The Mirror

The Mirror

It all started on moving day. I’ve moved so many times prior to finding this house. This was an old place, a big fixer-upper located on the south side of Chicago. My wife Janet loved it immediately and when she says she wants something, I’ll do my best to get it for her. I love her after all. Not only that, Janet saved me. She literally saved me from death. Some years ago I attempted suicide. I am forever in her debt and was lucky it was Janet, a paramedic, who saved me. She saved my life twice that night: not only from death but also giving me something worth living for.

I don’t know what she saw in me but whatever it was, she kept in touch. From my hospitalization to my release, she was always there. And Janet was there by my side after that. We developed a relationship which I treasured then as well as now. I would do anything for her. Until enough time has passed in that new house anyways. Until she found the mirror. That’s when things changed forever.

Well, there is one detail I should share before we continue. Not of moving into the place but what compelled me to do what I did that one night long ago. The night I wanted everything to end. What drew me to that bottle of pills and fifth of whiskey. I’m embarrassed to talk about it. Not the attempt itself, but what caused me to make that decision in the first place. At that point in time I had no idea what I wanted in life. I was depressed and utterly alone. I couldn't see things clearly. I just wanted the pain to end. Thus the suicide attempt. But that was my worst decision, my absolute worst, but it also led me to an angel. This angel saved me from death and also gave me a purpose to live. Her name is Janet and oh how I miss her.

The damned mirror. Janet was the first to find it in our new attic. But this mirror was different for Janet when she found it. She didn’t just see herself standing in front of the mirror, looking at herself, but something else. Something different. This mirror is more than a mirror. According to Janet's journal entries, she didn't simply see her reflection. She saw her own futures. This is when her insanity started. I would never have believed it but Janet did. I still don't know what to think of how things ended. But insane or not I will always love her.

Act 2

Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who’s the fairest of them all? Hahahahhahah. I’m sorry, just had to throw that in. Couldn’t resist. Too easy yet so familiar. Everybody knows Snow White but this is not like Snow White’s. This was something else. This is…insanity. Anyone reading this account may just dismiss this as a story that never happened. Sadly, I wish that was true. And this is a true story, whether you believe it or not. I’m ready. I’m ready to tell anyone who happens to read this. I gave enough back story about myself. Now back to where I left off.

Rewind back to moving day. It sucks. Wait, I already said that. But imagine moving somewhere and finding something. Not just a stupid thing a new owner picks up and throws into the trash. The place me and Janet moved to had a lot of stupid things. Nothing useful so we threw everything out. Everything but the mirror. A full body size mirror. At that time I did not even notice it in the attic. Janet discovered it first but never mentioned anything about it. I had no idea it was up there. I wish she did mention it. Perhaps things may have changed. For some reason I didn't see it when we cleaned the attic. Later on I discovered it. I only wish that Janet told me about finding this mirror before then. Perhaps things would have changed.

As I stated Janet found it first. It was covered by a blanket. She took off the blanket not knowing what she unveiled. It was ornately made, something you can tell that's very old. Ancient. There were all kinds of writing and symbols on the sides. I only noticed this after she left me. I was hypnotized for a moment. I couldn't look away. I imagine this is how she felt. Entranced and unable to look away. Her journal entries speak of the things she saw in the mirror. She wanted to document this for me as well as anyone else who comes across it. I am doing the same thing myself. I need to document this in case something happens to me.

Janet may have saved me from death, but she couldn’t save me from what happened next. She couldn’t even save herself. All of this because of that mirror. She never told me about finding it and its power. But here it is. Janet’s account of what she had viewed. This is her journal. And here she writes of the horrors she witnessed from that damned piece of glass.

Act 3: Janet’s Journal Entries

January 12, 2023

I love my husband. He is my best friend, my soulmate. We never really fought. Sure we’d have an occasional argument but we’d always resolve it before things got out of control. I saved his life that one fateful night from death but he saved mine as well. To him, I was his angel that night and so many nights after. But he was also my angel. Like him I was also in a very dark place. A place I had forgotten and wished it remained so.

