Shadows

Trigger warning: references to death, mental health

- Did you see that?!

I almost jumped but my mother’s steady grip held me in place. She was braiding my hair. I was sitting in front of the mirror when I saw someone there. It was a fraction of a moment but I was sure there was a silhouette in the corner and it couldn’t be mother, because she was right behind me and our reflections intertwined in the middle.

- Murderer,- a whisper cut right through me. I shivered.

- Don’t move! I’m almost done, - said mother

No, it wasn’t mother’s voice, but whose was it? I had to make an effort and stay still while my whole body was screaming to escape. All the remaining time I was thoroughly examining the surrounding in the reflection. Was there something familiar that scared me? Was that just an optical illusion? But everything was the same: behind us was mother’s desk, and a glimpse of the bed. There was my late grandmother’s portrait on the bedside. I started to feel her presence and it made me uncomfortable. The mirror was moved to mother’s room shortly after her death. Somehow it always creeped me out and I never stayed alone there. Not like death was something foreign to me. I spend a lot of time daydreaming about dying, perhaps too much. I was suicidal, everyone was, and I played it off by pretending to be indifferent to it all. But I was, in fact, terrified.

Due to the uneventful next 15 minutes, my fear subsided and I brushed it off as a one-time hallucination. Mother was braiding my hair every weekend. It was so long that it tickled my thighs when undone. Grandmother also kept hers long and she taught me how to care for it. When I was little it was our thing and after her passing I felt like it was a bridge between us, something she left me. Cutting it would be a betrayal, even though it was hard for me to manage.

Recently the memories of grandmother were randomly appearing in my mind. On many occasions when I let them guide me, they took me to the future that could’ve been with her in it. Like a delayed grief, with what ifs all over my heart. She was just 53 when she passed away, I am 13 now. Her death in our family was always a matter-of-factual. We weren’t expressing much emotion and we almost never discussed how we felt. The only time I’d seen mother cry was.. well, never, actually. We prided ourselves in being reserved people: moved by nothing, quietly overthinking everything.

- All done ,- said mother and the comb away in the drawer

I didn’t check my hair in the mirror and quickly went downstairs in search of destructions. Our house wasn’t fancy at all, but it was home and had enough space for everyone. We kept grandmother’s room intact on the first floor. Mine and parents’ bedrooms were upstairs but we mostly hung out in the living room. Mother baked a blueberry pie and the whole house was filled with warmth. For the evening I almost forgot about the unsettling incident.

The next morning mother and I were getting ready together in her room. I could see this time that the mirror wasn’t in a good condition at all. The wooden frame was cracking on all sides, and the corners of the glass were peeling off. Mother was trying on different earrings to wear with her outfit.

- Blue sapphire or diamonds?

- Blue for sure

- Hm

She never followed my recommendations but maybe she liked to engage me. I was scrutinising my skin in the mirror when I saw a silhouette again. Clearly this time, and it wasn’t alone.

- Look! Do you see it?!

- What?

- There’s someone in the mirror!

- Yeah it’s us, are you a cat or what? - mom laughed because our cat was always startled of her own reflection

- No! Look! There are other people there!

Worryingly but obediently mother started to examine our reflections, but found no one else.

- Maybe you should rest, child

- But mom, they’re moving!

- Oh

She went to the kitchen to get a thermometer for me and maybe pray to God and I kept looking at the shadows. They were oblivious to me and I figured soon that it was my family. I could see mother’s slender figure moving left to right, her bob haircut slightly swaying. Father’s tall and respectable stance. And then there was grandmother. Alive and just as I remember her, she was there. They were transparent and I could see myself watching them, but my shadow was nowhere to be seen.

- Murderer,- a whisper like a cold breeze brushed my hair again, and I knew it was from the mirror. I wasn’t sure if it was addressing me or why my parents were there too. Perplexed I desperately searched for answers. I realised that something was different this time - I felt guilty. A part of me agreed with the whispers, I just didn’t know which one. “When there’s smoke, there’s fire”. Seeing my whole family on the other side made me feel incredibly lonely, even though my parents were in the same house with me and very much alive. Nothing really made sense.

