Reflections [Short Story]

She lives alone in her mansion, a building made completely of mirrors. Every wall, floor, and ceiling is a mirror, placed at a perfect angle to ensure the illusion of endless space. The mirrors are made of a substance unknown to all but her, and the polished surface seems immune to dirt and scratches, while at the same time, it absorbs all sounds, so that the interior of her abode is completely silent. The only room in the house not mirrored is that which contains the necessities of life: shower, sink, latrine, and crates of food. She only leaves her home once per year, when she goes shopping. She buys a full year's worth of water and non-perishable foods, paying all her bills with odd stones that no scientist can identify, yet all agree they are valuable. She sleeps in that room as well, suspended upside down by a strange machine. I know of all this because, two years ago, I visited her house, lured by stories of the mirrored dwelling, a place alien to those of us used to normal life on earth, and it is because of that visit that I now will never stay in the same room as a mirror.

She seemed annoyed to see me, obviously preferring to be alone, but invited me to come in and stay awhile. I attempted to engage her in conversation, but found it nearly impossible, for the mirrored walls sucked up all sound. After a few minutes, she offered to give me a tour of the mansion, an invitation I readily accepted. As we walked through the building, with its suggestions of limitless space, I noticed something odd: though the rooms were all brightly light, there was no source for the light. I asked her about this, and she said that there were bright floodlights behind each of the mirrors. The movement of her eyes as she said it, however, indicated that she was hiding something. What that something was I will never know, for I will never return to that accursed place.

She showed me around the house, ending in a small room she used as a library. I glanced at the books, and instantly wished I hadn't. I was rather familiar with certain unholy legends, and shuddered to see the titles of the books: the Necronomicon of the mad Abdul Alhazred, an English translation of De Vermis Mysteriis, and many other books that I have only heard of in legends, and dare not name. There were also many notebooks filled with math formulas the likes of which I had never seen, and with symbols from the Necronomicon apparently used in the place of variables. When questioned about these notebooks, she explained that she used the mirrors in her home to study many obscure and formerly unknown properties of light. She then began to rant angrily. "I have discovered aspects of light and mathematics that have never before been dreamt of, and yet every publication I submit my findings to refuse to print it! They are fools, thinking they can hide from the truth. Iä! Shub-Niggurath! Well, I'll show them. My discoveries are true, and there must be someone out there that will be willing to publish them."

That night, she had me sleep on the floor of one of the many identical rooms, apologising that she had no mattress or blanket for me. She left me, and I was alone with the seemingly infinite reflections. I tried to sleep, but could not. Though I knew it was absurd, I could not help feeling that my reflections were staring at me with cruelty in their eyes. As I looked around the room, I began to feel that the mirrors were placed at angels that should not, could not, exist. And then, despite the sound-absorbing properties of the mirrors, I began to fancy I heard the reflections breathing and whispering. Finally, in a state of panic, I rose from the floor and went to find my host.
I soon got horribly lost in the endless hallways of mirrors, all placed at those impossible angles that allowed them to reflect everything at once. And then I noticed something that nearly caused me to faint (I am glad it did not, for if it had, I would surely be dead): each and every one of the infinite reflections was moving, independently of all the others, towards me, reaching out their hands to pull me through the mirrors.

I screamed, and turned to run, but found myself face to face with my host. She grinned evilly at me, and grabbed me, pushing me towards one of the mirrors. And it was then that I noticed the second horror: in one of the mirrors, she had no reflection. In an instant, I realised the truth: the thing attacking me was no human. There was no knowing what had happened to the original, but the woman attacking me now was a reflection, impossibly escaped from the mirror. With a strength born of panic, I shoved her into the mirror I knew she had emerged from, and watched as she was sucked through. I turned and ran, but not before seeing her rise and once more begin to force her way out of the mirror. I ran through the house, past the countless reflections that grabbed for me, and finally found the exit. I ran a full mile before stopping by a stream to collect myself. As I reached down to splash some water on my face, my hand was grabbed by the reflection in the water. I screamed again, kicking at the water and breaking apart the reflection. The next thing I recall is waking by the roadside in a nearby town.

I told the police all that had happened, though of course they did not believe me. Nonetheless, they agreed to search the house, and the pseudohuman that lived there did not resist. They found nothing amiss aside from the horrid books, and there is no law against possessing them. But as they opened the Necronomicon a page fell open, one that had clearly been read many times: It is possible, with many mirrors placed at proper angles, so as to create perfect reflection, to send beams of light into other spheres of existence, and then back to this world for study. One must be cautious, however, for the reflection in the mirror is a reflection of the soul, and the distortion of light created by this process can do strange and blasphemous things to that soul.

Comments are requested

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