The Unreliable Narrator: Trust No One
The Unreliable Narrator: Trust No One
It started with a voice. A whisper in the dark when I was alone.
"Don’t trust them."
At first, I thought it was my mind playing tricks on me. I had been under a lot of stress—new job, new city, living alone for the first time in years. But the voice didn’t stop. It came when I least expected it: in the shower, at work, even as I drifted off to sleep.
"They’re lying to you."
The Stranger in the Mirror
One night, I caught my reflection moving on its own.
I had been brushing my teeth, eyes half-lidded from exhaustion, when I noticed something… off. The movement in the mirror didn’t quite match mine. It was subtle at first—my head tilted slightly, but my reflection lagged behind.
Then, it smiled.
I hadn’t smiled.
My breath caught in my throat as I stumbled backward. The reflection did not move.
"You’re starting to see it now, aren’t you?" the voice whispered.
With shaking hands, I turned off the bathroom light and fled to my bedroom. I refused to look at the mirror again.
The Unraveling
The next day at work, things felt… wrong.
People looked at me differently. My boss, who had always been friendly, barely acknowledged me. My coworkers whispered behind my back. When I confronted one of them—Ellen, a woman I had once trusted—she only smiled.
"Are you feeling okay?" she asked, voice sickly sweet. "You’ve been acting a little… off lately."
The words sent a chill down my spine. Was I losing my mind?
That night, I avoided the mirrors again. But as I passed by the hallway mirror, I saw it—my reflection standing still as I walked past. Watching.
"You’re not crazy," the voice murmured. "But they want you to think you are."
The Letter
Days passed, and the paranoia grew. I barely slept, afraid of what I might see in the darkness. Then, the letter arrived.
It was slipped under my door, no return address. The paper was old, yellowed at the edges.
They have been watching you.
Do not trust the mirrors.
Find me before they do.
No name. No explanation. Just an address scribbled hastily at the bottom.
The Meeting
I debated whether to go. But the voice in my head urged me on.
That night, I drove to the address, a rundown house on the outskirts of town. The air was thick with fog, wrapping around the house like grasping fingers.
A man answered the door. His face was gaunt, eyes sunken with exhaustion.
"You saw it, didn’t you?" he asked, voice barely above a whisper.
"Saw what?" I demanded.
"Your reflection. It’s not you."
My stomach twisted. "What do you mean?"
He stepped aside, motioning for me to enter. The inside of the house was lined with covered mirrors, sheets draped over every reflective surface.
"They live in the glass," he said, pacing. "Watching. Waiting. When they take your place, no one notices. Not at first."
"That’s insane," I whispered, but the words felt hollow.
"Then why haven’t you looked in a mirror?"
My blood ran cold.
The Truth in the Reflection
I needed to prove him wrong. Without a word, I yanked the sheet off a nearby mirror.
And there I was.
Only… I wasn’t.
My reflection smiled. Not just any smile—my smile, but stretched too wide, the corners of its mouth curling unnaturally.
"You should have trusted me," the voice in my head whispered.
The reflection lifted its hand and waved.
Then, it stepped forward.
Deeper into the Nightmare
The man grabbed my arm, yanking me backward just before the reflection could reach me.
"You’re not ready yet!" he hissed, dragging me away.
We ran through the house, the lights flickering wildly. Behind us, the mirror cracked, a low, inhuman growl reverberating through the air.
"What is it?" I gasped.
"A parasite. A shadow of you, waiting for the right moment to take your place."
"How do we stop it?"
His face twisted with regret. "We don’t."
The Vanishing
The days that followed were a blur. I boarded up every mirror, avoided reflections in windows, polished surfaces. But the feeling never left.
One morning, I woke to find my phone filled with pictures.
Pictures of me.
Sleeping.
The last one made my stomach drop.
It wasn’t taken from my phone.
It was taken from inside the mirror.
The Final Warning
As I write this, I can feel it watching. Waiting.
If you ever notice something off—a delayed reflection, a whisper in your mind—leave.
Don’t trust the mirrors.
Don’t trust them.
Don’t trust me.
Post a Comment