It was the mirror that brought the memories back. I’ve heard doctors say that people build walls in their mind to keep traumatic experiences out. I believe it’s true. It's been more than 20 years when those walls came crashing down. The old memories resurfaced and I cannot lock them out. Everything was so painful then and it's even more painful now. My father beat me and my mom when I was a child. That’s old news to me. I remember those beatings very well. I still bear the scars on my back where my father flogged me with his belt. These memories are nothing new but what the mirror showed next opened the floodgates.

I was eleven years old when he first sexually abused me. Prior to that was just the physical abuse I remembered. But now I truly remember. I was eleven years old when it started. All the disgusting details which were once locked in my mind had resurfaced. These details once forgotten and now remembered. I wished they stayed forgotten. Instead they are now ingrained in my mind. Now I will never be rid of them. I don't know why but my skin itches.

The mirror showed me more than these memories. I saw the future. My futures. It was horrible. The visions I saw haunted me and led me to do what I am about to do. All of them painful. Visions showing me that the life I currently have is only an illusion. The mirror showed nothing but pain and my downward spiral into madness. I witnessed all of these different scenarios of my future self. I should have pulled my eyes away. However, I was hooked. I was not able to look away.

And that's what it did. It showed me many different versions of how my life will proceed. All of them terrifying. I've seen everything in a matter of minutes. None of them depicting a future happy self. All horrifying but some worst than others. But they all pointed to this one conclusion: I am a monster.

The visions and images. The first one showed how I saved my husband that one fateful night. Except in this one I didn't. When my ambulance reached him he was more than done for. There was no saving him. But it wasn't the fact he attempted suicide that made this such a dreadful nightmare. In real life he slit his wrists and downed a bottle of pills with whiskey. I saved him from death in that moment. But here, in this twisted nightmare, it wasn't like that at all. He was not dead when I found him but I wished he was.

I'm used to dead bodies. I'm a paramedic so I've seen a lot. But this was something else. This was one of the nightmare stories the mirror showed me. What it showed was something more horrific than any horror movie. Both of his eyes were gone yet he was still alive. His eye sockets had no eyes. They were just empty crevices. He repeatedly said "I need to unsee what I have seen." Then I noticed both eyes in the palms of his hands, held upward as if he was offering them to me. I saw no knife or sharp tool near his body. It appeared he plucked his eyes out with his fingers. As awful as that sounds, the most haunting part of this hellish vision was that it appeared as if he was looking into my eyes from his empty sockets. And worse, blood was streaming down his cheeks, as if he was crying.

That was one of the visions I described. There are too many to count but these ones really struck a chord with me. But there are so many more. I don't know how much time I have left. And if you thought what could be worse than finding my soulmate in that state; well, like I said, they were all as horrific. Do not look at this mirror. Do not gaze into the mirror. What you see cannot be unseen. And if you dare look I hope it does not bring you to madness as it has to me.

Act 4: Janet’s Second Entry

Date: I’ve lost all track of time

My father, who verbally, physically and sexually abused me has been dead for quite some time. I forgot about the sexual abuse until I saw the mirror. That was when my subconscious walls which blocked out those memories for so long came crashing down. But I knew he was dead. Or I thought he was. The mirror showed me a version where he’s still alive to this day. Now armed with this knowledge of what he had done to me, I sought revenge. I always thought vengeance was taken from me through his death. But now the mirror shows me he is still alive and breathing.

I tracked him down. I found out he was living in some run-down apartment. Once I discovered this I staked out his place, waiting to see him for the first time in years upon years. He didn’t age. He looked the same now as he had back then when I was a child. This further triggered anguished memories from my past. Thinking about all the different forms of abuse he dished out made me see red. I thought at first maybe I’d become more depressed or worse, feel some form of empathy, sympathy or familial love for this man. I did not. So I waited for him to go back to his place. It was early morning when I saw him stumbling to the front door. I know he's drunk and I also knew this is the perfect time to exact my revenge.

