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Mirrors [LOWWC]

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posted on Feb, 19 2013 @ 07:24 PM
This is a bit dark and a bit autobiographical. I'll let you decide which parts are which. Hope you enjoy.


I’m sat cross legged on cold concrete. Candles surround me and the darkness draws their glow quickly into the shadows. Oily workshop smells ooze from the bare basement walls and damp seeps through the seat of my jeans.

She lies only a few feet away from me. She’s still in the same blue denim and red sweater, but a different pillowcase now covers her head. It’s thicker than before and blood has not yet stained it. I was naive then. My skin bears the wounds, but I can’t feel my flesh anymore. It’s the scars that fester beneath that I struggle with. They stain and scorch and torture my soul. But can I really live without them? Can I survive without this companion of pain? It has become so familiar to me that it is almost a comfort, and I do not know if I can bear to live without be alone.

I wonder what she’ll be like this time? Will I have to put her down? Will I have to terminate her? Does evil beget evil? No. This time it will be different. This time she won’t lie. This time she won’t steal. This time she won’t abuse. She won’t manipulate and manoeuvre. This time she won’t sleep with the plasterer, the phone engineer and the bus driver. This time she won’t brainwash me, she won’t wallow in drugs and drag me down. This time I won’t have to go to the clinic for tests, and be in fear of my life. This time she won’t cling to me and suck out my life force like some parasitical vampiric monkey.

“You’re all the same! You’re all like monkeys! You only let go of one branch when you’ve got hold of the next!” When she’s drained you dry and you collapse under the weight of it all she’s already sunken her teeth into her next victim.

“You won’t be able to do that here. Not this time.” I won’t look into her eyes and believe her lies.

“I know why man invented religion. It was because of you! You’re the devils! You are the ones that took the fruit.” I was naive before, but this twenty first century Eve won’t destroy Eden. She won’t make this Adam weaken. She won’t kill my children before their first breath.

“Hey b**ch, were any of them even mine?” Was that why you killed them? Does deliberately drowning babies in your womb with booze make you a serial killer?

I believed in soul mates once. I never believed in evil.

“Not until you.” Evil wasn’t real to me. It was just a concept, it was intangible. It wasn’t flesh and bone that blinked and breathed and berated and spread her poison. I didn’t believe you could share a bed and a life with evil and not know as it fed on the misery it created. I didn’t believe the enemy could come from within the walls of my own home.

“FROM INSIDE!” But now I see and now I realise that the clues had been there all along. “I see now. I see what you are.”

There was only ever going to be one of two outcomes. But I couldn’t see it at the time. If I had run away at the beginning I’d be free now, but someone else would be suffering instead of me. She would have sucked the marrow out of him instead. However, if I had run away my beast would still be caged. I would not know the taste of the fruit.

“I deserve you!” It’s for the best. I’ve learned. I given in to it too. Why shouldn’t I? It’s my turn to taste. Why should I stand alone against the decay because it’s the right thing to do?

“It’s my turn. It’s my turn to taste the fruit!”

I believe in evil now. Yesterday was another world. I wasn’t perfect. Far from it. I made mistakes just like everyone else, but I always stayed behind to put things right. Mother taught me well, and I always cleared up my own mess. I tried to be good, tried not to be bad, tried not to cause hurt. I didn’t revel in hate, I didn’t splash about malice like virgin white paint. But that was yesterday, that was last week, that was another world.

“HEY! Did you make me into this?”
Or am I to blame? Did I create in you what I feared the most? Was it inevitable? A self fulfilling prophecy? Did I make it manifest? Or was it always there, and my heart just chose to ignore what my gut knew all along?

“ANSWER ME! DID YOU MAKE ME!” But she can’t answer, she’s muzzled, she has no tongue and she remains still, unmoved, lifeless.

God abandoned me long before I abandoned him. So my new home is as far from god as I could get. It’s surrounded by forest. It’s my sanctuary, my escape, my fortress against the chaos.

“It’s in the hills with a basement that hides all ills!” A demented giggle escapes my lips.

