Refracta_Persona

After my granddads recent spur of the moment decision to move abroad, it fell to me and my brother to sort through the old barn besides his home. By the looks of its interior, he’d been using it as storage, with a mish mash of boxes, antique furniture and a battered old pickup truck filling the dusty structure.



We began our four day long clean out, with the intention of finding some expensive relic that would have made the labour worth it. Initially we expected a free for all, with multiple members of our family coming to claim whatever was inside the barn. Evidently a box of old jewelry and a set of power tools were the only things of value, and no-one was crossing state lines for them.



On our last day, having reached the back wall, I tore down a thick white tarp which covered a corner of the room. Underneath the surprisingly dense, mesh like cover was a large rustic oak mirror.



The almost two-meter tall, arched mirror glistened as the thin rays of light pierced the decaying roof above. Its perimeter was adorned with a spiral, branching leaf like pattern encrusted with a set of seemingly runic letters.



Maybe it was good fortune, but Ebony had been pestering me for a full-length mirror before undertaking the clean-up. Slapping it, bound in the tarp, and a hand full of boxes into my trunk, if nothing else at least I wouldn’t have to buy a brand-new mirror.



Placing it on the landing, I admired the design and reveled in the fact that I could cross off two tasks today. Whilst staring deeply into the mirror, my reflection seemed a little uncanny. The silhouette in front of me was practically identical, though my proportions seemed ever so slightly off.  



Checking the mirror and eyeballing weather the glass was straight; my face was only an inch or two from its surface. As I scanned, the right side of my face felt a fraction warmer, not to the extent it was obvious, rather the feeling of warm breath on my cheek.



Pulling back, the reflection seemed to react a millisecond slower, lagging behind just enough to get me to question if I was in fact hallucinating. A loud call, averted my attention downstairs to Ebony, arriving home.



With one short glance back at the mirror, I pushed those thoughts out of my mind, justifying what I’d seen as a trick of the light or my lack of energy from the clean-up.



Ebony approved of the mirror, saying I did a good job and now that’s sorted I can finally book an appointment with the opticians. She even liked the runic letters, saying that they gave a rustic look to its design, though neither of us could read them.



Unlike myself, she didn’t get any of the same strange feelings when viewing the mirror, which only confounded my previous excuses.



That evening, sometime in the early morning, I got up to use the bathroom. Our landing is set out like a rectangle, with three doors and the staircase in each corner. With the mirror facing the staircase, placed at the back wall, you wouldn’t have a reason to view it on the way from the bedroom to the bathroom door.  



On my way back from relieving myself, rubbing my eyes from the bright LED lights of the bathroom, I quickly flicked my gaze up, being startled by movement ahead of me. Obviously, I wasn’t used to perceiving my own reflection yet, especially not in the early hours of the morning. Oddly though, my movements in the reflection seemed forced.



The only way I can describe it is if a person was attempting to copy your walking pattern as you moved. Occasionally stepping too fast or slow, but not enough to be overtly noticeable.



Again, I was tired and with my brain nagging me back to the comfort of the warm bed, I obliged.



The next week moved slowly, but my mind got used to the mirror. Other than an incident with a missing pair of socks, that I attributed to my poor eyesight, nothing much happened.



We had been playfighting over who should take the washing upstairs and she’d thrown a pair of socks at me. With my superhuman reflexes, I’d dodged her missile and heard the faint sound of it collide with the mirror upstairs.



After dropping off the towels, I came back for the socks, seeing their reflection in the mirror. However, searching the landing, the physical location was harder to ascertain.



Kneeling down didn’t aid my search, to the point I even looked behind the mirror, regardless of their reflection in plain view. After repeated blinks and a strong eye rub, my reflection knelt in their place, though there were no socks on his side. Conveniently, the pair sat on the beige carpet at my feet, which couldn’t have been the case for that entire time.



Being so close to the mirror again, the glass seemed to almost ripple, like a stone being dropped into a calm lake. It only lasted for a second, but a deep rooted, primal portion of my brain screamed out for me to step away.



That was harder to rationalize, but again I pushed it out of my mind and just made a mental note to go to the opticians later.



I remember questioning that feeling and was considering getting rid of the mirror, in favor of the fairly expensive one Ebony had asked for initially.



That was until I was making a phone call, the day after, which solidified what I needed to do.  



Pacing the landing as you do whilst listening to the distorted jingle, on hold from the opticians. I’d just exited the bathroom and was facing towards the mirror, not paying much attention to myself in its reflection.



