My ears ring and the back of my head throbs in a sharp pain. What is happening? Where am I?
Mutters and whispers surround me, barely penetrating into my clouded consciousness. A sharp high pitched voice finally cuts through the fog.
“Do you think it’s dead?” the voice says, trembling with trepidation.
“I don’t know! You’re the one who stabbed it!” another lower pitched voice cuts in, this one laced with fear.
What were these voices talking about? Am I in danger? I should probably get up and run from whatever it is these voices had been trying to kill.
I sit up and climb to my feet, eliciting a shrill scream from the previous voices followed by the pounding of footsteps in the opposite direction. Getting to my feet as quickly as possible, I also begin to sprint in the direction of the survivors. Urging my legs to go faster, I fly down a dark narrow hallway, unsure where I am, how I got here, or where I’m going, leaving me blindly sprinting after the panicked footsteps ahead.
Thud. I hear a door slam and suddenly I am left alone in eerie silence. Even as I strain my ears to listen for more footsteps, all I can hear are my own labored breaths. Slowing down, I take in my unfamiliar surroundings for the first time: splintered wooden floors, dusty gray walls, and a worn mantle above a long forgotten fireplace filled with cobwebs. I search my memories in an attempt to recall how I came to be in this haunted-looking house. Nothing. I can’t remember a single thing.
Great, I definitely have a concussion. I guess that explains the constant pain in the back of my head.
I focus back on my surroundings, determined to find a way out of this haunted hellhole and back home.
Where is home, again?
I can’t seem to remember anymore. As I gaze at the disintegrated fireplace, my eyes trail up past the crooked mantle, landing on a corroded mirror. More accurately, half a mirror, so full of cracks a person would struggle to make out their reflection. A shattered portion leaves a window showing the old stained dry-wall behind.
That’s when I see it. A large figure looming in the disfigured reflection. I scream and simultaneously hear a sound that can only be described as blood-curdlingly terrifying. A demonic roar echoes around the small room as the booming sound bounces off the tarnished wooden boards.
This is it. This is where my story ends. Please don’t let this end up on an episode of True Crime.
I whip around ready to face my demon head on, but there is nothing behind me. I turn back to face the mirror only to find the monster staring back at me. My blood runs cold as I stand frozen in fear. Ancient tan bandages wrapped around black shadows form a mummified Egyption nightmare, as soulless black voids glare back at me though the glass.
Okay mirror mummy, let’s go then. If you won’t kill me here, I’ll destroy your glass cage.
My hand strikes what remains of the cursed mirror, shattered glass crashing to the floor, when suddenly I see a bandaged claw reach out from behind me. I withdraw my fist, ready to attack the demon behind me. Instantaneously, the bandaged claw retracts. Once again, I turn around and there is nothing behind me. I reach out into the dusty air in front of me and the claw returns once more. This time I do not hesitate to grab it with my other hand.
No getting away this time.
Another bandaged hand reaches out latching onto the other claw.
Where are my hands? Why can I only see the demon mummy’s rotting flesh gripping itself? Then it dawns on me: the reflection in the mirror, monster hands reaching out the same time as my own, demonic roaring the exact moment I screamed.
This can’t be happening. No it’s impossible.
I drop to the floor, scrambling to pick up a broken shard of glass. As I hold it up to my face the monster reappears.
No. This isn’t happening. I raise my hand; the reflection mimics the action. I turn my head; the bandaged head turns simultaneously.
Nonononono.
Desperately, I claw at the bandages trying to reveal a face, anything to prove my humanity. In my reflection rotting fingers tug and pull furiously at the bandages that cover the demon. Except there is nothing human lurking beneath the gauze; only infinite darkness, a void of shadows.
I am the monster. The voices weren’t trying to kill something else. I was the target. I stare down at the side of my abdomen only to find a long shard of glass sticking out of my side, covered in black ooze, darkness spilling out from under the bandages.
It all makes sense now: the running, the panicking when I sat up, the sharp pain in my side as I regained consciousness. What had the second voice said? “You’re the one who stabbed it!” Stabbed. I got stabbed. The voices had not been talking about a monster, they had been referring to me, trying to kill me. I was the one that was stabbed. Me. Because I am the monster that had unknowingly chased after them. I am the Egyptian demon. The voices had been running from… me.