Flash Fiction Month 2020 Day 8

Today’s story is about mirrors. I think there’s always something unsettling about them. The way that the world fades to darkness beyond the visible.

Candle Arc

Chris only arced the candles in front of the mirror to save money, doubling the light in the reflection. Sat on the sofa, he didn’t notice the candles multiplying at first, the fresh ones pushing out through the shimmering glass. By the time his attention shifted from his book to the glass the original four tea-lights on the wooden floor had increased to eight then sixteen. Placing the novel to one side, he walked across the room and stared at the circle half formed by reflections.

Scuffing his hand over the flames he winced. The heat was real. More emerged across the floor until they surrounded him. He glanced at the mirror, his reflection glanced back, then without a movement from Chris to echo, stood up. Across the reflection’s arms Chris saw sigils etched in ash, and in one hand a dagger of glass. His double, who should be anchored to every gesture, revelled in its independence and inscribed the air with the point of the blade. A circle scratched itself on the reflective surface.

Chris tried to step back, but any attempt to cross the line of candles was blocked by an unsen barrier. With the glittering dagger still held in one hand, the reflection reached through, grasped Chris by the throat and slowly dragged him through the mirror.

On the other side there were no symbols are circles, there was nothing but the reflections of the room and beyond just shadow. He stared out to the room, the one attached to a world he could no longer reach. Hammering on the glass he watched as the reflection blew out the candles one by one, then covered the mirror with a thick sheet leaving nothing but darkness.

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