“By the pricking of my thumbs, something— Damn it!”
Brianna Sinclair, of Sinclair’s Circle, slapped the pause button on her recording and shoved her chair back to go and answer the door. It was a package she had ordered. It couldn’t be anything else. The entire world had been under some form of lockdown for nearly a year now. Televised celebrations/memorials were being planned for the anniversary, as if such things should be lauded.
Her journey to the front door took her down the oddly mirrored hall that came with the house. Every inch of wall was covered, right down to mirrored molding on the corners. And there were many corners. Much like hotels, each room was tucked back into the wall a foot. The sides were covered in mirrors. With so many surfaces coated, Brianna saw several versions of herself from all angles as she walked to the door. She didn’t mind. In fact, she often paused to admire the view.
She had been taught, growing up, that vanity was a sin. Her mother only allowed mirrors in the bathrooms so her brothers could shave properly, and a smaller version in bedrooms for applying makeup. She wasn’t a cruel woman. No horror tales would be written about her, no therapists would be taking notes. She was loving and supportive, but she refused to raise overly proud and overly privileged adults.
Well. She tried.
Brianna, never ever Bri, realized she would be stunningly beautiful when she was barely in elementary school. Everyone told her how cute she was, with those perfect blonde curls and those bright, intelligent eyes. By high school, she had learned how to use that beauty to her benefit. She graduated with a solid 4.0 she hadn’t earned, and a yearbook full of compliments and promises to stay in touch. The yearbook was buried in a box in the attic.
College was more of the same, but with the addition of rich frat boys. Her 4.0 slipped to a 3.8. Too many female professors who weren’t impressed by her fluttering lashes. But she emerged with a degree and a closet full of clothes to enhance her curves. Boys were so easy.
A string of wealthy lovers allowed her to live the life she wanted—in a large house suitable for extravagant parties, entertaining who and when she chose. Every weekend, her home was filled with people who simply adored her. She was charming and warm, funny and sensual. She practically fed off the worship.
These days, all she had was her own face, thrown back at her again and again. She was glad it was a perfect face.
Brianna opened the door, hoping to catch the delivery man, just to have someone to flirt with for a few minutes. He was gone.
She sighed and dropped the package on a small table. Shopping had lost its allure once there was no one to show off for. Her purchases were smaller now; items that could be seen on camera.
Once a week, she produced a video for her online followers. Subscribers paid to watch her talk about how she spent her days in isolation. It was all fantasy, of course. They thought she’d escaped to a fabulous tropical location where she lounged on fabulous beaches and sipped fabulous drinks brought to her by fabulously oiled up men. Every couple of days, she held an unboxing, revealing her latest eccentric and expensive purchase. She started every episode the same way, with a creepy opening line and a spin of wit. “By the pricking of my thumbs, something luxurious this way comes.” She would have to redo today’s video from the start.
She paused in front of one of the mirrors and leaned in, scowling. She was starting to look pale. Haggard. Life under a pandemic was trying in more than one way. Yes, she felt for those getting ill and dying. Of course she did. Her mother raised an arrogant woman, not a monstrous one. She’d stopped watching the news because it was giving her nightmares and making her cry. Neither are good for the skin. Her intake now came in the form of social media feeds and videographers she followed. They all told her the same thing. It still wasn’t safe for most people to venture out. There were those who had to work, but Brianna wasn’t one of them, and she wasn’t about to put herself at risk. She barely dared to go into her backyard for a little sun during the day.
She tugged one eyelid down and looked closely. Maybe she could do with just a bit more sunlight
Still, it would be nice to see her friends. To hug and press against the ones she wanted in her bed, to air kiss and giggle with the ones she didn’t. She felt as if she were wilting. Fading away without the sustenance of others. She hadn’t realized how much she reveled in their energy until it was gone.
Her finger was still holding her eyelid when her reflection blinked. She stumbled back, startled. The second Brianna grinned and waved, then flickered. For the space between one pounding heartbeat and the next, there was no reflection at all. And then Brianna saw herself, as she should be, paler than ever, wide eyes terrified.
It was all getting to her. The isolation, the inability to thrive around others. She should call her therapist. If she whined prettily, and promised she’d do that thing he liked when she could see him again, he’d have effective narcotics hand-delivered to her. Maybe she’d take a break from the vlog. Tell her viewers she was ill and taking to a gorgeous bed for a few days. That might do the trick. Let their worry feed her a little. She smiled at the thought of all those concerned messages streaming in.
Her reflection smiled, too, but it was off. Too toothy. Too wide.
Brianna backed away until she bumped into the mirror behind her. She spun and yelped at the sight of herself.
A laugh, then. Of course she was there, too. The whole damned hallway was a mirror.
***
By the time she crawled into bed that night, she could barely keep her eyes open. The entire afternoon and evening had been a waste. She posted her brief message about being unwell, not needing to embellish at all. For the first time since she moved into the house, she regretted the hall. Her reflection, over and over, bouncing back and forth, pallid and worn thin. Her last action before falling asleep was to text her therapist and ask him to send her meds.
She never asked.
