I was having a good day at work. Not too much to do, just enough to make the time pass and keep me busy. I gave a work friend a ride home and had a long talk. Turns out we’re both the youngest siblings in our families, which gave us a (surprising) amount of common ground. I got myself a chicken salad and drove home. I walked up the stairs to my apartment. I opened the front door, and right there on the wall with all the smiling pictures of my friends and family, was a blank picture frame. Empty.
What the hell?
While it didn’t ruin my night, it made me start asking questions. I wouldn’t just hang up a blank picture, and I wouldn’t put it in the middle of the hallway. I have this large hallway mirror with pictures hung up on the side, and it is kind of a centerpiece. Still, I couldn’t recall what would’ve been in that frame, and there was no photo that’d slipped out. I wasn’t planning on framing anything either, or if I did, I wouldn’t hang the frame up before I’d put in the photo.
I’d be lying if I said that it really bothered me. It was an oddity, at most. For a second, I caught myself in the mirror looking anxious. Why was I letting this get to me? The weekend was just around the corner.
I just gave myself a smile and took the frame down.
The next day, I came home to another empty frame. Now this was strange. It wasn’t empty earlier that day, or I would’ve taken it down along with the other one. There would be no reason for me to only take down one frame, so what’d happened between now and then that caused this frame to turn blank? And why couldn’t I remember what was in that frame, when I looked at it just the day before?
This time, I caught myself looking bothered. The hallway mirror doesn’t lie. It was time to figure this out, weekend be damned.
I made two conclusions. The first was that if the frame had been emptied the day before, I would’ve taken it down. Hence, it must’ve turned empty between when I left from work and when I came home. About nine hours in total. The second conclusion was that the photos that were framed were completely missing, they hadn’t just dropped out. The backing board was intact, and the little metal points holding it back were tight. Either someone took the photo out, or it just ceased to exist.
That wasn’t a comfortable conclusion. My mirror image seemed to agree.
I checked the locks, the balcony, the windows… all of it. I lived on the second floor, but with enough determination a thief could get in anywhere. Sure, there would be no reason for a thief to get in and just steal a single picture (leaving the frame), but there were crazies all over. Don’t get me started on the next town over, where an entire neighborhood wears creepy masks.
Everything was intact. No one would get in or out without breaking something, and nothing had been broken. I went to check my keys to see if anyone had stolen the spare, but it was still there. What surprised me though was the key to a bike lock.
I didn’t have a bike. Did I?
There was a bike rack out front, and I started trying the key. I got a lot of sneers from the neighbors, but I tried not to let it bother me. Finally, I found the bike the key belonged to. A sporty bike, a woman’s model. The seating was much lower than I’d use, and seeing as how I am a man, I probably would’ve gotten another kind of model. Probably. Loved the colors though.
It gave me an uncomfortable thought. Maybe I wasn’t just forgetting the pictures; maybe I was forgetting whatever or whoever was inside them as well. Maybe I was forgetting people?
As a precaution, I hurried back up to my apartment. I wrote down a description for each remaining picture. I also recorded them with my phone. I committed them each to memory, to the best of my ability.
The next day, as I was brushing my teeth, I noticed another empty picture frame. I nearly swallowed my toothpaste. My mouth felt dry. I couldn’t remember what’d been framed. I could feel myself cold sweating as my heart started to race. This was impossible. I’d been here the entire time. I picked up my phone to check the video I’d recorded, but I was told the file had been “corrupted” and couldn’t be played. I caught a glimpse of my dilated pupils in the hallway mirror as I hurried into the kitchen.
The note with all my descriptions had been torn to pieces. With shaking hands I gathered every piece and tried to puzzle them back together. They were no bigger than the nail on my pinky finger.
I must’ve been at it for hours. I’d gotten about halfway when I realized there were several missing pieces. They were probably the description for the photo in the now-empty frame.
I concluded; I was not just forgetting things, they were actively being removed.
It was a disturbing thought. How do you make someone forget something, or someone?
That last thought resonated with me. Someone. I didn’t feel like I was missing anyone, but then again, how would I know? If I’d forgotten about someone important in my life, and all traces of them were gone, how would I know?
This gave me an idea. In some places, a lack of things can be just as telling as having something. I went through my entire apartment, step by step, and noticed a few inconsistencies.
There was an empty drawer in my bedroom. I wouldn’t just let one drawer overflow, and another remain empty. I would’ve spread things out. Someone had probably been using this drawer until recently.
There were several empty folders on my computer. I may not be the brightest PC user, but I don’t create empty folders for no reason. Especially not in the “Image” and “Movie” default folders.
There were entire shelves that were suspiciously empty in both my fridge and freezer. Again, why wouldn’t I just spread things out?
It felt like I was watching a mind-twisting game of Jenga, only the pieces that were picked out were parts of my life. As I took a shower to clear my head, I noticed two more things. One; there was a pale patch of skin on my right shoulder, with strange contours. There had probably been a tattoo there.
