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.