The next morning, she woke up refreshed and happy. Yesterday was a lark. An aberration. A blip in her perfect life. The full-length mirror in the bathroom told her so. When she put on her makeup, the face looking back at her was smiling and beautiful.
The morning went exactly as planned. As it always did lately. Breakfast, social media, her favourite shows. The concern for her health was invigorating, and she considered laying low for a few more days—just enough time to let them seriously worry. Surely, gifts and monetary thoughtfulness would be sent her way.
It was evening before she needed to venture down her hall of mirrors. The lights were lowered, and shadows skittered with every step. For a moment, for the strange space that seemed to hang between breaths, she was scared of her own home. She hesitated to take the next step. Her skin chilled, goosebumps raising. Her heart beat painfully and she felt weak again. Tired.
She paused halfway to the front door and leaned on one wall. Her gaze flickered to the mirrors and away, fear ratcheting higher. This was a mistake. She should check the mail in the morning, when the sun was out. When the shadows were thinner. They were climbing higher now as clouds passed over the moon and played with the little light filtering through the front doors. She should have flipped the switch on the overhead, but now she was equal distance from both ends. No way out but through.
Brianna braced herself and stood a little taller. This was ridiculous. She was scaring herself for no reason. Too much time alone and too much bad TV was rotting her senses. She didn’t believe in monsters.
Until she looked up and saw her face staring back at her. Her face, but not hers. Her body, but not hers. Certainly not her stylish loungewear. The face looking back was old. And sad. It carried the weight of too many years and not enough laughter.
Brianna froze. Her heart had ceased pounding and now ached. She reached out for the woman, some odd need to comfort this stranger overwhelming her.
A hand reached back, wrapped around her wrist, and dragged her into the mirror.
She couldn’t breathe. Shards of glass tore her clothes and ripped her flesh as she slid unwillingly from one side to the other. It was an eternity. It was no time at all.
She found herself standing in pitch black. There was no definition to the space. No wall, no ceiling, no floor. Only obsidian and the mirror. She stared out at her home. One step forward would take her back, right? She took that step. And didn’t move. She held out her hand, feeling for a hard surface. Nothing. Her clothes were no longer shredded, her flesh no longer bleeding.
Slowly, she began to realize she was not alone. She turned carefully and faced a sea of herself. Infant Brianna, sleeping eternally in a bassinet. Toddler Brianna, wobbling on chubby legs. Through the years, it seemed every iteration of her waited. For what, she couldn’t fathom. They didn’t speak. They didn’t move. They stared out into the hallway.
There were future Briannas as well. The old woman who pulled her in, yes, but also every age between now, then, and beyond. They stood slightly apart from the others, as if knowing they didn’t yet belong.
Panic rose, choking her. Brianna spun again and again, seeking a way out. She pushed aside a gathering of pouting teenagers and ran deeper into the Other Side. She ran with wild terror until she had to bend over, hands on knees as she panted and gasped for air.
She hadn’t moved an inch.
Tears welled up. This had to be a nightmare. There was no way this was her reality. Another turn. Another strain for the mirror.
An exasperated voice pulled her attention, and she looked over her shoulder to see an elegant, well-dressed version of her current self step out of the darkness.
“You’re wasting us.”
She pushed Brianna backward and stepped through the mirror, straightening her tailored jacket as she briefly vanished. Brianna tumbled into the elderly women, crying out first in surprise and then in horror as the arms that caught her began to melt. She looked up, watching their faces liquefy and slide off their skulls. Their eyes lingered, accusing her, before they fell. As one rolled down her shoulder, she pulled away, slipping in what was left of her future.
Sobs tore free and she tried to throw herself at the mirror, to follow her doppelganger. To get away. She could move no further forward than she had been before, and once there, she could move nowhere else. She was trapped.
Time didn’t pass for the catatonic horde. Other small hints spoke to her of moments rising and dying. The older versions dried, their skulls eventually turning to dust. There was no sunrise and no sunset on their Side. They could only watch time shift through the mirror.
As her imposter lived her life, new future selves appeared, with hungry eyes and malice-painted lips. They smiled at her, knowing the secret to it all, but not telling. Words were not exchanged in this place. Brianna had heard nothing since the pretender left.
That was when she gave up. She’d been trying to find an answer. A reason for this sudden shift in her fortunes. But there was no lesson to be learned, no higher power trying to change her ways. She was there, and the why didn’t matter.
Her mimic didn’t appear to age. They watched her move through life, watched her live, while they were held in limbo. And every time her mirror self passed, every time she walked by, that bitch winked.
Kimberly Rei
Kimberly Rei, in addition to writing creepy tales, is an editor with Black Hare Press and takes joy in offering the wobbly wisdom of her experience. She does her best work in the places that can't exist...the in-between places where imagination defies reality. With a penchant for dark corners and hooks that leave readers looking over their shoulder, she is always on the lookout for new ideas, new projects, and new ways to make words dance. Her debut novelette, Chrysalis, is available on Amazon. Kimberly lives in gorgeous Florida where the Gulf hides monsters and the sun is a special kind of horror.