My new home is quiet, fenced off and paid for. It protects me from the bad people. Rainwater fills my tanks, logs feed my stove, vegetables grow in my garden and meat wanders around in my paddock. So here I am still cross legged, still surrounded by my candles, and she still remains unmoved and surrounded by hers. I stroke my machete, my sword, my talisman. Suddenly there is a change in the air. It cools a little and feels as if it’s bristling with static. As if it’s filled with electricity just waiting to pounce. You’re close. I can feel you coming. I’m sure I’ve done it right this time. I’ll finally get what I deserve. We’ll be together until the end. I’ll be happy. You’ll be happy.

The pentacles are drawn, both hers and mine. The chains are secure, the muzzle is taught, and the summoning is complete. The precisely placed candles begin to flicker. They dance out dark unfathomable stories on the walls and I sit and wait for them and my heart to settle. She’s prone, prostrate, and still. The pillowcase may cover her evil eyes but it cannot hide them from my mind. They are beautiful and deep and blue, but they can not be trusted. They say the eyes are windows to the soul, but they lied. Nobody told me they were only one way. They’re just one way mirrors reflecting back what you want to see, what you want to believe.

There’s a loud gasp, and the pillowcase is sucked inwards and forms the shape of her muzzle. Her chest heaves. Her legs and arms twitch, first slowly then with violence. The memory of the hollow weighty cracking sound of her skull from yesterday makes me shiver. It was like smashing open a melon. It was the sound of the end and the beginning. I’ve sharpened it machete, just in case. I’m sure I’ve done it right this time though. Yesterday I did something wrong, but not this time. I’m safe this time. I’m beyond her reach this time.

The temperature drops further, much further. My breath hovers briefly like an apparition before disappearing. She’s here, she’s finally here. She mumbles angrily, and begins thrashing against her chains with new vigour, but they hold and eventually her convulsions subside.

Continued below

posted on Feb, 19 2013 @ 07:27 PM
"Sit up. Sit up my darling sit up. Don’t be afraid. I’m here.”

There is no response, no movement...nothing.


She moves, slowly, laboriously into an upright seated position. Her arms outstretched behind her hold her weight as she moves her legs out straight in front of her. Thick iron chains curl around her hands and feet like slithering snakes trapped in quicksand. Her head turns towards me for the first time, as if she can see through the thick pillowcase. Dark red, wet patches seep through where her eyes would be and more crimson patches appear on the top. She thrusts her arms into the air. Both chains snap sending their iron links clattering across the floor into the darkness, knocking over one of the candles that surround her.

“Stop!...Stop it!...STOP IT RIGHT NOW!”

The fear in my trembling voice is obvious. She ignores me and stands up. Then she lifts each knee in turn until the chains snap and scatter once more.

“Stop it! Stop it right now! I’ll send you back...I will.”

She seems stronger this time. But the pentacles will hold, they have to, I did it right this time. I did the incantation perfectly. She comes closer. She sniffs the air and makes a gurgling sound.

“Go back to the centre and sit down!”

She ignores my command and comes closer still and begins cackling like a witch. Slowly she lifts the bloodied pillow case from her head. I gasp at the horror. I wasn’t prepared. I thought she would have healed, would have reverted back, would have regenerated. But the deep slashes from my machete have left her scalp wide open. Hair and blood are matted together with bone and brain. Her eyes are lopsided. Her nose is pressed inwards. She tilts her head, rips the muzzle from her mouth and smiles wickedly at me, gnashing her blood covered teeth. Through the back of her left eye I can see candle light reflected on the wall behind her. I dive into those eyes as I have so many times before, but they’re gone....the angels are gone. She spits at me with blood and snot and brains. I cannot move. I must not move, I cannot run, I must not step outside my pentacle.

Snapping her neck when we were back in the city had been easy. Once I’d caught her in the act, once I’d seen her doing those terrible things I couldn’t kid myself any longer. And murder became easy. It released years of frustration and tension and stress. I was relieved first. But then came the emptiness and the anger. She’d gotten away with it again. She’d never have to face up to her actions, never have to confront her malice, never have to question her evil, never have to face her absence of remorse. She was dead and she’d never have to pay for what she’d done. It wasn’t fair. She’d made me her lap dog in life and eunuch in death.

