Reflection of Madness

The mirror had an eerie feel to it. At first glance, it was an ordinary mirror: a classic frame, and a slight crack at the bottom. I had inherited it from a distant relative, whom I had barely known. In her will, she stated that the mirror was “something special”. The night after I had received it, I heard a faint moaning noise. It awoke me from a sound sleep. I pushed my nerves aside and began to search for the cause of the noise. I soon realized, after searching all around, that the sounds were coming from the mirror. I immediately threw the mirror in a closet, where I would not hear the noise, and for a while I didn’t, but the mirror was slowly getting angry.
A few months later, I moved into a new house. I had completely forgotten about the strange mirror, and neglected to put it away in storage when unpacking. Later that night, the moaning started again, although this time, it sounded more forceful and angry. I followed the noise to the mirror again, and found myself looking into it. All of a sudden, a woman appeared in the mirror, and it was not me. I stumbled backwards in shock and looked behind me: nothing. The woman was still in the mirror. She was hauntingly beautiful, and looked like she was from the 1750s. She had a wicked grin on her face, similar to a madman’s, as she began to laugh hysterically. Frantically, I ran back to my bedroom and locked the door. I had no idea whom this woman was but I was determined to find out.
Over the following two weeks, I began to dig for information. I later found out that the woman was the previous owner of the mirror and had gone mad. As a result, she had been placed in an institution. As she grew older, the mirror had become her only joy, and she would stare at it for hours on end. There came a day when she began to refuse food or drink, for it would take away from her time with the mirror. She died of starvation at the age of 25. Her soul had taken up residence in the mirror. She could not see herself now that she was imprisoned and was searching for someone to take her place. I knew at an instant that she wanted me to replace her.
For the next few weeks I tried to dispose of the mirror. I tried selling it, giving it away, and even throwing it out, but no one would take it. Eventually I stopped working in order to give my undivided attention to the mirror, but even then I had no positive results. I then realized the only way to get the mirror not to take me was to offer someone else to it. I immediately thought of an old acquaintance of mine that was very vain. She cared for nothing more than being beautiful, but, alas, when I offered her the mirror, she refused to take it, saying it was too old for her young lifestyle. I then knew the only way to give her to the mirror was to kill her.
My plan took action the following night. I, having no murder experience whatsoever, grabbed my best butcher’s knife and went to her home, entering as quietly as I could. I believed she was alone. Upon arriving, I went to her room, watched her for a moment and pounced like a lion on its prey. She screamed, but she was stronger than she looked; she immediately threw me off of her, after only a second had gone by. I, knowing I had a slim chance of succeeding, dashed from the room, and since it was dark in her room, she never saw my face. I was never caught.
After realizing murder was not an option, I began to try new ways of disposing the mirror. I gave it as a gift, and even threw it off a cliff, but it would always appear in my home the next day. I then began to lose my temper; out of anger, I slammed my fist into the mirror, succeeding in shattering it, but giving myself a bloody hand in the process. I treated my hand and dropped the pieces in the garbage can outside. Naturally, I assumed the mirror would never trouble me again, but the next day, it was in the same place as usual, fully intact. All I could do was stare at it in disbelief. How could it be fixed? It was impossible! I began to feel aghast. The mirror must have chosen me!
I had one more option to try in order to escape the mirror. It was to leave the house for good. That very day I packed my bags and left. I had to move away from the mirror before I became trapped inside of it. My sister agreed to let me live with her, for her house had an extra bedroom. She lived more than an hour away from me, and I figured a mirror couldn’t travel without human help. I began to believe this; for a week I had no trouble with the mirror. Honestly, I believed I was free. Then, one morning as I was walking toward the kitchen, I saw the mirror, right next to the kitchen door. I let out a bloodcurdling scream, and my sister came running. “What is it?!”She cried. “You sound like you’ve seen a ghost!” I turned to her with, I’m sure, frightened eyes. “It’s the mirror,” I screamed. “It’s back!” “What’s the matter with a mirror,” she replied. “It looks ordinary.” “But it wants me! She wants me!” I screamed. “Hide me!” I then ran for my bedroom, with my sister’s confused eyes boring into the back of my head. When I entered the room, I locked the door and then hid in the closet. I didn’t come out for a week.
When I came out of my sanctuary, my sister approached me. She told me I had a problem and needed to get help quickly. “I think it’s best if you stay somewhere else…for your sake.” She told me. I could see I was a child to her now: unstable, needy, and delusional. It angered me. I screamed several phrases at her, grabbed my bags, and left her house.
I relocated to my car, where I remained in solitude for weeks. I spent countless hours attempting to think of a strategy to outsmart the mirror, only stopping for a minimal amount of sleep, food, and water. Through all of this, the mirror had taken up residence in my back seat, appearing to mock me. The sight of it made me angry; I wanted it gone so badly. I plunged deeper into my planning, but I couldn’t think of a strategy that would have a high probability of working. Time soon became unimportant to me. The only variation of time I now saw throughout the day was between night and day. I knew deep inside I was losing control.
My efforts went on for a while after. I didn’t know the exact length of time. Then one day, I woke up in my house. The incident must have been a dream. I laughed in spite of myself; I couldn’t believe the entire event had never happened! A moment later, I glanced at my alarm clock to see how late I had slept. To my surprise, the numbers were written incorrectly, as if they were being reflected onto the clock. I assured myself that my eyes were probably not working right due to the lighting in the room. I then arose and went through the day normally. Confusion hit me again when I traveled through my home during the day; the layout seemed to be opposite. I decided I needed to reflect on my confusion later. The only questions I had throughout the day were about the writing on various objects I encountered throughout the day. Why were the letters backwards? I glanced at a mirror to fix my hair at one point and saw the clock in the background; it was 2:45.