I waited an hour or so after he got to his place. I wanted to take him while he was asleep in his bed, just as he took me as I slept in my own bed as a child. He was in a deep drunken slumber when I broke in. I wanted to end him immediately right then and there. But that would have been too quick. I owe him years of pain for what he caused me. So instead of bashing his head in while he slept I decided I wanted more than his quick death. I wanted vengeance. Not a swift act of vengeance. Like I said, that’s too quick. I want to spend some father daughter time before that. Hence the handcuffs on all four limbs tied to the bedposts.

I saw all this through the mirror. I accepted it as truth even though I knew he’s been dead for over the past decade. This is how the mirror works. It causes some form of distorted memory where everything I thought true was actually not. I didn’t recognize this til the end, when the ITCHING started. The nonstop ITCHING. That’s when I, in a trance-like state, went to the bathroom for the razor blade. Not the bathroom in the dream but the one in my real house. I took the blade, went back to the attic and sat in front of the mirror waiting for the scene to continue. The mirror wanted me to see this through to the end.

I gagged his mouth so he couldn’t scream. I cut his cheek in order to wake him. And that it did. I hovered my face directly in front of his confused eyes. I ask him if he remembers me. Remembers his own daughter. Remembers how he abused her in all ways unimaginable. He struggles with the handcuffs as if he thinks he can possibly escape. I tell him there’s no escape. He still shows no sign of remembrance of me. I do my best to help him remember.

The man’s a monster. If he molested his own daughter, I imagine he’s done the same to any number of children. Oh, I forgot to mention he was my middle school's volleyball coach. I don't think I'm the only victim. This thought of how I may not be the only one pushes me further. Vengeance will not just be for me but for every other life he destroyed. And this vengeance will be slow. His body was a weapon. The arms he hit me with was a weapon. The legs which he kicked me down the stairs so many times was a weapon. And let’s not forget the worst thing any person can do to any child, let alone his own daughter. That one weapon. The memories come back to me again. My rage had been refueled.

So many details of what comes next. All I wanted to do was enact all of my rage at this man. This monster. I have two tools. A hammer. A hunting knife. I smash him with the hammer everywhere. Like everywhere. All of his bones and limbs except the one that dealt the most damage. I used the hunting knife for that “limb”. He’s been screaming into his gag since we started with the hammer. Only when he realized what the knife was for was when he really started screaming. Alas, none of that mattered. I got the job done. Or so I thought.

The monster is dead. I took my time and enjoyed every second. He deserved it. All of it. Every hammer hit to his body. Every slice off his ‘main weapon’. He deserved this no matter how inhumane this sounds. I love people. I want to save every soul. That’s why I became a paramedic in the first place. I wanted to save the world, one person at a time. Everyone. Everyone except him.

Then the mirror changed and what I’ve done was not to my monster but the love of my life. Inside I knew my father was dead. I didn’t go to any of his services but I knew he's been dead for years. The mirror made me think he was alive. I believed it but the only punishment I had dealt was to the man I loved most. The man I saved who saved me. The love of my life. My husband. I did all of this to him, my beloved. I tortured and killed him. That’s when I wake up drenched in sweat in front of the mirror. It seemed so real, so bizarre. But to my mind it was all too real. I scream but no sound escapes my throat.

Act 5: Janet's Third Entry

Date: All Time Has Stopped

This was the cruelest vision of them all due to how it starts: I am genuinely happy with my life and all of the past morbid memories the mirror showed me are gone. The physical and sexual abuse I suffered as a child never happened. My childhood was pleasant: I was popular at school, had many friends and was even prom queen senior year. I had no significant problems which I can recall. I was truly happy and looking forward to my future.

