Eisoptrophobia

You’ve always had a fear of mirrors.

Ever since you were a young child, you’ve seen things that weren’t normal in those reflective glasses.

“You’re just imagining things, Sweetie,” your mother would always tell you when you’d run downstairs in tears, telling her what you saw.

How would she know? She doesn’t have your eyes.

No one can see what you see, and that only frustrates you more.

However, you still try to lead a semi-normal life as a teenager who just turned eighteen a month ago.

Your friends, or acquaintances at this point, invite you to the "Halloween Party of the Century".

“Everyone will be there, Micah.”
“Don’t be a loser and stay at home like you usually do.”
“That guy you have a crush on will be there.”
“It’ll be fun.”

And so, you go.
Not because they convinced you.

You just wanted them to shut the fuck up about it and leave you alone.

Everyone is dressed in costumes – some all too revealing; some terrifying as all Hell.

Half of the population is mentally impaired from alcohol or stimulants and depressants – maybe even a combination of all three.

The others formed small groups to converse with, play games with, or even smaller groups to engage in bedroom activities.

You’ve managed to avoid the drinks, the drugs, and group with a couple of your acquaintances and, surprisingly, Andrew: that dreamy, intelligent, blue-eyed brunette that has always caught your eye.

And everything goes smoothly.

You converse, you eat a couple of decorated cupcakes, you dance a little.
You make a small joke, and Andrew laughs, and you feel normal for once.

And everything goes smoothly.

That is, until an intoxicated acquaintance points out that you have Eisoptrophobia.

She points out your fear of mirrors.

Of all things, she points out your fucking fear of mirrors.

And maybe it’s embedded in the human nature to enjoy the fear and suffering of others, because

“Let’s play a game of Bloody Mary! And maybe, we should help Micah get over his fear of mirrors,” comes out of another acquaintance’s mouth.

And your blood runs cold.

And your hands become clammy.

And your heart beats erratically.

And you want to speak up. Protest. Fight.

But before you get a chance, you’re shoved into the nearest bathroom and the door is shut behind you, a weight preventing it from being open.

You yell and batter your fists against the door, but…

“You’re not coming out until we hear you say the name three times!”

Your breathing is labored, almost like your being suffocated by the darkness.

You frantically probe the wall, hoping to find the light as soon as possible – the light from the moon just wasn’t enough.

And you feel your heart soar and your spirits lift for the split second that you felt it.
Only to have it crash back into the darkness of the room when the light doesn’t show.

You frantically flip the switch five times, begging, pleading that the light would come on.

Nothing.

And you fall to the floor, crying for someone to let you out. To give you a shred of mercy.

But you could only hear drunken laughter as a response.

And you curl up as you hear knocking on glass.

You don’t have to look into the mirror.
You don’t have to call out her name.

You can already hear her.

“Micah…Micah…”

And you shut your eyes close.

“D…id you…mi…ss me, Micah…?”

The voice grows distorted, but is still sickly sweet.

You clamp your hands over your ears, hoping for silence.

But her distorted voice is clearly audible.

“S…ay my name…Mic…ah…”

“Leave me alone!”
You barely get the words out, but they were strong enough to echo in the darkness.

“Why…a…re you…so a…fraid…? Do…n’t…you un…der…stand…?”

You could only sob into your hands, wondering how it all came to this.

Wondering why those drunken acquaintances of yours are so fucking cruel.
Wondering why you decided to come to this damned party in the first place.

Wondering why you uttered anything about the maddening Eisoptrophobia that haunted you for years.

Wondering why you always saw the girl every time you so much as glance at a mirror.

“You do…n’t…under…stand…I’m…y…our…fr…iend…”

But you don’t believe her.
You only cry and sob until you’re resorted to hiccups.

“I…do…n’t wa…nt…to hurt…you…I never…want…ed…to…hu…rt…you…”

And you’re silent for a moment.

“I’m…your…fr…iend…Not…them…I’ve…al…ways…been…your…fri…end…They only…want…ed to use you…to…en…joy…your fear…as…enter…tainment…I want…to…he…lp…you…To teach them a lesson.”

You slowly sit up, wiping away the last bit of tears.

“Let me teach them a lesson, Micah…You won’t regret it.”

You stand up and slowly inch your way towards the mirror, feeling more uneasy with each step.

A bloodied, eyeless, smiling apparition faced you.

And you wanted to run away, so far away.
But your body wouldn’t move.

You couldn’t move from that familiar apparition.

“…How will you do it…?”

“Say my name, like the game. What I do will be what you desire the most for them.”

You bite down harshly on your lip as your hands grip at the sink in front of you.

“You can trust me. No harm will come to you. You’re my friend.”

But could you really trust her?

Eyeless.
Blood covering her from her long black hair down to her waist.

That unnerving smile.

Could you really trust her?

But then you hear the drunken laughter of those who locked you in here in the first place.

And you’re no longer uneasy.
You’re no longer afraid.

Your blood boils as you glance at the door, that damned door that was blocked by that damned human weight.

And you turn your head back to the mirror, staring her right into those damned empty, rotten sockets.

“Bloody Mary.”

Her smile widens twice its size.

“Bloody Mary.”

The mirror starts to crack and shatter.

“…Bloody Mary.”

And it all happens so fast.

You’re thrown back.
The door flies open.

The sounds of blood-curdling screams.
The sounds of flesh being ripped and of blood and guts being splattered on the walls.
The sounds of bones being broken and of necks being snapped.

And in seconds, nothing but silence.

Deafening silence.

You swallow thickly and pull yourself from off of the ground, slowly inching your way out of the bathroom.

And you heard correct.

Limbs. Guts. Broken necks. Blood staining the walls and the wood flooring. Faces frozen in fear and agony.

And she stood in the middle of all of it.

She turns toward you, a gentle smile plastered on her face as she holds out her blood-stained hand towards you.

“Come on, Micah. Let’s go home. I’ll sing you that lullaby that you’ve always loved so you can sleep tonight.”

Even with what you just witnessed, you still take her hand and let her lead you home.
And when you stepped into your bathroom and glanced at the mirror, she disappeared.

Your reflection is the only one that shows.

And you realize that you’re no longer afraid of mirrors.

But you should have been afraid of who was in the reflection all of this time.