Mirror and Shadow

What a goddamned task this is. I don't know how anybody from back then put up with so many layers without getting overstimulated. Attending modern-day masquerades, while completely worth the struggle of corset hooks, curls, and enough bobby pins to lockpick a bank vault, is a journey both in preparation and in decompression.

My first order of business after kicking off my heels was to release my ribcage from its prison, a love-hate relationship brewing with this particular corset as I inhale my first healthy lungful of air in six hours, which brings me to the present moment as I reach for the wide array of pins in my hair.

The hotel room's mirror sits in an ornate frame above the antique dresser, in line with the rest of the building's historical architecture. The committee had insisted upon holding this year's All Hallow's Eve masquerade ball at this particular venue, claiming that the rumors of haunting would add to the "spooky season ambience". As such, tickets were hiked in price, much to the grumbles of some of the previous attendees, but most people who show up to these things seemed willing to shell out the extra cash for a night at a more opulent location, if tonight's crowd was anything to go by.

As I pull pin after pin from my updo, letting them clink to the surface of the dresser after freeing hairspray-coated curls, I take a moment to thank myself for choosing to bail on the post-dance ghost hunt. Not only were my feet, lungs, and scalp in need of a time-out almost as soon as the festivities came to an end, but paranormal activity seemed like an unsettling way to end the night before one has to fall asleep without trouble.

Thankfully, Trisha and the others know me too well to push me into--

As if on cue, my phone buzzes right next to where I'm dropping the last pin, my remaining curl tumbling down to join the rest of my hair. Massaging my sore scalp with one hand, I pick up the call.

"Yo."

"Hey! Did you make it back to the room okay?" asks Trisha, seemingly out of breath, at which my brow furrows.

"Yeah, is everything alright? Are you guys done with the ghost tour already?" I ask, combing my fingers through my stiff-sprayed tresses, idly watching my reflection.

"Not quite," comes her reply. "The tour itself is almost over, and then comes the hunt in the more public areas. God, I made a mistake doing this in heels."

"I'll say. Think they'll let you go barefoot? Your gown might be poofy enough to get away with it."

"Hah! That might not actually be a bad idea," says Trisha. I can't tell whether she's actually considering it, but her next statement diverts my attention. "Listen. I know hauntings wig you out, so I wanted to let you know--"

All of a sudden, I'm plunged into total darkness, and a shriek tears itself from my throat, heart lurching into a sprint--before the lights pop back on a second later.

"Anna? Anna! What's wrong?!"

"The power just cut out and came back on!" I pant, pulse thundering in my chest, my own terror reflected back at me through the mirror, the hand unoccupied with my phone clutching at my sternum as spikes of adrenaline slow just as they'd started.

"Jesus fuck, I thought you were getting murdered! Listen - I was going to tell you that on ghost nights, people like to mess with the guests," Trisha explains, "by fucking with the lights."

Through the layer of utter panic surrounding my head, Trisha's words somehow manage to sink in.

I take a steadying breath.

"Really, now?" I ask, thick sarcasm returning in full force as my panting begins to even out, eyes flickering around the mirror. Shadows seem to dance in it, easy to chalk up to the sudden darkness and rapidly returned light messing with my retinas. "What impeccable timing they have."

"I'll say," replies Trisha, parroting my earlier words. "They really like to play up the urban legends, or at least that's what the tour guide told us."

"Suddenly, I'm starting to think that refusing to look into this place and its apparent jackassery was a bad idea," I say wryly, moving to take out my earrings.

"I mean, I get why you didn't," Trisha answers. "You have to sleep with the lights on after watching Supernatural, imagine looking into actual hauntings."

"I'd rather not," comes my dry reply.

"Okay, I have to get back, or they're gonna leave without me, but I just wanted to let you know that you might see a few more flickering lights before the night is over," says Trisha. I can't hear the clack of her heels anymore in the background. Maybe she really did ditch them to go barefoot on the marble floors, but before I can crack wise about it, something catches my eye.

