On the Other Side

I'm not superstitious. I never believed in ghosts, or bad luck, or monsters under my bed. I always considered myself to be brave, and my friends did too. Whenever a new "cursed ritual" or "demonic ceremony" came up, they would always ask me to perform it for them so they could sleep well at night knowing it was just another fake Internet story. So when news of some "creepypasta" about mirrors started spreading, of course I didn't take it seriously. Just another "ritual" designed to make people paranoid.

The procedure was simple enough. Just look into a mirror, take a strand of hair from your head, measure it with a ruler, and compare the length of that hair to the one in the reflection. No big deal. 

I walked to my cluttered, unkempt room, sidestepping to avoid the various mounds of books, paper, and trash that sprawled sporadically on the floor. A single, aged writing lamp in the far corner of my room radiated a dim, dying glow of amber light. I stood in front of an unmade bed which lay pressed against the right side of my room. There was no wall opposite to the bed, only a vast sliding mirror closet door that took its place. I stared into the glass, and I stared back on the other side. I waved. And I waved back.

Pluck. I stretched the strand of hair out against the surface of the ruler. Three and a half inches. I looked at the measurement on the reflection.

"No way." The only thoughts I could conjure as I looked at the hair on the other side. "Did I measure this right? It has to be just a trick of light or... or something. It can't be... a quarter inch longer in the reflection."

I looked a little closer at the reflection and sure enough the hair measured three and three quarters of an inch. It was longer on the other side.

I rubbed my eyes and stared at myself through the mirror. And I stared back.

"There's no way..."

"You're seeing things," I said. "It's late. Go to bed."

And with a flick of a switch, the lights went out.

That's when it started.

That night, I couldn't sleep. I just lay there, as the clock next to my bed ticked away the night. Tick, tock.

I wasn't hungry, I wasn't thirsty, I certainly wasn't thinking about anything other than sleep. Sprawled across my bed, I was comfortable, and yet a burning sense of discomfort lingered inside of me, like I had neglected work. Or I was being watched.

Tick, tock.

But by what? No people looking through the window, the blinds were closed anyway. Certainly no one in my room. But then I looked in the mirror...

Tick, tock.

And there sat a black, slouched figure, perched right at the edge of my bed like a vulture. The darkness made it impossible for me to see its face, but I knew it was staring right at me while I slept. Silent and still as a statue, it sat on my bed on the other side of the mirror, watching, waiting.

Tick, tock.

A shiver of fear ran through my body. "Is this a dream?"

"No, it's too real to be a dream."

Tick, tock, tick, tock.

"What should I do? What can I do? I don't want to move, it might... do something."

"It's late. Just go to bed. It'll probably be gone in the morning anyway. Besides, what can it do? It's on the other side."

So I lay there, eyes closed, trying to drift off into sleep. But I couldn't. It wouldn't let me.

Tick tock tick tock.

The ticking seconds turned into minutes, and the minutes turned into hours, and every time I opened my eyes for even a sliver, there it was, this intangible beast on the other side, made of the very void itself, sitting, staring, watching, waiting.

Tick tock tick tock tick tock.

It doesn't move. It doesn't talk. It doesn't breathe. It doesn't live. It doesn't do anything but look at me. Look at me. I'm so tired, and yet it stares, IT STARES. Why? What does it want, why is it here, why won't you let me sleep just let me sleep I WANT TO SLEEP FOR FUCK'S SAKE LET ME SLEEP.

Tick.

Tock.



Ring, ring, ring.

Days. Months. Years passed before the morning came. I don't remember falling asleep, and neither does my body.

Ring, ring, ring.

My eyelids creaked open and the blob-like haze that was my vision slowly took the form of an alarm clock, ringing obnoxiously on my bedside. My eyes inched over to the mirror. It was gone.

Ring, ring, ring.

I threw my arm onto the clock, which slumped on top of the machine, killing it. My head throbbed and my body screamed for rest, but I was too busy that day, I couldn't afford to sleep. So I stumbled through the day like a zombie seeking rest. Words can't describe how relieved I was when I finally got home that day and collapsed on my bed. Comfort at last.

Then, my heart sank. In the corner of my eye, I saw movement in the mirror, but it was impossible to tell exactly what at that angle. Slowly, I turned my head to face my reflection.

And I saw me crawl out of bed. I stepped to the glass, and I pressed my face and palms against the mirror, as if i were looking through a window at night. No longer a silhouette, I saw the painfully wide grin plastered across my face. I saw my wide, bulging eyes with dilated pupils staring right at me. And I knew. My heart raced as I came to the realization.

They aren't reflections.

Again, I couldn't sleep. Throughout the night, I hid under my covers, begging for me to leave, to stop looking at me from the other side. I wouldn't. And the night crawled by, until dawn came and I stopped looking through the mirror and crept back into bed.

Immediately, I covered the mirror up with anything, everything. I taped pieces of paper over it, I blocked it with furniture, anything to prevent me from seeing me if I ever go in that room again. And just for good measure, I slept in my mirror-free living room the next night. No disturbances. Finally, rest.



Ever since then, I've avoided mirrors. I've gotten rid of all the ones in my house that weren't directly attached to the walls. I've slept on the couch in the living room. And I've never, ever gone back into that room.

Scratch scratch.

I awoke in the dead of night.

"What was that?"

Scratch scratch.

A distant scratching noise from within my house somewhere.

"Rats?"

Scratch scratch scratch.

"It sounds like it's coming from..."

Dread ran through my body. I sprang up from bed and sprinted to the closed door of my room, pressing my ear against the door.

Scratch scratch scratch scratch.

The sound of nails against glass was muffled but audible through the wooden door.

"Oh god. He's trying to get through."

"You're hearing things. Go to bed." I said.

Scratch scratch scratch.





Author's Note: Hmm... I think this was a pretty decent story. Kind of lengthy, but not bad, considering I came up with the idea and wrote it in two days. But hell, I don't know, what do you guys think?