Over There

©2003 William I. Lengeman III
All rights reserved.

Brandon shuffled into the bathroom, coughing hard. He groaned at the puffy, bleary-eyed face in the mirror. It had been a night that makes an enemy of morning.

His roommate clumped around downstairs, leaving for work. Brandon felt uneasy, but he couldn't figure out why. He splashed water on his face and grabbed the shaving cream. The can slipped from his hands and fell ... forward—disappearing into the mirror like it had just slipped beneath the surface of a still lake.

Brandon grabbed for it. His hand disappeared up to his wrist. He was so startled that he did absolutely nothing. After a moment, it occurred to him to pull his hand back, but it was held fast, as though it were embedded in a sidewalk. He wiggled his fingers. Aside from a slight tingling, the hand felt normal.

He wondered if Joe had left yet.

"Hello?" His voice echoed slightly in the drafty bathroom. "Joe?"

He called a few more times. No answer. Obviously Joe was gone. So now what? He looked around. The toilet was too far away to sit down. He wasn't sure if the sink would support his weight.

Well, this was just frigging great. He had already been late to work once this month. This wouldn't sit well with Mr. Morgenstern.

He opened the medicine cabinet, moving the embedded hand with it. He half expected to see his hand sticking from the other side, but it wasn't.

He closed the door and stood there for a long time, doing not much of anything. What time was it? Ten o'clock...noon? He wished there was a clock in the bathroom. He stretched, trying to reach the window shade, but came up a good three feet short. He imagined himself chewing through his wrist or sawing at it for long, painful hours with a flimsy disposable razor.

He was getting hungry. He was ready to pour a glass of water when he stopped. He had heard something—a soft snuffling sound, slightly muffled. There it was again. Oh, God. Hairs prickled all over his body. It was coming from behind the mirror.

Sweat beaded on his forehead. He heard it again and hot air wafted over his hand. He panicked, clambering on the sink and trying to pull free. The mirror didn't give way and he wrenched his shoulder. He shrieked, feeling something warm and wet on his hand. Something was licking it. He shrieked again and kept shrieking, feeling the most intense pain he could have imagined.

His arm was free, but blood was spraying everywhere. He couldn't believe how much there was. He felt dizzy. He braced himself against the wall with his good hand - his remaining hand. He heard the snuffling again, louder and more insistent. He looked down at his blood pooling in the sink and lost his balance. He tried to catch himself, but couldn't. He fell toward the mirror. He screamed one final scream and he was gone.

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