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Whispers From The Mirror

Marc McMahon

    I quietly wake up as to not disturb my partners from their slumber, or should I say my 110-pound four-legged furry fellas anyways. Wyatt and Earp are their names in case you were wondering. They are a very protective combination of Lab and Chow-Chow, very loyal these two are. But enough of all that. I softly put my feet onto the bedroom floor and started off for my two a.m. constitutional when something very peculiar happened. As I walked into the bathroom I could have sworn I heard something, voices?
    Yes, I am sure of it voices but where were they coming from? Distant and faint, jumbled and far-away sounding. Almost as if they were being shouted from the end of a long narrow tube that has cotton stuffed in one end to muffle the sound. As I creep a couple more steps in towards the toilet something in the mirror catches my attention out of the corner of my right eye. I turn and look towards whatever it was that scurried across the mirror when I notice after a minute I have been almost entranced, seemingly frozen in time. A few moments later still shocked by the morning’s events I catch myself, listening, to the still soft whispers coming from the mirror.

    Whispers of secrets and quiet moaning slowly begin to turn into screams of torment and terror as the clearness of the mirror begins to slowly burn blood red. All of this accompanied by the smell of burning, rotten flesh shook me to my core. I was all but paralyzed, frozen, like a leaf that never made it to the shore before the lake froze over for winter. Or your eight-year-old grandson as you walk into the kitchen and catch him elbow deep into the cookie jar.

    Or kind of like if you were walking down the street minding your own business. When all of the sudden an all-black van pulls up next to you, slides open the side door and 3 huge men all in black with guns jump out, toss you in, and speed off. Once inside the van you cannot understand the language spoken, you are in moments gagged, bound, and a black hoodie is pulled over your face and cinched tight around your neck. Wrapped up neatly with duct tape around the ankles and you are scared to near death.

    Van stops, door slides open and away you go not walking but being quickly carried obviously upstairs, the door opens, BOOM! You land hard on a carpeted floor as you feel the cold backside of a steel blade slide across the insides of your wrists and sliced........................The duct tape is cut off your wrists and door slams closed, locked! You awkwardly free yourself only to realize you are back in your apartment but somethings different, very different, and it’s scary, and it starts to hurt, and it’s Grandma, Grandpa, is that you that I hear?

    I know you’re here I know you are your always hear. Why can’t I see you, Why can’t I see you anymore! It’s not because you are dead it can’t be because you are still here So why can’t I see you anymore it’s not fair. If God can see you and the angels can see you then how come I can’t see you anymore? How come? Is it because I use drugs? Or was I just so bad that one time that God said I can’t have you any more? Or, was it because that one time when Jimmy and I snuck over the fence and into Mr. Woodstone shed that I can’t? I swear we didn’t take anything, Grandma?

    I don’t like this, this living without you being around, without being able to sleep between you and Grandpa when he has the window open but only a little so he does not snore. I miss you both so much and it is lonely here without you two and I haven’t felt safe since you both left. I just miss you more than I have ever missed anything before and sometimes I just don’t know what to do. Please help me. Come and save me from myself and take me with you where I can finally feel warm again. Please, I promise I will be good, wait, wait, don’t go! Please don’t leave me again I can’t do this all alone.

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