There were parallels in this vision to my current "real" life. I still wanted to help people and become a paramedic. I saved my soon to be husband from suicide and we bought the house we currently reside in. The house was exactly the same. Everything seemed to be the same yet of course this was not a dream; it was a nightmare masquerading as one. Shouldn't have been a surprise since the mirror shows nothing but nightmares. But I didn't know this at the time. Everything was so perfect. We had a child who we named Isis. We were a happy family and that's all I wanted in life.

Things changed for the worse however. Writing this now, I should have seen this coming. The dream life I imagined took a downward spiral to depths I never thought was possible. Isis was three years old when my addiction to morphine started. I used my access as a paramedic to get the drug. It was relatively easy at first. I falsified records on the patients we would pick up. In order to avoid detection I would only do this to patients who I knew wouldn't survive. But this only worked for so long. Not only was I fired but I was arrested and facing criminal charges. If convicted I faced lengthy prison sentences of over twenty years. My initial desire to save lives transformed to how can I get more morphine to sustain my addiction. Despite all of these accusations I still had my husband and our dear Iris to support me. Iris, the Egyptian goddess of protection and magic. Seems so fitting for what happens next.

My husband posted bail, which took a huge chunk of our savings. My beloved husband and revered daughter were there to pick me up after release. I was crying, ashamed of what I've done. But at the time it didn't matter to them. All three of us embraced and my husband told me we would get through this as a family. Together we were one. But my downward spiral only began.

I went through withdrawals. I had been using morphine heavily for well over a year. At the time, addiction and its withdrawals seemed more punishing than any prison sentence. Most people don't truly understand how addiction works. They don't understand that the drug, whatever it may be, is more paramount than anything else. Including family. To the addict, all that matters is the next fix. I knew this prior to developing my all encompassing fixation on the drug. I was a paramedic after all. I've seen to what lengths addicts will go to get their next fix. I should have known the severity of what my addiction will cause to those I loved. I should have known. If only I knew. Maybe they'd both be alive if I knew what the withdrawals would drive me to do. But I didn't register that at the time. And now my Isis is dead.

I was home for two days when the withdrawal symptoms started. Physical symptoms are insomnia, confusion, nausea, vomiting, and more. Psychological symptoms are more severe and longer-lasting. Hallucinations, confused thoughts, and depression were worse than the physical symptoms. If only the courts mandated that I get hospitalized or at the very least be forced into rehab. But no they didn't and the psychological symptoms became more overwhelming than the physical symptoms.

Isis was three years old when it happened. It was day three of withdrawals. I spent the last two days with flu-like symptoms. Vomiting, muscle aches, nausea and insomnia. The latter was the worse of the physical symptoms. I didn't sleep for over two days. I hallucinated wild thoughts and visions of the end. Not just visions of my end but the world's as well.

My Goddess. My Isis. My daughter of evil. She was to bring the end of the world as we know it. I remember everything so clearly. I was not in a trance-like state when I did it. I knew exactly what I was going to do. I had to stop this monster, this so-called goddess of protection, from destroying all life on earth. I knew this was going to be hard. Despite what she is, Isis was still my baby after all. But this had to be done in order to save the world.

She always loved her baths. The bubbles always made her laugh as she tries popping them. She loved her rubber ducky who she named Bucky. She loved my soft caress as I bathe her. She loved the warmth of the water. This time however, she noticed things were different. There were no bubbles. Bucky was not in the tub. She felt no soft caress as I placed her in the water. I will not go into any further detail about what happens next. I cannot stomach it. The details are too grotesque and makes the experience too real and vivid to me. As much as I loved her this had to be done. Humanity depended on it.

My husband was in a drunken stupor. He always liked to drink but he never drank to excess. Since the last two days I was released he was drinking heavily. I've never seen him drink like this but I wasn't surprised. He had just learned his wife was a criminal. An addict. In retrospect I try to think how could he have missed the tell-tale signs. I started off snorting the drug but then that was not enough. I turned to injecting the drug straight to my bloodstream. I don't know how he never noticed the needle marks. Maybe he did and just thought nothing of it. If only he did.

