The Beginning

The Beginning by Aimey. Edited by Daniel. <3

The looking glass always reflected the whispers of sinful hate that constantly played the creaky old house and captured each deep dark secret that was driven into the glass. Of all the horrible things the dark shadows lurked in every corner, magnified by the demonic sounds that escaped through the thin walls. That face always stared back; ever since the two year old girl peeked deep into her dead uncle’s mirror and spoke his most favorite words.

The family was freaked out but they ignored it much like everything else that went on behind those walls; the things you couldn’t speak of, they always came to me. The voices, the scratching, the screaming, and dreams that never stopped.

So many empty spaces that a child couldn’t remember; the things that didn’t seem strange because it was all you knew. It wasn’t until later that I realized death lurked all around me. From the animal bone collection in my father’s garage that he had from my cousins collecting, to the blood stains on my pillows and broken wings from fights and drinking. They were all crazy, and oh so cold. The atmosphere was like poison, draining any normal sense of reason from your soul. My cousin and I would curl up in bed, and although we seemed alone, we knew we never were.

Once the lights went out, “they” would come. Her first vision was her dead father in a hospital gown, and he would reach out for her hand. I believe I was five when she told me, and although the odd thing is, what we never realized was he never went to the hospital; his death took place at murder in his own home.

I don’t remember my first vision; I believe it was that mirror where I repeated his words when I could barely speak. All I know is as far back as I can remember and it is always present. The mirrors were always fascinating to us; you never knew what would look back at you from behind the prisims of glass and light. There wasn’t a clear line between where they stopped seeking us and where we began to search back for them. As you grow older though, you get more and more involved and it isn’t as scary anymore. It’s not the screaming and crying of a six year old hiding from the demonic whispers that chanted her name at the foot of the bed. It became something to play with, enchanting almost, and different with an aura of darkness; especially the pale faces that when you glimpsed inside the mirror. Afterall, vanity is known as Satan’s favorite sin.