The world is a scary place. Every day
we’re forced to make choices, no matter how small, that may be leading us along
a new path. Whether that path is heading towards something good, like a
promotion or meeting some special, or towards something bad, like an accident,
or even death, we can never know. In the end, that’s possibly the scariest
thing of all.
That’s why I need your help to guide
a character, or characters, through the possible dangers that await them
in #YourHorror, an interactive horror story that
will be shaped by the choices you make. Even I don’t know what will
happen, and I’m the writer…
From Monday to Friday, at
roughly 8pm GMT each day, there will be a new Twitter poll. These polls will ask you to choose between a number of options, each
of which may take the story in a new direction. Sometimes a decision will give
a bit more insight into the character, setting, or backstory, while other times
the decision will solely focus on driving the narrative forward.
Week 6
A flash of lightning lit the sky on fire,
illuminating the walls of her new home. The strange situation she found herself
in was revealed under a brief spotlight, proving that there really was a hand
reaching from the bathroom mirror in front of her, her own hand held tight in
its cool, porcelain grip. It startled her into action.
She grabbed her left arm, the one being held against
its will, with her right hand – no longer feeling the burn that gave her hand a
bubbly, shiny quality – and pulled. It made no difference. Even when she pulled
with all of her might, grunting with exertion, to the point where she thought
she might actually break free without her hand, the mirror hand showed no signs
of letting her free.
Another spotlight of blue and white lit the room and
revealed a woman looking much sweatier and more exasperated than it had before.
The next time the light was flashed across
the room, it was empty. Just as she had been ready to take a break, with the
possibility of having to live her life from this very spot in her mind, the
hand in the mirror had pulled. Hard.
Her arm was nearly pulled from its socket as she was
yanked towards the mirror. No, not towards the mirror, into the mirror. In one swift, painful motion, the pasty mirror
hand snatched her from her ordinary bathroom, where she had already been
retching and licking her wounds from her less-than-ordinary day. The damp towel
lay on the floor where it had landed, looking as if it had been thrown to the
floor by an angst-y teenager.
Once again, the property was still, at complete odds
with the storm that raged outside.
*
As she flew head-first through the mirror, she
felt the hand release its grip on her own.
(Bit late now…)
Clearly, it had done its job.
She landed with a thump on something that felt
simultaneously smooth and wet, like glass made of mist so concentrated that it
became solid. It was hard to tell what exactly it was, because the world around
her was almost entirely black. That was, except for a thin beam of light that
trailed in from somewhere behind her. When she looked over her shoulder, still
on all fours where she’d landed, she saw what looked like a faraway window. She
squinted.
(Is… is that my bathroom?)
It was impossible to be sure from this
distance, and there was something that concerned her more. The air in front of
her, if that’s what it could be called, was disturbed. She could feel eyes
burning into the top of her head. Like a deer trying to find its feet for the
first time, she clambered upwards and met its gaze. Only it wasn’t an ‘it’. It
was a ‘she’.
(Wait… that’s me.)
Staring back at her with no emotion
whatsoever, was a mirror copy of herself. The same hair, the same eyes, the
same lips, the same clothes, thrown together for an afternoon of unplanned research
and Netflix napping. Everything.
(Readers: I bet you’re wishing you’d
gone with the character detail option! This is killing me.)
Unsure of how to react to this carbon copy,
which watched her through eyes that were as cold as its freakishly strong hand,
she lashed out.
(It’s not real. It doesn’t matter. Whiskey and
pills could make anyone see things.)
She neglected the fact that she’d fallen to
sleep before ever taking any pills, and even a lightweight like herself could
manage more than two sips of whiskey without hallucinating. Thinking that any
of this was real would be too much.
Her hand whipped through the darkness, curled
into a fist, but just before she could come into contact with the copy, she
pulled the punch. Hell, it was herself she was punching in the face. Surely
anyone would struggle with that. What started as a right hook turned into more
of a claw, and she raked her nails across the copy’s cheek. It was like
scratching a pane of glass, and had almost no effect at all. She’d almost
punched.
(Know what makes a burn worse? Broken
knuckles.)
She was dragged from her relief by a warm
tickling sensation on her cheek. When she touched her hand to her face, her
finger came away with a smudge of blood.
(Okay. That’s a new one.)
Too scared to test the developing theory in
her head, she decided that she wouldn’t lash out at the copy again. It seemed
unfazed by the fact that she’d even tried to attack it, and had definitely come
off better from the encounter. She believed she could see a slight groove in
its pasty cheek, but it could have been her imagination. Either way, it
continued to stare in her direction, unwavering, detached.
It was in this same way that it spoke to her.
“You
are being drawn deeper into something you do not understand.” In a way, it was
her own voice that left the lips of the copy, but so devoid of personality and
life that it could have been anyone.
“No, not at
all. This is pretty much what I expected in a new town.” This thing wouldn’t
know sarcasm even if it slapped it in the face, and probably for the best,
because it seemed sarcasm would come off worse. No-one wanted that.
“You have
been chosen. Even now, you are slipping further down into a world that you do
not understand. A world that you are not prepared for. A world of madness.”
“I can see
how you would think that…” She looked left, then right, then back at the copy. “I’m
inside my bathroom mirror.”
“You still
do not understand the situation you are in. They will break you. Jokes will not
save you.”
“How else
would I deal with my feelings? Talk about them like a mature adult? Stop that.”
She swallowed. “Who are they?”
“They are
everywhere, and they have set their sights on you.”
“Helpful,”
she muttered. “Why am I here?”
“For my
warning. Part of you, me, understands the web of madness and deceit you are
being entangled inside, while part of you is clinging to the threads of what
should and should not be. It was the only way to make you see.”
“Okay… message
received,” she said, thinking how much easier it would have been for her to
send a tweet or a WhatsApp message. This she kept to herself, knowing that the
copy wouldn’t understand or care, and also not feeling liking joking anymore. “What
do I do?”
“There are
many paths. I cannot tell you which you take, only that there any many potential
endings to your story.”
“As long as
none of those endings come too quickly. Thanks, I guess.”
“You have
been warned.” With those final words, the copy disappeared and the light from
behind grew larger and brighter. She was pulled backwards towards the real
world with as much force as she had been pulled from it, and was thrown to the
bathroom floor. If it hadn’t been for the towel, there’d have been yet another
injury to add to the collection.
As it happened, with the storm finally
breaking outside, and the light of early morning beginning to stream through
the window, all she had was even more to think about.
(How long was I in there?)
New day. New problems. This one had to be
better, right?
Well, I guess that's up to YOU! Thanks so much for voting, sharing and reading - it means a lot, and I hope you'll get involved in the next week of this interactive horror story.
If you're enjoying it so far, please make sure to let me know in the comments, or by sharing the story with encouragement of "amazing," "brilliant," and "this guy is the next Stephen King!" That's just a few options, if you're struggling to think of anything... See you on Twitter!
Looking forward to reading next Instalment. Brilliant idea!
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