The demon in the mirror
This is a work of fiction.
Names are pure coincidence.
Locations may be real; I am
not entirely sure. Be advised
this contains some gore imagery.
Enjoy the read.
Have you ever looked into a mirror, and wondered, “What if something malevolent was to pop out and get me?” I didn’t, until a few hours ago.
My name is Connor, and I live near Eugene, Oregon. For years, I longed for the four bed, two and- a-half bath house that rests just north of Eugene.
When I turned 23, about four years back, I was surprised to see the house for sale at some ridiculously low price
and, of course, I bought it. Moving in wasn’t so much a hassle, being fresh out of college and not owning too much. The previous owners had left it semi-furnished, which was nice, except for one thing: an ornate mirror.
The mirror frame is adorned with what looks like sumac leaves; similar to olive leaves, but different in shape. Ancient runic engravings line the space without the leaves. The glass is tinted a slight black, but hardly noticeable. But the aura around the mirror was all malevolent.
For those four years I left it where it hung in front of the front door, my reflection stared back every time I left the house until I finally decided to get rid of it. The moment I got in the house after I threw it in the garbage bin outside, to my surprise, the stupid thing was back where it was before, but the aura was stronger, more evil. I went to remove it once more, but a stinging sensation shot up my arms.
Flipping my hands back, I see streaks of Chardonnay red streaking down the front of the mirror, bits of fire red and olive are sticking to where my hands had touched the mirror and glass. I look to my hands and see bone and muscle. And lots of blood. I shoot my gaze to the mirror, but instead of my reflection, a horned beast stares back at me through the blood covering the glass. Glowing red eyes, a mask of what looked to be a skull, covered a mostly rotted face, the lack of lips and sickly gray skin are evidence enough. I turn and run. Run as fast as I can, drops of blood pittering behind me as I swing my hands back and forth.
I make it to one of the spare bedrooms, hide in the closet. I am still there. I heard glass shatter about an hour ago, with a rather deep but loud growl rumbling through the house.
I sit here, shakily writing this on my cell, the brightness all the way down. I hear heavy footsteps outside the door to the room. The door opens. I can see it. Blood red wings, ash gray rotted skin strung upon a bony body. If anyone finds this, and I’m not here, assume the worst.
Do not look for me. I am alre…