He found Isis in the bathtub with me crying on the floor. He screamed in horror of finding his dead daughter in the tub. He cradled her in his arms, rocking her back and forth as if that would wake her. Of course it didn't. He then shifted his eyes at me and they lit up with understanding of what had happened. What I did. I thought he was going to kill me. I wish he had. I tried telling him she was pure evil and this had to happen in order to save the world. He yelled how can I be so crazy, so stupid, to even fathom that thought. Then I saw what I had done. Seeing her dead body cradled in his arms woke me up to reality. Isis was not the personification of evil. She was just a baby and I murdered her. Instead of killing me, my husband called the police. Why couldn't he just kill me? I deserved it.

He testified at court how he first found Isis and I in the bathroom. He wasn't looking at the prosecutor as he described the scene. He was staring into my eyes with such wraith and mourning. I was convicted of course. Nobody believed I drowned this child of pure evil. As such, I was sentenced to death via lethal injection. Seemed fitting due to how I injected myself with morphine for so much time. I eventually accepted my fate and the truth of what happened. My husband however, could not. Days after my conviction he downed a bottle of whiskey, took pills, and slit his wrists. Like he tried in real life. That was 20 years ago. I'm on death row now, days away from my execution. And then I wake up to reality. I am naked, crying, and sitting in front of the mirror in the attic.

I can't keep this up. Writing all of this. This is so difficult but it needs to be done. Anyone that reads this needs to know the truth. And this truth is awful. Unheard of. Biblical. I need to finish. I must finish. This is a warning. Destroy the mirror. Like Medusa's eyes, do not stare into the glass. Just shatter it. My entire being ITCHES. Every inch of my body. I don't have a dozen arms so I can only scratch one piece at a time. The itching is starting to get worse.

There is no good ending to my story. The horror of everything I saw forced me to this. My entire body ITCHES. My skin itches. My face itches. My mind itches. I tried scratching it out but it only made things worse. I do not feel anything but the itch. And this itch is insatiable. And this is where I leave you, the poor soul who has stumbled upon my journal. The police will be the first to read this and automatically assume I’m mentally ill. I imagine you would too, dear husband.

That’s why I’m writing this. I assure you I am not insane. This is a warning. Destroy the mirror. I don’t want anybody else to go through this madness. The ITCHING does not stop. Nothing can stop it. I scratch and scratch and the itching remains. It will not end. No matter how hard I scratch it will never stop. I know of only one way to end it. I’m sorry if there’s blood splattered on these last few pages. This is my final entry. The itching will not stop. I need to make it stop. I know what it will take to make it stop. Good bye my Love.

Act 6: What Happens Next

My day was typical enough. Just a regular day at work. I only wanted three things: come home to my wife, eat a nice dinner (Janet was an excellent cook), and make love to her. I came home expecting to see her; her car was in the driveway. And I did find her…after some searching in the house. There were blood trails from the garage leading to the attic. The trails started at my work table where my tools are. One of my tool boxes was missing and there were blood trails. Immediately I’m scared and worried. What the hell happened? Why is there blood all over the ground? Whose blood was it's? I followed the blood trail. Then I found her.

She was in the attic, sitting on the floor with her legs crossed. It was cold out and she was naked. I asked her what she was doing up there with no clothes on. She gave no response so I automatically knew something was up. She was sitting in front of a mirror I’ve never seen before. We’ve only moved in a couple days ago. We’ve seen the attic prior to purchasing the house. Nothing unusual. Just random boxes from the previous owner. I had not seen or noticed this mirror then. It wasn’t on the top of my mind then as well as now, since discovering her unresponsive body was of the utmost importance. I was thinking what the hell she was doing, naked in this cold attic.

