His Reflection did it.

“The mirror showed a reflection that wasn’t my own.” said Hughie with his eyes glued to the rug beneath him.

The silence permeates for a moment. Though it is brief, it feels like an eternity.

Click.

The nib extends to meet Dr. Kalanda’s notepad.

“Who was it you saw?” Kalanda asks softly.

Hughie slowly raises his head. His expression is blank, static even. But behind his cloudy, gray eyes, there is a storm.

“Not who. What.” He states.

Dr. Kalanda tilts her head with a raised eyebrow she inquires: “You saw a thing?”

Hughie’s gaze fixates on the ground once again. He hears the judgement in her inflection. Silence.

Click.

The nib retracts. Dr. Kalanda sets the notepad and pen on the side table next to her. She crosses her left leg over her thigh and leans back. After grinning slightly, she speaks:

“You really seem to like my runner.”

Hughie remains in his fixed position, frozen.

“ I found it at a small vendor in India. I was so enticed by the vibrant yellow pattern that I had it shipped all the way out here.” Dr. Kalanda explains.

She smiles wide, remaining focused on Hughie. She leans forward.

“It wasn’t cheap, that’s for sure.” She quips.

Her desperate smile subsides and she leans back.

“But it was worth it because it said a lot about healing to me.”

She pauses for a slight moment: Then asks:

“What does it say to you?”

Hughie remains a statue. Dr. Kalanda sighs. With a delicate defense she speaks:

“You know, in order for my PhD to be worth anything at all, you need to talk to me. Words are really the only way I can help-”

“You can’t help me.” Hughie declares.

“If you believe that then why are you here?” Dr. Kalanda questions with a subtle retort.

“I know how the system works. It was this or rot in prison.” Hughie affirms.

Dr. Kalanda freezes. Hughie stares at her with a raised eyebrow. He’s right. She’s Speechless.

Silence.

“Then what more can you lose?” Dr. Kalanda questions firmly. Hughie leans back. He surveys the room, paranoid. His eyes meet Dr. Kalanda’s.

“It reminds me of someone I knew.” Hughie admits.

“A friend?” Kalanda asks.

Hughie’s mouth opens slightly and he delicately shakes his head back and forth.

“A lover?”

Hughie’s gaze returns once again to the rug.

“Oma?”

Hughie holds his head. Fingers in his eyes. He speaks:

“You read my file.”

Hughie chuckles softly before speaking:

“You probably know more about me than I know about me. At least, whatever they say.”

“I had to do my homework. Hughie, It’s not personal.” Assures Kalanda.

“You already know everything, the evidence is all there right? You don’t need to hear anything from me-”

“I’m not here to listen to the evidence, I’m here to listen to you.” she affirms.

“I didn’t kill my friends. I didn’t kill Oma. It wasn’t me.”

“Hughie, I never thought it was you.” Kalanda states with sympathy.

Finally vulnerable Hughie opens his mouth and the words pour out:

“Weird things. Weird things started happening to me. I was experiencing things that no one around me knew were happening. I thought I was crazy at first. But I wasn’t. I know that now, because I saw it. It was in the mirror. It looked like me. But it smiled wider than I ever could. It laughed deeper, fuller. But it wasn’t a pure laugh. It wasn’t real joy. It was wicked. And it’s eyes, they bled black. Which seemed to run down its face but it didn’t drip. It was fixed. Like war paint.”

Hughie looks to the Doctor. She has to have something to say.

Dr. Kalanda stands. Hughie’s brow furrows in confusion. Without a word, she walks into the other room.

“Dr?” Hughie calls out.

Silence.

“Dr. Kalanda?” Louder he calls.

“Dr. KALANDA!” Yells Hughie.

Hughie feels a touch on his shoulder. His body goes cold. The blood runs down his spine. Has IT returned? He MUST act. Hughie jolts to face the hand on his shoulder.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.” Says Kalanda kindly. She walks over to her chair and sits, holding a box in her lap.

“What’s that?”

Kalanda opens the box and rummages through its loud, plastic contents.

“It was black you said?” Asks Kalanda.

“What?”

Kalanda lifts a mascara stick, showing it to Hughie. She sets down the box and begins running it’s brush down her cheek.

“What are you doing?” Hughie questions with concern.

She scribbles the mascara more aggressively now.

“You’re freaking me out.”

She lifts a small hand mirror to her face and begins laughing.

“Dr. Kalanda, stop”

She does a slight jig, moving side to side.

“I’m not Dr. Kalanda anymore” she says in a deep voice.

“What?”

She lifts a pillow and aggressively bites into it. She is wild. Unhinged.

“Stop!”

“NO!” Kalanda yells back. And throws the pillow at Hughie clenching her jaw.

She picks up a small hand mirror and looks into it. Her demeanor changes. Her aggressive snarl becomes an innocent grin.

“You see Hughie? Someone can paint their face and act differently than they normally do, but that doesn’t make-”

Hughie’s eyes widen as they hit the hind of the mirror. And before she can continue speaking, he screams at the top of his lungs. Stumbling to the floor. He throws a pillow to Kalanda and covers his eyes, shaking.

“Hughie”

Hughie screams louder.

“Hughie!”

Hughie starts to hyperventilate. Not again, he thinks. NEVER again.

“Hughie, nothing happened.”

His breathing slows and he opens his eyes to see his reflection staring back at him. Broken, hysterical but undoubtedly his own.

“Here, hold it.” Kalanda insists.

Kalanda hands Hughie the mirror and lifts her notepad.

