Short Horror Story by Des M. Astor
“This is a typical horror story,” she whispered to herself, staring into the depths of the bathroom, tears streaming down her cheeks. There was a faint hum of pain on the side of her head where they’d hit her a few times over. Her side had a hideous purple-black bruise forming upon it from the heels being slammed into it over and over again.
All because she wouldn’t let them cheat off of her test. This was college for fuck’s sake, they were supposed to be adults. Some of her long, dark hair fell into her face, mopped with sweat and fear. The smell of burnt flesh permeated the air, for this was no ordinary bathroom, unfortunately.
Roughly an hour ago she’d joined the ‘Witch Women’, as they so cheesily called themselves, in a ritual of sorts. This was supposed to be a practical joke, a prank, if you will. No hard feelings, they’d said. They’d also pretended to be her friends, but that was a huge lie if she ever knew of one. No friends would beat her nearly to death, laugh in her face, and leave like that.
A trickle of blood crawled down from her inner nose, pooling on the edge of her chin and dripping upon the ground. She had a date tonight and was all prettied up. Was. Now, her make-up was running this way and that, granted that was the least of her concerns. Why did she think some bathroom prank would end up any differently when it came to them? ‘Come with us’ they said. ‘It’ll be fun’ they said. ‘We’ll give you $20’ they said. Well, it wasn’t worth it.
Her night was made much worse as a crack! sounded out throughout the bathroom. Her muscles stiffened, and her pupils shrank in fear, though there was very little light. The candles lit up the mirror, and as her eyes darted to the reflective surface, she noticed the formation of a silhouette. It worked. The ritual worked.
The urban legend was supposed to be fake. Monsters that went bump in the night didn’t exist. Yet there he was, the man in the mirror, forming right there in front of her. His bloodshot, crimson gaze was the first thing she noticed, his wide-eyes full of agonizing hunger. The grey of his skin was seared away in several places, indicating that he sustained third degree burns. Aside from his eyes, however, his worst feature was his maw.
Jagged fangs hung open in an unnatural smile that stretched across his face. Like the Cheshire cat, but without any skin to be seen–just a jaw. It hung open, clicking as he chomped down again and again while staring her down. A tongue slithered out, lapping at some flecks of blood on the pale of his bones, likely from his last victim. The man in the mirror had long, spindly fingers with claws at the end, and no normal body to be seen. Arms too long for his torso jutted out, reaching forward and grasping the edge of the bathroom counter.
He crawled over the sink, looming at least 8 feet tall, even hunched over, as he approached his next victim. She, meanwhile, didn’t scream. Her lip quivered as he drew closer, the smell of burning flesh invading her senses, drowning out anything and everything. His hand reached out and wrapped around her neck, slowly squeezing, but this was far from the worst part.
A disgusting, tentacle-like tongue lashed out, lapping against her cheek as if tasting her. Excellent. He was so hungry… she would do wonderfully.
Unfortunately, or, well… fortunately. She began to grin. A rumbling laugh billowed out from the pit of her chest, causing the man-out-of-the-mirror to pause. Just for a second. He probably shouldn’t have done that.
Creeaaak…. creaaak…. creaaaak…. CRACK! Her smile widened unnaturally, the skin around her jaws ripping and her teeth sharpening into jagged points. From her spine ripped pikes of bone, and the nails from her fingers fell out, only to be replaced with blade-like claws. That laughter of hers turned into a shrieking, hungry snarl.
She was so hungry….
The man-out-of-the-mirror didn’t last as long as the others, which was disappointing. Skin ripped like paper, warm blood spurting all over her as she giggled and dug in. Claws pierced the thin flesh of the ‘mirror monster’, scooping out chunks of muscle and shoving them into snapping, hungry jaws. The tears continued to flow down her cheeks, sure, but they were tears of pure ecstasy and joy.
Lacerations formed on her flesh as his spindly fingers tore into her skin. She didn’t care, she was high on his blood. Sure, the blood was a bit stale, but mirror demons tended to be a bit low tier for her taste. Still, she’d take what she could get.
Snap! The crack of his arm being ripped off brought such wonderful song. Crack! His leg was pulled free and gnawed on like humans with chicken drumsticks. POP! Like the cereal, but a bit more grisly, apparently–his head was removed, and his eyes snatched out and feasted upon like one would some ripe blueberries. With quite a bit of delicious blood, of course.
By the time she concluded, the mirror monster was a mere puddle on the ground. She didn’t even waste the bones, no, the acids in her stomach could take care of those easily. Rumble… Damn. She was still hungry.
Straightening up and cracking her back, she gave a light, dissatisfied hiss. From her back ripped two extra limbs, a bit skinnier than her arms and in the place of where one would assume wings would be on a more ‘wholesome’ humanoid. The arm-like limbs, with bony hands included, grasped around for more flesh, only to find nothing.
“Fuck,” she swore to herself, her now black-eyes gleaming in the pale flicker of the candlelight. “Those bitches helped me meet a meal, but that’s no excuse. I think I’ll go find them now.”