I asked her again what she was doing. Still no response. She’s just sitting there naked. I gently put my left hand on her shoulder asking what’s wrong. Still no response. No movement even. I thought she was in a deep state of meditation, which is something she practices. But when I placed my hand on her shoulder, it felt sticky. Not like bubblegum but more like a raw steak. A cold and slimy feeling. She still didn’t respond to my touch. I pulled my hand back and was shocked to see it covered in blood. It was at that moment where I totally freaked out. It was that moment when I moved around her body to ask her what happened. Then I saw what she did to herself.

I screamed like I’ve never screamed before. And how often does one scream like that? I was in such shock I couldn't stop. And the screams didn’t stop even as the police stormed into the attic. My mind was completely lost. I don’t remember what happened next.

Act 7: Never Have I Ever…

My name is Frank Thompson. I’ve been on the force for 35 years, 25 of which I was detective. I received two 911 calls that night. Both callers said they heard screaming at neighbor’s house. Continuous screaming that never stopped. They said it happened at about the same time, which was around 6 PM. The first officers arrived at the scene less than 5 minutes later. When I got there both neighbors were outside. They were curious about what the hell happened in there. The arriving officers went inside, guns drawn. They were inside for less than three minutes when they called for backup.

When I got there both officers were standing on the front porch’s stairs along with someone sitting on the steps. That person was screaming hysterically. I’ve never heard such a noise. I like to hunt a few weeks a year and had never heard a wounded animal scream like that. Both officers looked uneasy. I asked them what to expect when I go inside. They told me they had never seen anything like this. That this was something I had to see for myself. These guys were not rookies new to the force. This was not their first rodeo in terms of finding dead bodies. They said I had to see this for myself. They said this was worse than any horror movie they'd ever seen.

Meanwhile the man on the steps never stopped screaming. He had blood on both hands. His unending screams as well as the first arriving officer’s’ vague description of the scene made me freeze before going inside. There was a blood trail leading from the garage to the attic. My partner and I followed the trail. We climbed up the attic stairs not knowing what we’ll find. I expected something horrible had happened in this attic. I was right.

We found her body. She was sitting with her legs criss-crossed, like how kindergartners sit in class. Sitting straight up in front of a large mirror. My partner and I announced our presence, that we were the police. We thought she may still be alive since her body was sitting like that. She wasn’t hunched over leaning to one side or lying flat on the attic floor. My partner and I announced ourselves again. Still no response. Then we moved around to see the front of her body. My partner and I froze at what we saw.

She had three items on the floor in front of her body. A razor blade, a power drill and a notebook. All three were covered in blood. I still remember that moment of discovering her body. I will never forget it. She had no skin. She had no skin. God she had no skin. Literally no skin on the front of her body. Not even her face. Skin and tissue was lying in small clumps around her. God I have never seen anything like this before. Blood and muscle tissue separated from her body and just sitting on the floor like a thick spilled milk shake. Near her hands was a bloodied notebook, razor blade, and a power drill like I said. It didn’t take much deduction to assume she used the razor blade to slice her skin off. Right off the bat I knew this was not the cause of death. Doesn’t take a genius to see the bloody gaping hole where her left eyeball used to be was what ultimately killed her. She inserted the power drill deep enough into her eye socket and into her brain. That’s what killed her.

More officers came, as well as forensics. We waited for them to arrive. I went into the house with the head of the forensics team into the attic. He didn’t react like the other officers on the scene. The scene did not disturb him at all. He simply asked, moreso to himself than to me, how can a person do this to oneself. I asked if he thinks the husband did it. He analytically said no, that he’d have more blood on his whole body if he did. He said she did this to herself.

Act 8: Grief and Guilt

I was ruled out as a suspect almost immediately by forensics. All I have now is grief and guilt. How did this happen? Could I have been able to stop this? What the hell caused this? So many questions with no answers. I’ve tried to figure it out. I looked and analyzed every possible cause which may have led her to this brutal act. Janet wasn’t depressed. In the years we’ve been together, she never showed any signs of mental illness. She didn’t do drugs. Hell she didn’t even drink. She was one of the most rational people I’ve ever met. She had a good heart. That’s what led her to become a paramedic. She wanted to help people.