A voice on the other end of the phone began asking me questions as I answered accordingly, all the while I stared into that facsimile. For the first time, I wasn’t curious or confused by its poor imitation, I was completely and utterly paralyzed where I stood.



The image before me in that ancient wooden window, wasn’t hiding itself behind my form anymore. As I spoke, feeling my tongue and lips move in tandem, the entity I was certain was my reflection, stood motionless, its mouth tightly closed, and eyes locked in on my own.



Staring deeply into my own eyes, a short smile contorted on its copy of my face, before it resumed its illusion, matching my movements perfectly.



If it could reflect me exactly, why had it shown me it was an independent entity. Regardless, I knew there and then that something was wrong with the mirror and my reflection. It needed to go.



Excusing myself from the call and darting down to the garage, I needed to find the tarp I’d brought it in. I knew Ebony would be back soon as we had a meal planned, and I was sure as hell not letting her get too close now.



Racing up the staircase, tarp flowing behind me, its eyes followed my movements as I approached. Tilting the mirror and draping the covering over the back, avoiding any contact with the glass itself, I found myself standing face to face with my reflection again. It must have known what I was planning and no-longer seemed to care weather I knew it was an entity separate from myself, or not.



Its eyes, wider than before, limbs outstretched as it lent against the glass. Its uncanny frame, undulated as the glass itself seemed to faintly vibrate. I don’t know how long I stood there staring into that fragile image of myself, gripping the corner of the tarp, ready to swing my right hand down and plunge the copy into darkness.



A call rang out from downstairs as the front door swung open. Ebony’s voice and a sharp gust of cold air permeating the second floor, as it smiled back at me.



“Ben, are you ready? We need to set off now if were going to get there on time.”



As my head swiveled to call down, responding to her question, the ice cold feeling of an unnaturally smooth surface, stung the wrist of my right hand, reverberating through my entire body.



In a split second the feeling of being dropped from an immeasurable height engulfed me, as an unfathomably deep hole opened in my chest.



Regaining consciousness after a near ephemeral expanse of time, I stared back into my own eyes.



Paralleling my movements moments ago, my left hand now only gripped air, where the tarp had been. My reflection stepped backwards as I did, bumping into the banister behind me, causing me to turn.



Scanning the landing, the hall seemed to be flipped. Walking over and slowly swinging the door open I was met with nothing.  Where my bedroom should have been was a blank white expanse, stretching for an infinitesimal distance in all directions.



Stepping back whilst turning my head, I could see the elated expression on my reflections face as it looked at its hands and touched its face, polarizing my slack jawed visage.



Spinning and rushing over to the staircase, in a foe attempt to seek comfort in Ebony’s voice, I opened my mouth to call out her name. If I had, I would have been calling out into another maddeningly hollow white scape, lingering three steps down from me.



My heart beat a vigorous melody as my body seemed to vibrate, gripping the banister for any semblance of support, under a crushing weight. Looking back to the mirror, my reflection was stationary, watching my hysterical reaction to the situation he had been all too familiar with.



Something caught my eye as I stared back from this side. The runes adorning the frame of the mirror, seemed much more legible. In an ancient, flowing script were the words ‘Refracta Persona.’



Breaking us from our silent realization, the sound of footsteps echoed up the stairs as Ebony spoke.



“Ben, come on lets … what are you doing?”



My mouth opened, but the words that spilt weren’t my own.



“I’m just not feeling it babe, sorry. Don’t worry, I’ll get that one you were eyeing up and drop this off at the tip tomorrow.”



Smiling, she nodded, stepping back to the staircase as my copy pulled the corner of the tarp over the rest of the glass.



His smile growing as the light faded, punctuated by my world fading beneath my feet. With no light and nothing to reflect, I was cold, alone and without form.



I don’t know how long I’ve been here or if I’ve always been in this place, with those false memories crafted to give me even a modicum of agency.



A light pierced the endless night, as structure crystallized beneath my now reforming feet. From that triangular crack, a woman’s face peered deeply into my window, as I followed her lead.



Moments later, as she stripped back the cover, I was face to face with a middle-aged woman, as she marveled at what I assume where the mirrors adornments. My feet rested on a dusty stone floor as we shuffled through a series of boxes and old car parts.



“This would look perfect in our living room. Stan can’t say no if I just get it, can he?”



A wave of relief overtook me as even in my fragile state, I knew what I had to do. With a bitter realization, the anger I had for my reflection in that crumbling memory dissipated.



Just like him, if I wanted to break free of my restraints, I needed her to come closer.