The Other Side

• Kate Hodgson, Grade 9
• Short Story
• 2020

Ann laid down her toothbrush. As the Plastic touched the marble counter-top a short crack appeared in the grime coated mirror in front of her. With her hand outstretched, and her stomach in knots, she gingerly stroked the small breakage. When flesh met glass, a wintry chill coursed through every capillary in her body. Despite the overwhelming coldness that ran over her skin, the tips of her fingers connected to the mirror were surprisingly warm, much like holding someone’s hand, but without the camaraderie. Trembling, Ann stepped back. She retreated to her bedroom, but did not take her terror filled eyes away from the reflective surface. Laying in her bed, recounting the unsettling experience, she couldn’t think of a logical explanation. Eyes darting to every shadow in her room, Ann wouldn’t allow herself to be beaten by fatigue, but eventually the tiredness won, and she was thrust into a dreamless sleep. 2:43 am, The old beaten analog clock beside her flashed. From behind her eyelids the eerie glow woke her from her slumber.The sound of footsteps echoed throughout the house, the sound waves seeming to bounce off every surface. Ann drew a short breath whilst pulling her legs to her chest. Her thundering heart was so powerful she could barely hear anything but it’s quickened pace. She rose out of bed, as subtle as possible, as to not alert the intruder. The chilly floorboards beneath her bare feet froze like ice, sending feverish chills up her body. Ann passed the bathroom, and the cracked mirror. The crack had grown. She could hear the footsteps behind her, coming closer, and closer. Without thinking, Ann dashed for the bathroom, containing the broken mirror. Thinking she had removed herself from a deadly situation, she carefully closed the door, leaving only an empty space behind her. Turning to face the mirror, Ann saw the ancient bathtub, rusting away in the far corner, which many Daddy long-legs had come to call home, the standing shower head, in all it’s plastic glory, and her towel rack, barring a single grey towel, recently dampened. But no Ann. Drawing her breath sharply, she realised she had no reflection. No doppelganger who copied her every move, and who she saw in every reflective surface. It was gone. The footsteps which had quite recently moved to another part of the building had now stopped in front of the bathroom door. Ann opened the door. There standing before her, butchers knife in hand, was her doppelganger who copied her every move, and who she saw on every reflective surface. Her reflection. Her blood ran cold, stepping back, she was trapped. Her other half raised the razor-edged knife, and brought it down into Ann’s chest, main arteries being cut, and vital blood running down her body. The last thing Ann saw was her killer backing out of the room, a quite satisfied look on their face, before it all disappeared.