I knew something was wrong. Most suicides indicate a person’s perspective that nothing will ever change. They believe there is nothing left for them. All the walls have closed in. Everything is permanent. People who attempt suicide tend to use quicker methods to end one's life. Pill overdose, slitting of one's wrists, gunshot to the head to name a few. But Janet didn't use any of these methods. It would have made more sense if she did. Instead she flayed the skin off her body and killed herself with a power drill. A very extreme way to go. This just doesn't make sense. Why would she do this to herself? Why would anyone do this to themselves?

Her death was ruled a suicide. Case closed. As such, I was able to retrieve the evidence taken from the scene. I didn’t want the razor blade or power drill back. Like, what the hell am I supposed to do with that? Use the drill for house projects? Still they gave it to me. I threw the evidence bag into the garbage dumpster as soon as I walked out of the station. I started walking away when I realized there was something worth keeping from that bag. It was Janet’s journal. I needed to see what compelled her to do this. I owe her that much. She saved my life. I failed in saving hers. I need to know why she did this. I need to know the truth.

Act 9: Finally Some Answers

I've read Janet's journal entries in complete shock and disbelief. I was obsessed to find out what could have caused her to do this to herself. In her journal entries she described the nightmare visions and how they drove her to end her life. Janet also warned anyone and everyone to not look into the mirror in the attic. She didn't want people to see their own nightmares. She wanted the mirror destroyed. That was her dying wish. I had to witness this for myself. I had to look into the mirror with my own eyes.

I did not want to go up there at all. I did not want to relive the moment where I found Janet on that one fateful night. This was the first time I went into the attic since finding her body. The smell of her blood was still in the air. It had an odor which smelled like copper. A smell I will never forget. Her blood was mopped up but you can still see the floor marking the spot where she sat. I did not know what to expect going into the attic. But I had to figure this out. She didn't do this to herself for no reason. With the floor stained with her blood I sat in front of the mirror with my legs criss-crossed just like Janet when I found her. Now seated I took five deep breaths and looked at the mirror.

I saw nothing but my own reflection staring back at me. Not to be deterred, I continued sitting there gazing intensely at the glass which compelled my wife to kill herself. Like Janet I had a pen and notebook to document any visions I may see. I didn't see anything. I sat there for hours and only saw myself staring back at me. My firmness to solve this mystery was wearing thin. But I still sat there. I was determined not to leave until I found out why she did this. More hours passed and I was starting to nod off. I was about to give up for the night and continue my watch the next day. But as I was about to get up and leave, the mirror shimmered.

This strengthened my resolve to continue waiting with the hope of seeing anything aside from my reflection. Something was happening. The shimmer continued and I was no longer seeing myself sitting in front of the mirror. I was finally starting to see a vision like Janet did. I braced myself for what was to come. My pen and notebook were prepared to document what would happen next. I didn't know whether to be excited, relieved, or terrified by this change of events. All I knew was that I was hopefully and finally going to get some answers.

This was it. What I've been waiting for ever since she died. My pen was ready to document everything I'd see. One pen. One notebook. The vision had started. I psyched myself up in preparation of what will happen next and how I needed to document this supernatural event. What I've been waiting for so long was about to happen.

I was entranced immediately. The vision was beautiful. It felt more like a dream than a "vision". But I didn't care. I sat there for a few hours absorbed into this dream-like state. I was so happy bathing in the afterglow of this most wonderful memory that never happened. Janet was still alive and we had a child. Her name was Isis. We named her after the Egyptian Goddess of protection and magic, which was one of the many roles the ancient Isis was perceived as. Three years old and we treated her like a Goddess. I love Janet and she loves me. Now we had a child we can cherish forever. All three of us were together for the first time. This is the happiest I've ever been. This was heaven.