Then I missed her.

So yesterday I brought her back. But I’d done something wrong with the summoning and I had to put her down again. Though not before I’d silenced her by cutting out her tongue. That had always been her sharpest weapon. The feelings aroused in me when I put my machete through her head shocked me. I felt joy, exhilaration, lust, hunger, and greed. When her head was open I tasted the fruit and it was ambrosia.

However, this morning I missed her once more.

She is now pacing predatorily around the perimeter of her prison, and each candle trembles and withers a little as she passes it. Yesterday the chains had held so I was able to leap on her with my machete. I won’t be able to do that today.

“I’m sending you back!”

I grab the book and fumble with the leather bindings. As I frantically flip through the pages searching for the right incantation she crouches opposite me where our pentacles meet. I know I must find the right words in the pages in front of me but I can not help but look up from my lap. She smiles a crooked smile, opens her mouth, wiggles the stump of her tongue and breathes death over me.

I soil myself.

She rises, turns her back on me and circles around her pentacle stopping at each candle in turn. She sniffs the air at each one, spits at the charcoal symbols beside them and one by one they flicker and go out. By the time she returns to me I am standing in the middle of my pentacle, protected but trembling as I grip my machete tight in one hand and hold open the book with the other. I keep repeating in my head the incantation I have found. To send her back it has to be spoken exactly right.

She goes down on all fours grinning with bloody teeth and a caved in head. She brings one thumb to her lips, licks it and places it on the concrete where she rubs away the charcoal boundary separating us. The incantation is gone from my head as fear makes a statue out of me. She breathes in impossibly deeply and the flames from the candles surrounding me lean toward her. The charcoal begins to move and is sucked across the floor in to her gaping mouth destroying my protection in the process.

continued below
edit on 19-2-2013 by merkins because: (no reason given)

posted on Feb, 19 2013 @ 07:29 PM
The candles wobble and also begin sliding towards her as I’m pulled off my feet and am dragged along behind them. I’ve already dropped the book and try desperately to cling to the concrete with my free hand, but to no avail. Before the last candle is snuffed out I dive into her windows, her mirrors, her eyes and I can finally see them...the angels.

I grip my sword of damocles in both hands. I feel her teeth around my ankles, then my knees. I feel her lips around my thighs, but there is no pain. How could something so exquisite possibly cause pain. I hear my mothers voice ‘clean up your mess.’ Despite the pitch black I know this hideously beautiful creature is somehow smiling as she swallows my waist.

The angels are calling and I slash and slash and slash until my arms no longer move, my chest no longer heaves and my ears no longer hear...

Wow, actually getting this thread up was nearly as hard as writing the story. Note to self: must learn some ATS skills.
edit on 19-2-2013 by merkins because: because i'm rubbish

posted on Feb, 19 2013 @ 11:08 PM

Wow, actually getting this thread up was nearly as hard as writing the story. Note to self: must learn some ATS skills.

Hey, you did it. Kudos.

Same with your dark story, Kudos.

As a pagan, I can relate.

How you reflected the story into your own life only denotes the fact that you are a talented writer that needs to express a bit more. Another entry, please. You can enter as many times as you wish this month, during the contest.

Well written, my friend. The imagery, while dark, hits home. You remind me of a young Stephen King.

posted on Feb, 19 2013 @ 11:32 PM
Wow. Intense. I liked it. It kinda reminds me of a girl I once knew...very creepy, but it would make a great horror movie as well. I liked the descriptions, I was really able to visualize everything, and considering that was the point of this particular contest, IMO, you nailed it!

posted on Feb, 20 2013 @ 06:04 AM
reply to post by Druid42

Thank you so much for the compliment. Being compared to a young Stephen King, that's wonderful, and I'm glad you said young rather than current because I think he's either lost his way or is burning out.

I do have a couple more ideas that could possibly loosely fit the theme, but this one drained me. It's taken 9 years plus 10 hours to write.

