Mirror Mirror

The moon was a perfect twinkling image mirrored in the lake. A doppelgänger, if you will, that Jacquel’s ebony eyes fixated on. I️t was not the moon that fascinated him, but the idea of reflections. He saw reflections as one of two things: either the perfect, radiant image or the wildly sinister image that no human dared to imagine themselves as.

The moon itself had craters and footsteps. Tampered and broken in a slightly ironic way. Its reflection, however, beautiful and twinkling, practically untouched. Did the moon encompass some deviant spirit? Jacquel shook his head at the thought and headed to bed to rest before these thoughts wandered too deep into his subconscious.

Waking to the sound of his phone buzzing, Jacquel rubbed his dream filled eyes and picked up his phone.

“Hello?” He asked groggily.

“Jac, it’s already noon. Get your ass up and come over. I have that thing for you,” chirped a high pitched voice.

“Faith, what the hell? I thought I was coming by next week,” Jacquel groaned.

“I don’t want this in my loft anymore. It’s weird. I don’t know Jacky... it creeps me out. But Grandpa always creeped me out. Now he’s dead and this damn book is yours,” Faith replied cheekily.

Jacquel rolled his eyes at his sister’s saucy response, “Fine. Be there in forty-five-ish or so.” He hung up quickly without saying goodbye. He always loathed how much Faith didn’t appreciate their Grandfather’s quirky charm.

About an hour later, Jacquel arrived at Faith’s loft. He hung his head low and hid his dark circles and pale stricken face. He wasn’t in the mood for small talk either, so he grabbed the aged, leather bound book and left the loft before Faith could even finish a single sentence.

Back at his rusty shack by the lake, he sat gazing, Grandfather’s book in hand. He pushed back his greasy, mangy hair and realized he hadn’t showered in three weeks, since his grandfather passed. No one knew quite how he died, but by no means was it peaceful. He was found with his own blood pooled up under his limp body and his face and hands were twisted like the knots that one sees in an old tree. The police couldn’t identify who the murderer was, if there was a murderer, and put the case on the back-burner.

Jacquel shuddered at the thought of who or what could have done such a terrible deed. He took in a deep breath. The smell of must, tobacco, and aged leather filled his lungs. The leathery surface felt soft against his fingers. He cracked open the book and dust spitted out. Putting the back of his hand up to his nose, he coughed. The pages felt oddly sturdy and thick. As he looked at what the pages contained, his face furled in confusion.

The pages were filled with odd symbols he did not recognize and it burned in his mind so much so that his head ached and felt as if it was on fire. He immediately dropped the book and it fell to the ground silently to the world, but Jacquel could hear the odd sound it made when the book met the ground. A sound foreign to him. Sweat beads puddled on the brim of his forehead. He ran inside into the bathroom.

Jacquel splashed his face with cold water. It felt refreshing, but he could not shake the burning in his mind. He spotted a towel over his dripping face and scanned the mirror. Something was off. His reflection was like a fun-house mirror that twisted at every angle. He closed his eyes and inhaled slowly and slowly even more he let that air escape. Opening his eyes, he realized his image had not changed, but now had a sneer that stretched ear to ear and started to cackle.

Jacquel woke up the next morning with him and the bed drenched in his warm sweat. His head seemed fine today, no burning sensation. He let out a sigh of relief and ambled to the bathroom. Before showering, he checked the mirror. The image was his own and he couldn’t help but let a small smile cross his face knowing yesterday was all a dream. He stood under the shower letting the water beat his worries away. It felt calming down to the depths of his soul.

“Ow!” Jacquel yelped. The water was searing hot, but he hadn’t touched the temperature. He got out feeling clean both physically and mentally. With nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist, he made his way to the book he left outside.

The book was on the table in his living room. He cocked his head because he could not remember which part of yesterday was a dream and which was reality. He let it go knowing that worrying would only make it worse.

The book felt warm when he grabbed it, as if it had been roasting over a fire pit. The lights in his house dimmed to a low, muted color. Jacquel chucked the book across the room. The same silent sound that only he could hear echoed when the book hit the wall.

“Oh no, fuck this. I’m out,” he stated.

A siren-like voice cooed in reply, “But Jacquel I need you. Yesterday was not a dream. The initial power was just too much.”

“Who or what are you?” Jacquel couldn’t help but respond. This was not his cup of tea, but he felt like he was in a trance, “I... I want to help, but what do I do? How can I trust you?”

“The book, Jacquel. It contains your grandfather’s energy. I can show you the truth about what happened to him,” the cooing voice echoed in Jacquel’s head.

Jacquel’s eyes grew larger than the moon he had observed a few nights ago. He had always wanted to know the truth even if it was a gory end. He needed closure; he needed to know how and why this happened. In his trance, he drifted to the book and picked it up. The pages were different. In his mind’s eye he could understand the cryptic messages.

“Say them. Say them to the mirror,” the voice continued to coo. Jacquel found himself speaking in a language he did not know. He spoke whatever ancient language was in the book and he surprised himself when he realized how well he was speaking it. He found himself unable to control his legs, they seemed to move on their own accord toward the bathroom.

When he arrived at the bathroom, his reflection was normal. No real problem here. He continued to chant the sayings in the book. As he did this, his head started to burn again, hotter than it had the other day. He ignored the burning and chanted through the pain. He gazed at the image in the mirror. The edges of his face blurred and knots grew like boiling bubbles on his face. He tried to stop chanting, but had no control over his mouth and vocal cords. He finally looked directly into his own ebony eyes. At that moment it was over.

Jacquel felt his face that once had knots entangled all over and now they were gone. He let out his original, soft smile and checked the mirror one last time. His choked as his heart dropped to the pit of his stomach. His reflection was not his own, but that of a beautiful woman with deep red hair. What caught his attention even more so was her bright red eyes and sneer that went ear to ear. The woman cackled and walked away from the mirror. Jacquel looked around and realized he was alone in a dark world unknown to him.

“Fuck you!” He cried out, tears streaming down his eyes. He slammed his fist against the mirror cracking it down the center.

For the last time he heard the cooing sound of the demonic siren that locked him away, “I am the moon, and you will always just be its beautiful, twinkling reflection.”

A week later, Jacquel’s body was found on the floor of the bathroom in a pool of his own blood and hands and face knotted up like his Grandfather’s.