Blue-Eyed Boy

I tried to speak, tried to think of something, a smart retort that would make him disappear and make me wake up from whatever nightmare I was in. Unintelligible whimpers left my lips.

                I was turning into a girl.

I looked into the mirror. Green eyes looked back at me, cold and glinting in the dim light. The lips of the...boy curled upwards into a smirk, as he studied my every move. What could I say? What could I do?? I leant in towards the mirror, trying to see if the image of the boy was real, or whether it was a figment of my imagination. As I drew closer, the boy leant with me, the emerald green coming closer and closer.

                My nose touched the mirror, level with the boy’s. If he had genuinely been standing in front of me, I would have been able to feel the warmth of his skin... I licked my lips out of a nervous habit; the boy’s tongue flickered out and touched his top lip the second mine did the same. Out of curiosity, this time, I moved my hand, uncrossing my arms and bringing it up as though I wanted to high-five him. Experimentally, I waved. Our movements matched.

As my palm touched the cold surface of the mirror, a hand shot out and grabbed my wrist.

The ice cold fingers curled around my arm, grabbing hard at my skin.

I screamed.

The half of the arm that was in the mirror was that of a seventeen year old. The fingers wrapped around my wrist were skeletal and bruised, a greyish pallor covering the visible blue veins.

“Please, someone, help... help me!!”

He smirked again, tightening his grip on my wrist to the point where it was almost painful. Some nightmare this was. Pain meant this was real.

“The house is big, Liam, and I thought your mother was in the city? Fixing something for you? Aren’t you alone, now? Weren’t you going to do your work tonight?”

 His tone was almost mocking, and if I could have reached through the mirror and punched him, I would have done. My fury was incredible, he had been watching me, stalking me, and I didn’t have a clue. The only emotion I was feeling that remotely matched that... was fear.

I was being held by the boy in the mirror. We stared at each other, and I tried not to look down at the...thing that had trapped my arm. I tried not to flinch as the fingers tightened their grip, and I felt my skin give way under the sharp nails. I felt a trickle of warmth down my arm, and I let out an involuntary gasp. The hand began to draw my arm towards the mirror, and I resisted, trying to shake it off me.

Its strength only doubled, pulling me sharply, almost jerking me forward as I jerked back. The boy looked as though he was bracing his feet against the corners of the mirror, but it was with fluid ease that he tugged against me again, and my fingertips hit the cool glass of the mirror. It seemed to bend as my fingerprints slid through it, up to my knuckle, and I tried to pull back again, yelling like there was no tomorrow.

Considering I didn’t know what was going to happen, I wasn’t taking any chances.

Then with a sudden burst of superior strength, my whole arm was jerked through the mirror- and with my arm, my body followed. The hand released me. I smashed my fist against the surface of the mirror, looking out into my bedroom. I could see my laptop, my calendar, my bed – as though nothing had happened. My fist smashed against the mirror, and I could feel my knuckle crack in the impact. I turned around to face the boy.

He wasn’t there.

I turned a full three-sixty, determined to scream at him, to yell at him and ask him why. There was nothing else in my head at that point, just fear and loathing and terror and the desire to scream, and maybe break his nose.

He wasn’t there. There was nobody with me. Just... me.

I turned back to the mirror. A bolt of terror ripped through my whole body as I saw the boy in my room.

“What are you doing?!” I yelled, punching my fists against the mirror.

He touched his finger against the mirror, and as he did, his complexion and his hair changed colour, until the morphed slowly into the split image of me.

“Hmmm...Not bad, but could be better. What do you think of a haircut? Maybe trim the sides, the back definitely needs to be improved!”

I was overcome with shock, amazement, and fury as I stared at...myself. Me. Only it wasn’t.  He wasn’t me. I blinked twice and he laughed at me, loud and long. I stared for longer, trying to be intimidating and failing miserably. Shock was still coursing through my veins, but as I stared at him, I realised.

My eyes were blue. His were green.

I watched him as he paced through my room, browsing through my wardrobe, trying out my bed. He looked at my laptop with an expression of bemusement, and he poked it. I laughed. He scowled.

“’re gonna have to try a bit harder if you want to pass off as a 21st century dude...”

He didn’t reply. Something in my chest, in my heart was telling me that he couldn’t even hear me, he couldn’t hear the words that I was saying, the laugh that was exploding from my lips as though I had just hit the barrier of mentality and sped into insanity.

“Dude, you’ve got no hope of doing it... push some buttons, try to work it, you moron!” I felt myself pushing against the glass again and scowled as the knuckle I’d cracked spasmed in my hand and made me yell out. No reaction from the boy in the bedroom.


The End

9 comments about this story Feed