It kept happening for weeks and I felt like a dark cloud was always over my head. I didn’t have a fever and I wasn’t mental. Mother took me to a doctor and they did some tests, but besides being “mildly suicidal within normal range for a teenager” everything was in order. Did I trick psychiatrist into thinking I was fine? Was I actually going insane? Why couldn’t mother see anything? For my sanity I asked to move the mirror back to grandmother’s room. But I couldn’t find any explanations.

That afternoon I was home alone and the house was quiet. My loneliness amplified into something I couldn’t fathom. I felt that I was all alone in the world. No one would ever come back for me. And it was all my fault.

I heard sounds in grandmother’s room and decided to check it, but nothing was happening when I came in. I looked around and realised I Hadn’t been there for years. We left it almost untouched, her half-burnt candle, a worn-out bible and a picture of us remained as she left them on a bedside table. I sat on the edge of her bed and took the photo frame in my hands. I instantly recognised the outfit from the Christmas school play where I caught pneumonia. I was sick for 2 months and spent all holidays with a fever trying to roast my insides. Suddenly a memory of mother’s friend hit me like a knife in the back: beware of being ill when the year starts, it might take something dear away.

A huge cloud of regret came over me and covered me like a spiky blanket. I started vigorously sobbing. I was a murderer. At that time, I heard an indistinctive sound coming from the mirror.

- Who’s there? Grandmother? - I whispered startled.

When I looked there I saw her very clearly. She was smiling and waving at me, so instinctively I came closer.

She didn’t say anything and her smile was fainting until it transformed into a smirk. She was stretching her hand towards me and inviting me to come inside. I came even closer to the mirror and touched the surface. Unexpectedly, it was hollow and my hand went through. Grandmother instantly grabbed it and pulled me inside.

I woke up on the ground in the same spot. Did I faint? The room looked the same but the lights were dimmer, something wasn’t right. Am I dead?

- You’re not dead, child

- Ah,- I almost screamed. In the corner of the room, in grandmother’s armchair sat a woman. She had copper hair and she was wearing a black gown. I was mortified, but something about her made me feel peaceful.

- Who are you? How did you get here?

- You know who I am.

- Yeah, I guess so. But I always thought you were a man..

- Why? Because it’s an antithesis to a woman who gives life? A man who takes it?

- Because it’s an antithesis to a woman who gives life I guess

- A man who takes it?

-Yeah

- Well, I come in many forms.

Her voice was calm and inviting. A sudden wave of peace came over me. I wasn’t scared of her after all.

- But if I am not dead, why are you here?

- The question is: why are you here

- Well, my grandmother brought me

- And why do you follow the dead?

- I thought that’s what I was supposed to do. The reflections don’t have me in them, I did the unimaginable, should’t I die?

- And you’re certain they show your destiny?

- What else? And if the mirror took me here..

- You wanted to go. You chose it.

She was right. I did want it. I couldn’t live with the realisation of my mistake. This felt like the only way.

- Ok, so what now? Can I see grandmother?

- You don’t belong here, but you cannot go back yet

- What do you mean?

- You keep pulling your grandmother to life, and she doesn’t belong there, resulting in both of you being stuck in a limbo.

- Oh.

- People are funny because you think you have control over life, but you never did. The timing is always right, and it’s not up to you.

- But grandmother..

- She’s totally fine.

- What should I do now?

- You need to return to life, of course.

She disappeared in the blink of an eye and I was alone again. I tried to call for grandmother and squeeze myself back in the mirror, all in vain. Outside the world looked the same, only I couldn’t get out of the room because the door was shut. I figured she either wanted me to actually die here, or I needed to solve this riddle. I started going through the drawers until I found old rusty scissors.

- That will do I guess, - I said to myself and started cutting my hair. It was challenging but I manager to give myself an uneven bob, which made me look a lot like mother. The moment I saw myself in the mirror, I felt happy for the first time since her passing. I was free, we both were.

I woke up in our real house, mother calling me for dinner. The next day I took a bus to the cemetery and brought grandmother flowers.