was uncovered, with slight cracks running along the surface.
I bent down to take a closer look, yearning to satisfy my childhood curiosity. The old piece of junk is already broken, I doubt my parents will mind me sneaking a glance.
It’s not like I can destroy it any further, right?
As I scooted closer and grabbed the cloth covering the mirror, I slowly lifted it, and all I could hear was my heart pounding against my ribcage and the soft rustling of the fabric unfolding.
A Y M Y A
My name was carved onto the mirror.
Not just carved, but carved from the inside. The surface on the outside was completely smooth, but my name was encased within. No, it wasn’t just a custom design. The carving was done haphazardly, with pure hatred and rage.
A silent scream bubbled up to my throat, but before I could even process what was going on, another ear-splitting screech emitted from the mirror and all of a sudden, my own reflection was gone and a pair of eyes appeared.
My eyes.
Glaring back at me.
I stumbled back, hands trembling uncontrollably as I tried my best to crawl towards the exit.
“AY…AYMYA”
A low guttural voice croaked from within the mirror. My head whipped back at my name out of habit, and slowly, a face started to form, the upper body, then an entire figure.
Squinting my eyes to refocus my vision on the mirror again, my body turned ice cold. I finally realized what, or who I was looking at.
Myself.
Her soft facial features, caramel brown eyes, and button nose, it was me without a doubt. As unnerving as it is, I could not pull my eyes away. It was like looking in a mirror – sort of, literally.
“W..WE’VE FIN…FINALLY MET, AYMYA.”
The other me drawled out, her voice like nails scratching against a board. She gave a slow, lopsided grin, revealing a bloodied set of gums with just a few teeth hanging on.
Her hair was bald in patches, the remaining strands so heavily matted and clotted in red, I could barely see our natural color beneath.
As she dragged herself out of the silvery vortex, I could only stare, completely frozen in place.
One of her eyes was also glazed white, barren from any eyelashes, and her ears were both missing, replaced with just tiny holes that were sewn shut.
It was a mad scientist worst Frankenstein imitation of me.
“Y..YOU..YOU TOOK MY LIFE! MINE!”
I snapped out of my trance and back to my reality, or nightmare.
“Who are you? What happened to you?” I barely managed to squeak out.
She glared at me with her good eye, and tears started welling up as she shook her head in fervent contempt.
“WHO? I AM YOU. YOU TOOK MY PLACE.”
My mind was swirling, nauseousness and panic hitting me like a tidal wave. I tried to steady my breathing before I meekly stammered, “W..what do you mean?”
In a painfully slow manner, she straightened up, hobbled towards me, and hissed in my face.
“You took my life. You stupid, sick bitch, that’s what I meant. You took my life, my home, my parents, EVERYHING!”
Wiping away tears with an almost skeletal hand, she continued.
“You should have just died! In order to save you, you fucking ill shit, your father turned to evil and opened the mirror portal. Murdered my parents. Shot them in cold blood to save his poor little daughter.”
She paused, slowly caressing my face, as if admiring it.
“I would have looked like this…if not for your FUCKING FATHER! All I wanted was what was MINE. MY LIFE. But he shackled me in this trash of a house, fed me scraps from your leftovers. Every time I tried to escape; he took a little more of me. First, my hair. Then, my tooth, my ears, and my eye. Told me that only his little darling AYMYA mattered.”
Inching closer, until we were face to face, she looked straight into my eyes and sneered.
“He wanted to make sure that I will never be able to replace you.”
Paralyzed with a mixture of utter fear and shock, it suddenly dawned on me. The puzzle pieces were coming together. It was never my father’s ‘business’. The hurried ‘moving’, the money, and…my dyslexia?
It was never dyslexia. I was just reading everything…
Mirrored.
My eyes widened as I crashed onto the cold attic floor in realization.
We took over another family’s life. My parents are murderers.
The same people that refused to hurt a fly, that ferried me back and forth doctor appointments and…sacrificed everything for me.
“BUT I AM AYMYA TOO.” she screeched as she lunged at me, clawing, and smashing my face in.
My parents sacrificed everything for me. Now it is my turn to be a good daughter.
With this, I pushed her off with all my might, and grabbed a stray wooden plank stuck in one of the boxes. Extending my arm as far as possible, I swung my makeshift weapon right across her head. As she staggered back from the pain, I continued thrashing, aiming at lethal spots, until she was left spasming and gurgling on the floor. Hoisting myself up, I grasp a shard of broken wood and stabbed her in the chest.
It’s over, I’ve won.
Limping out of the attic, blood smeared over me, I broke into a smile, knowing that my parents will be proud of me. No more worrying about a psychotic clone of me coming after us.
“HOLY SHIT AYMYA!” a sharp scream rang from the hallway, followed by a deeper voice, “HONEY, GO GRAB AYMYA FROM HER ROOM AND MAKES SURE SHE DOESN’T SEE THIS MONSTER.”
Monster?
Staggering towards the voices, my vision started to blur. My entire face felt like it was on fire, and I almost gagged from the metallic taste lingering in my mouth.
“Mom? Dad…?” I whimpered, leaning against the wall to prop myself up. As I continued to hobble forward, I felt myself fade in and out of consciousness.
As I stopped to steady myself, I glanced up, and in front of me, was the hallway mirror.
The last thing I saw was my reflection. Bald patches in my hair, a bloodied and bruised mouth with missing teeth, and one empty eye socket with warm, red liquid oozing out.
The last thing I heard was my dad yelling as a gunshot rang, “DIE, BITCH! GO BACK TO WHERE YOU BELONG.”
ɘm ƨyoɿƚƨɘb ƚi ɘƨuɒɔɘd ƚud ,ƚi yoɿƚƨɘb ƚ’nɒɔ I ƚɒʜƚ ƚon ƨ’ƚI
AYMYA