"Hang on," I say, squinting a little at my shadow in the reflection. I blink, trying to make sure I'm seeing what I'm seeing. "Did they say anything about fucking with the mirrors, too?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean--" I start, then cut myself off, looking behind me. Just my shadow. I turn back to the reflection.

There's a second one.

Right next to me.

My breath turns to ice in my lungs. As if outside my body, I watch my own eyes widen in the mirror, fixed in terror on the shadow adjacent to my own.

"Anna? Hello??"

Trisha's voice is right next to my ear but sounds a mile away. I swallow, fighting the tremor in my fingers, forcing the next words out as if the sound of my voice itself will be my own demise.

"Did they say anything about shadows in mirrors?" I murmur, lips barely moving, voice almost inaudible. My ears feel stuffed with cotton, overrun by the blood pounding in them as the shadow next to mine remains still.

"Anna, what's wr--"

"Just answer the question," comes the demand, forced from my throat, soft but with no room for argument as my eyes remain open, unblinking, heart threatening to escape my ribcage. "Please."

Trisha stops. Then starts again, "I-I mean...they talked about some people seeing shadows in their mirrors near this time of year, but no one's been able to prove it. Obviously, I wasn't gonna say anything cuz it would keep you up all night, but the tour guide said something about a man who...passed away here, and...paranormal investigators never found anything. But it was just a legend! And the lights keep getting messed with, so maybe your eyes are playing tricks on you! There's no such thing as a haunted mirror anyway! Or if there ever was a spirit here that long ago, maybe it's gone now."

Trisha's words only half-register over the instinct screaming at me to run from the room, to get in my car, to drive the three hours home, the urge locked in war with the equal one to stay absolutely, utterly still.

My vision blurs.

My eyes dry.

I blink again.

And it's just my own shadow.

My chest loosens.

"Anna? Anna, please tell me you're fucking w--"

"Yeah," I exhale, feet still rooted to the floor, eyes blinking moisture back into themselves. "Yeah, maybe...maybe the lights were fucking with me."

"You just scared the bejesus out of me!" says Trisha, fond but exasperated. "I thought I was gonna have to run barefoot to the elevator, the others be damned!"

Relief floods my system. Still just my shadow. Scared as I am to turn around and check the wall, I do, and...same thing.

"Last time we're staying here, ever," I iterate, a humorless huff of laughter punctuating the statement. "Two scares in two minutes, and I didn't even go on the fucking ghost tour."

"Yeah, I didn't wanna have to tell you more than you needed to know, but in case you have any more lights flickering, it's all a part of the event, and nothing more," says Trisha. She sounds out of breath again. Probably catching up with the tour group.

"Yeah," I reply, sinking down onto one of the beds, reassuring myself more than anything as my heart rate once again attempts to get back to baseline. "Plus, no one has ever proven anything about the man in the mirror. So maybe he really is gone."

Silence on the other end of the line.

"Trisha?"

Silence.

"Hello?"

"I never left," comes a male voice.

"...who is this?" I ask, nerves fried by not one but two jumpscares, agitation replacing fear. "If you're trying to mess with me, it's not funny. Give Trisha her phone back."

"I never left."

"Yeah, no shit, you're still on the line with me after I told you to give the phone back to my friend."

Silence.

"Hello?"

"I never left."

"Okay, this is getting really old," I snap, at my wits' end, pulling back the phone in preparation to just hang up and call back. "Can you just--"

That's...not possible. The call was disconnected, all my apps and home screen back to normal. I didn't hear anyone hang up, how can anyone be talking? I move to call Trisha back, hoping to be done with the stupid prank, when I hear the voice again as if on speaker.

"I never left."

Every drop of blood in my veins freezes over, my eyes fixed on a point in space far, far away, the soft hairs on the back of my neck standing on end.

The lights flicker, throwing my heart rate into a gallop, the gooseflesh erupting along every inch of my skin having nothing at all to do with the sudden drop in temperature, no wheeze of hotel air conditioning to accompany the change.

For a moment, I stand stock still.

And then, as if time begins to move again, I lunge for my wallet, my keys, my purse, and my shoes, moving to run for the door.

"Don't go."