“You’re broken Hughie, you’re in bad shape. But you’re not irredeemable.”

Hughie’s eyes relax ever so slightly. Relief hasn't been something he has felt for a long while, but this might just be the start. He stares at Kalanda. Is she right? Maybe this has been all in his head. Maybe he needs medication. Maybe he needs to search his soul to get his mind right. But if he could possibly be this monster, does he deserve to be helped?

Hughie looks to the mirror once more. The chill returns. Deeper. "No, not again." He thinks. The mirror is empty. No reflection to be seen. A blood-curdling cackle echoes through the room. Hughie’s goosebumps grow. His heart drops. The fright paralyzes him.

Click.

Silence.

Only to be broken by Dr. Kalanda choking profusely.

Hughie looks up to see the pen lodged in Kalanda’s throat.

Blood begins to trickle down her neck. As she places her hands around the pen in a desperate attempt to end the flow of her demise, it becomes a wave. Her white button up shirt is almost entirely stained red. Her hands drop to her side. She falls to her knees. And finally flat on her face.

Hughie shrieks at the top of his lungs and drops the mirror.

SHATTER!!

Three security guards rush through the door. The world slows as they pin Hughie to the ground. He doesn’t fight. He’s been here before. With his face pressed against the ground he spots a shard of glass. With IT staring back at him. Smiling. Staring. And finally:

HAHAHAHAHA

The cackle echoes.

Nine Months later, Hughie sits once again. He stares at the floor. One guard straps his wrist to the chair. While another fastens a helmet to his head.

The row of chairs across from Hughie are empty. He is alone. He can’t escape this curse. Innocence no longer matters. To them he is a monster. Regardless, he is a danger. To everyone. Therefore he must end.

A pulse flows through Hughies body. His head snaps upward, eyes wide. It stops. He breathes still. The pulse resumes. His eyes turn red and he shakes once again. It stops. He breathes still, fuming.

“This guy’s got a lot of fight in him” A guard quips.

“DO IT!” Hughie screams.

The pulse hits Hughie and his scream grows louder. It stops.

“Check the batteries, I don’t know if this thing is working right” A different guard says.

A third guard goes behind the chair and bends down.

“It’s fully functional!” He says.

“Bring it up higher, we’re trying to kill this kid not torture him.” The second guard says.

The pulse hits this time harder than ever. Hughie’s seethe soon becomes a shriek. His eyes bleed. Sparks fly. The guards back up in fear as the skin under Hughie’s eyes starts to char. His shriek turns to an unlikely familiar sound, the cackle.

As the cackle grows the guards start to stumble in fear.

Hughie rips his wrists from the chair and stands as the static flickers behind him. He smiles.

The first guard charges at Hughie. Only to be immediately caged by a firm grip. As Hughie’s fingers squeeze tightly around his neck, the third guard rushes to aid his comrade. Hughie slams the two together and trips them directly into the charge of the chair. Electricity engulfs the room. The two guards scream as they catch fire. Amidst the flames, Hughie straps their hands to the chair. They struggle and scream but after a few seconds, they go silent, but his cackle persists. After all, they are only human. They aren’t monsters like Hughie.

The second guard crouches, shriveled in fear at the only corner of the room unaffected by the massive energy surge. Hughie pauses. His head slowly turns to the final guard. The blood pattern under his eyes, we’ve seen this before. He’s survived the impossible. He’s tried to do the right thing. But the world just won’t let him die. It’s almost like he was meant to be the monster they say he is. It’s actually kind of funny.

He looks to the floor to see a lone pen among all the buring debris.

How Ironic.

He makes a sinister grin.

It’s kind of funny.

He picks up the pen.

The pen is mightier than the sword!

He approaches the guard.

Hughie brings his face to the guard’s as he shields himself, squealing and squirming. He savors this brief moment. The fear is the best part. Finally he speaks:

“Why are you shaking? I’m trying to kill you, not torture you.”

The guard screams. Hughie lifts the pen into the air with a lascivious leer. And then brings it down hard into the gaurds chest. Up again. And down again. The motion repeats, almost never ending. Each time faster than the next.

He cackles louder than ever. The melody of his chuckle is confident. It’s deep. It’s real. As the guards splattering blood paints Hughie’s face, he persists, unaffected.

He is finally exactly where he needs to be.

He stops and slowly gets up.

He walks out the door.

Silence. Not a soul around.

He moves down the empty hall and into the restroom.

Immediately, he turns on the sink and begins to cleans the blood off of his face. As he rubs his palms down his cheeks he looks in the mirror.

What is he thinking?

How could he do this?

He cheated death, took countless lives through brutal violence and now he’s just going to clean off the blood and act like it didn’t happen?

No.

He can’t.

Hughie raises his hand to the mirror and it starts to slip through it, as if it was water in a pool.

He can't keep this all for himself.

He needs to share.

Hughie crawls through the mirror and completely disappears.

Out of this world. Onto the next. Off to guide another like his own reflection guided him.

Because even after everything, Hughie just can’t be selfish.

END.

Hope you enjoyed my story! This serves as a sequel of sorts for a short film I made last year titled INTERDELUSIONAL. That's where the still for the story image was taken from. If you liked this please do check it out. It was the first big project I tackled on my YouTube Channel Crash Content. Here is the link:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0_N5imiO65k

Either way, thank you for allowing my words to reach your temporal lobe! Writing this was a lot of fun and a great learning experience. I hope to adapt a version of this made for the screen soon. Until then, can’t wait to read some of what my brilliant competitors come up with!