Two; there was a mark on my left ring finger. So, until just recently, I’d worn an engagement ring.
I sent a few messages to friends and family and checked my social media. There was no indications of any kind that I had been engaged. I got a few responses from confused friends. They had no idea what I was talking about, and they started asking if I was okay. I wasn’t the problem here! The problem was that something was eating up my life, step by step, and I had no way to fight it!
I stumbled back into the kitchen, poured myself a whisky, and started making a list. A list of things someone like me would think was important enough to put in a picture on my wall. Parents, uncles, cousins, siblings, grandparents, pets… all of it. Then I tried to match what I could remember to those categories. I remembered almost everything. There were a few blank spots. For example, I had no brothers or sisters, and I’d been single for a very long time.
That didn’t make any sense though. Just a few days prior I’d been talking to a work colleague about being the youngest sibling. Not just young-er, like you are if you have a single older sibling, but young-est. That’s what you are if you have more siblings than one. Plural. I couldn’t remember having any brothers or sisters.
I laid it all out. I had, most probably, completely forgotten about two siblings and a fiancée.
I’ll be the first to admit, I didn’t handle it very well. I called my mother after my fourth drink of whisky, and I wasn’t making much sense. She was worried. Of course I had no brothers or sisters! Never had, and sadly, never would.
“Check the photo albums!” I screamed. “Check every album you’ve got, and you’ll see! You’ll see the empty pages!”
I sat down flat in the hallway with my fifth drink, having thrown my cell phone across the room. I stared at myself in the hallway mirror. I almost looked happy, despite feeling awful. That’s what a good drink can do to you, it is like putting on a mask. I frowned as deep as I could, but it just looked like I was making a funny face. To be fair, the hallway mirror wasn’t that great. It was slightly stretched, making you look a little thinner and taller than you really are. Kind of like a funhouse mirror, only to a lesser effect.
I tried again to commit every photo to memory. My parents, my uncle, my grandparents. My cousin, standing in a field of those weird blue sunflowers.
I counted them all, then counted them again. And on my sixth drink, I fell asleep on the floor, curled up in a fetal position.
I was drifting in and out of sleep. Despite everything, I was happy no more pictures had disappeared. One by one they’d gone away, like petals picked from a flower. Then, it stopped. There’d been no more. Maybe it was over, and whatever was removing them had gotten what it came for.
Of course, there was another option. Maybe it was just waiting for me to fall asleep.
That thought jolted me awake. I’d probably gotten a solid three hours of sleep, and it was the middle of the night.
There was rustling in the kitchen. Not loud, but loud enough for me to hear it. It sounded like someone going through my cutlery. There was nothing special in there for someone to steal. Well, except for an old butter knife my cousin gave to me back when she was into whittling that one summer.
The thought froze me. I checked the picture frames. All the photos were still there. There might still be time.
I had a handgun in a secure locker in my bedroom, on a small shelf above my winter jackets. The key was right there in the hallway, on a separate keychain. I got the key, listening for movement in the kitchen. I could hear the rustling stop, and the kitchen drawer being set back in place. If whoever was in there decided to check the bedroom, I’d be screwed. I held my breath and listened. I heard footsteps move into the bathroom.
Of course, there was a cologne I’d gotten as a birthday gift last year. That was also from my cousin. But I could still remember her, so it wasn’t too late.
I opened the locker, loaded a clip, and turned the safety off.
I stepped into the hallway, held the gun up high, and looked into the bathroom. I could hear someone looking for something just around the corner, next to the bathtub, but all I could see was the edge of a pair of jeans and a black t-shirt. I had to act.
“Stop!” I yelled. “Step out! Slowly!”
The rustling stopped.
“Hello.”
The voice was dark and muddled, as if spoken underwater. It was distant, but near, and it echoed. It made the air tremble so hard that it made my stomach shiver. I almost threw up.
“Step out with your hands-“
He did. I did.
It was me.
The hallway mirror was empty.
There were a few differences. The person I was looking at was slightly taller and thinner. Stretched, like the image in the mirror. It was still mirroring my expression, but not the movements of my body. I looked terrified.
“Hello” he repeated, sending another ripple through my guts.
“Hands on your head” I said. “Stay back. I’m calling the police.”
“Hello.”
He didn’t comply. I double-checked the safety, and it was off. A pinch of the trigger would be all it took. Instead of listening to me, the person stepped forward.
I pulled the trigger.
I shouldn’t have done that.
The bullet made a hole in his left shoulder. It went clean through. A few drops of blood escaped him but evaporated against the floor in puffs of black smoke.