I also need to figure out what copyright and ATS content ownership means in reality. I'd be happy for ATS to be able to use my content in perpetuity, but I'd still want the freedom to publish elsewhere? I think some of my other work is fairly marketable with the new self publishing digital platforms like Smashwords.

Right it's almost time to start writing my next one which will be called "Curiosity Killed the Bohr." it's one for the science and scifi geeks.

posted on Feb, 20 2013 @ 06:27 AM
reply to post by Mijamija

I'm glad you iked it. And if you knew someone like this then you have my deepest sympathies and admiration. It was originally much more intense with more overt madness by the male character, but I had to tone it down for T&C reasons.

Yep I could see this as a short movie, but I also have a story in mind with the same two characters that has enough material for a full movie. Trouble is it's been floating around in my head and on scribbled notes since before the first Saw movie, and that genre is getting jaded, although mine would cover things not yet seen in any of the myriad torture porn.

I'm so glad you were able to picture the scene clearly. There's always a debate going on in my head about how much description to give. I've come to the conclusion that it's often best to just describe certain keys things and let the imagination of the reader fill in the blanks.

posted on Feb, 24 2013 @ 01:55 AM
reply to post by merkins

That's a pretty creepy story. Very well written, and the semi-neurosis of the protagonist is established in good form early on. You give the reader a vague yet concrete basis for how this man was driven partially insane by this woman, or women in general.

I like the symbolic use of references to the temperature as the scenario descends deeper.

Portions may be a bit macabre for some ("bone and brain", "blood covered teeth"), which definitely limits the audience to fans of a more gory genre.

There are a few other minor constructive observations:

- Paragraph 2 says "I was naive then" and paragraph 6 says "I was naive before." Some variance in phrasing would seem more appropriate.

- There are some sentence fragments ("As if it's filled with electricity just waiting to pounce.") which may be intentional for artistic purposes but can throw off an experienced and more analytical reader.

All in all, your story is an excellent submission with a disturbing occult theme and garishly twisted ending!

posted on Feb, 24 2013 @ 09:38 AM
reply to post by InTheFlesh1980

Thank you very much for taking the time to read this and give me some criticism, it's greatly appreciated. I'm more interested in opinions and criticism than anything else, even if some or all of those opinions turn out to be - "I hated it because of..."

This is the most persnal story I've ever written. I've never let these emotions and thoughts out in to the real world, and I had an internal struggle about whether to post it or not because of that. Even though the relationship that this was inspired by ended about 9 years ago parts of want I went through then are still very raw. I was also surprised by how vulnerable and exposed I felt the second after I posted it. Due to all this I can't help feeling a little gutted that more people haven't commented.

I've always been told that I limit my audience by the the content of my stories, but I can't allow myself to compromise too much otherwise I wouldn't be being true to myself. I usually write sci-fi with references for the geeks and science nuts and limit my audience still further. I left a creative writing degree in the final year in disgust because all the lecturers bar one repeatedly told me I needed to dumb down my work to reach a wider audience.

You are right about the 'naive' bit. My original final draft had the protagonist being much more demented and schizophrenic and the 'naive' statements were much more frequent, each with a little variation. It was meant to be a kind of mantra with the obsessive warped mind repeating statements in his head. That draft though could never have been posted. So yes I can see how cutting it to one statement would be appropriate for this version.

The electricity waiting to pounce was the very last edit before posting and I wasn't sure about it, so thanks for that comment. The other thing I was very hesitant about was The Sword of Damocles reference and I'd be very interested to hear your thoughts on that.

I also wonder whether I should have chosen a different title. 'Mirrors' ( and my alternate title 'Windows') in my opinion are truest to the subject and what the protagonist goes through. However, I wonder if a more descriptive title such as 'Windows of the Soul' would have generated more readers and comments.

Edit to add: thanks for this comment "...a disturbing occult theme and garishly twisted ending!" That's exactly the reaction I was going for, and I hope very few guessed the ending. I do have a more cuddly story that I'm considering posting.
edit on 24-2-2013 by merkins because: (no reason given)

posted on Feb, 24 2013 @ 10:15 AM
Deleted as post meant for anoher thread entirely
edit on 24-2-2013 by merkins because: (no reason given)


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