Everything seemed to be in slow motion, which was not a bad thing at all. It gave me time to relish the moment. To truly appreciate this miracle. But I knew I was still connected to the reality of myself sitting in front of the mirror. That I had to document this for anyone who reads this. My Janet was alive and we had a child together. We raised and watched Isis go through all the stages of life. Janet and I treated her as a goddess from her days as a toddler, teenager, and young growing adult. She was perfect in all ways. She never rebelled as a young teenager or had any problems of any sort. Like I said, she was perfect.

At first I was prepared to write everything I witnessed through the mirror down on the notebook. And I still did. This is proof that shows Janet was not crazy. I don't know why she saw those disturbing visions. I do know that she saw something, just like how I'm seeing something now. Something's weird though. My eyes are not shifting from the mirror's warped vision in order to write this account into my notebook. It's like my hand was writing by itself. Quite frankly, I don't care. I don't care anymore about proving Janet's state of mind as being crazy or sane. It doesn't matter anymore. She's not dead, she's right here with me and Isis. We are all happy and this is heavenly bliss. I'm where I should be, with my wife Janet and daughter Isis.

ACT 10: How It All Ends

When I got the call from dispatch to head to this address where multiple neighbors reported a stench, l knew deep down inside where I'm going. I don't know how I knew or whatever. Call it instinct I suppose. I knew this address because it is home of the worst crime scene I had ever been to. I am a detective and my name is Frank Thompson. I've been to this house before.

I arrived at the crime scene. The same patrolmen who responded to that initial call months ago were awaiting my arrival. Unlike my first visit to this residence these cops were cool-headed, smoking cigarettes on the front porch. This is the same front porch where only a few weeks ago, a man was screaming. It was a noise I will never forget. And of course I will never forget what I saw once I entered the attic that night. One can never forget a memory like that. Something like that will haunt you for the rest of your life. The attic and what happened there.

I just knew deep down immediately that's where I'm going to find something...brutal and terrifying. I'm already thinking "Never have I ever" as I walk up the attic stairs. That's what I said to myself when I saw the victim that night only a few weeks ago. If I remember correctly the person we found in that "condition" was named Janet. I had to prepare myself for what I was going to discover in that same attic . I knew I was going to discover something not only gruesome, but unthinkable. Like something out of a horror movie.

There's a naked man sitting upright and crisscrossed in front of a mirror. This was more than deja vu. Hell, I didn't even think of it the last time I was here. Just like then I never noticed any reflection of the victim sitting in front of the mirror. At that time I had to face her in order to see what happened. Same thing here. The strangest thing though is I did not see anything in the mirror where this man is staring into. No reflection whatsoever. How did I not notice this at the other crime scene?

Even though the man is sitting straight and not hunched over to one side or the other, I knew he was dead. I didn't even bother announcing myself. I walked directly in front of the victim. I was shocked at what I saw but not in the same way as I was last time I was here. This man did not skin himself. This man did not kill himself with a power drill. But dammit this was just as bad. I was shocked at the condition this man's body was in. This man was two hundred or so pounds last time I was here. Now he looked like he weighed one hundred pounds.

This is not possible. I was here less than three weeks ago. He was in hysterics over his wife's horrific suicide. Now he looked like a mummified skeleton. He had a pen and notebook in front of his body just like his wife did. Except this one was not covered in blood. As brutal and horrifying finding his wife in the sliced up condition she was in, this seemed worse to me. There is no physical damage to his body. He didn't use a razor blade on himself or a power drill. He just sat there and starved to death in front of the same mirror his wife did. The thing that set these two victims apart however was that this man was smiling as if he was the happiest man on earth.

If you are feeling alone and having thoughts of suicide—whether or not you are in crisis—or know someone who is, don’t remain silent. Talk to someone you can trust through the 988 Suicide & Crisis Lifeline. Call or text 988 or chat the Lifeline.