The person had been keeping up an act, and now it felt threatened. In an instant, it turned into something else. The face twisted and turned. The jaw unhinged and the tongue stuck straight up in the air like the rattle of a snake. Limbs grew longer and turned soft. A third arm grew from the stomach, tearing away the black t-shirt. Hands grew longer, fingers ending in bird-like talons.
There was no way I would stand my ground against this walking nightmare. My instincts were battling each other. One side asking me to shut down and stay dead, the other telling me to run. There was no fighting to be done, only ways to flee. I took off running. It was nothing but luck that I remembered my trigger discipline.
I started running down the flight of stairs. A neighbor was yelling, calling the police. Someone opened a door. I can’t remember what happened to them, or who they were. A scream I can’t remember, silenced. Something the size of a football being torn free from a torso.
I got out into the cool night air. I was barefoot. For a second I almost convinced myself it wasn’t really happening. Standing out there, in the real world, it just couldn’t be happening. This doesn’t happen in the real world.
Then my nightmare came bursting through the door. It’d grown. It extended its stomach to a bubble, like the abdomen of a spider. It had three arms and four legs, and there were more things growing. The head could barely be recognized. It’d folded itself backwards, using an elongated tongue like an antenna sniffing the air. For all the things I’ve been forced to forget, this thing I can’t help but remember. I couldn’t forget it if I tried. Closing my eyes, to this day, I can describe everything down to the texture of its skin.
I kept running. The pitter-patter of skin flung against asphalt came closer. It was right behind me. I knew that if it caught me, I’d never have existed in the first place. Not even my mother would remember me. Everything I was, everything I’d done, gone in an instant.
“Hello.”
The rumble in my stomach came back, and I lost my balance. I fell forward, badly scraping my shoulder.
“No” was the only word I could muster. “No, I- no!”
I was breathing too fast, and my head was barely getting any oxygen. I was panicking. I flipped around, laid on my back, and held up my handgun.
It was almost on me. Teeth, naked skin, talons and limbs. It was warm.
I didn’t want to disappear. Not like this.
That’s when I noticed something, in the distance. There was something sparkling, just outside my balcony. There was a thin ripple in the air, like an umbilical cord. It was like looking at a black hole; there was nothing there to see but the lack of space. This ripple stretched from the nape of the creature up to a rectangular sparkle, hanging free in the air.
The hallway mirror. It was stuck to it.
Despite teeth, skin and claw moving in to rip me apart, I aimed for the hallway mirror. It looked so odd, floating in mid-air, so far above ground. An anchor.
Maybe it was adrenaline, or maybe I was lucky, but the shot connected. Shards spilled out of the frame, and the creature turned around. Parts of it were falling off, evaporating into black smoke. It hurried back towards the mirror. I followed it.
It fell to its knees, arms flailing. It was trying to gather the shards, to desperately puzzle it all together.
“Hello” it said again.
This time, the sound was high-pitched, almost shrieking. The creature had shrunk significantly, and as I got closer, I unloaded the entire clip into the rest of the mirror. Shards shattered against the sidewalk, and the creature was oozing with black smoke. A single eyeball tumbled out of its skull, and fell into the largest of the shards. Moments later, the entire creature evaporated.
I kept that shard. I can sometimes see something moving in it, but it is too small to harm anyone. If you listen closely to it, you can hear a tiny “Hello”.
The police came, but none of my neighbors could remember why someone would’ve called. They hadn’t seen or heard anything. It was odd though, one of the apartments had been left wide open. It was still furnished, but no one can remember anyone ever living there. I’m guessing we forgot about the tenant, but that the creature didn’t get the time to clean up the belongings.
Looking back at this, I’m certain I had a brother. I think he lived in the outskirts of the city, and that he disappeared as he was out camping with his friends.
I also think I had a sister. I’m certain she was the one who gave me the mirror to begin with. She was smart, studied in Europe for several years. She was blinded in an accident a few years ago. I haven’t figured out when, or how, she disappeared.
My fiancée was the last to disappear. Despite my best efforts, I haven’t been able to figure out anything about her. She is a complete mystery to me. Trying to mourn her knots my stomach. I’m trying to imagine what we would’ve done together, what places we’d seen, or how long we’d been together, but I just can’t. If I only had something to remember her by, something real, I could’ve made peace with it. There’s just no closure.
It feels odd to mourn something I can’t know I had, but I do. It hurts. I sometimes wake up crying, holding a pillow. My body remembers something I don’t. The shower feels empty in the morning. I feel miserable shopping alone. All these little ordinary things that I should be used to feel slightly “off”.
I guess there are things you just can’t forget.
I’m posting here to make sure this doesn’t happen to anyone else. If you have blank picture frames, take it seriously. Check your mirrors. Make lists. Try to remember. Hell, smash every mirror you have.
And if anyone has any idea what the hell I should do with this shard, feel free to share. I don’t mind having it, but there must be someone who can use it for something. I can’t just “call a scientist” about it.
Good luck out there.
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