Furious, frantic knocks came to a smooth white-painted door. Straining, an elderly man used his walker and approached the door. He swung the door open quickly, and moved to the side to let in James. “Coach! Oh dear jesus, I don’t know what to do man!” James spat panicking between breaths. “Hey hey Jamesy. Deep breaths old boy. What is it? Oh lord, you’re bleeding like a sink!” Coach reached around and gathered bandages, wrapping James’s arm in the soft white armor. “It’s me...or someone who looks like me. They’re out there, and they cut me!” James spurted out while staring blankly at Coach. “Quit your yammering.” Coach led the injured man onto a tan couch, and his groan of pain was responded quickly with an offer of some over-the-counter pain medicine. James shook his hand, and piped up. “Coach, I’m not messing with you here. Something is not right.” James started, trying to stand but wincing and sitting back down soon after. “You said it looked like you right?” Coach asked, taking a seat just across from James. “Yeah, but you should’ve seen it’s face. God, it looked just like Melissa.” James finished his statement with his gaze falling off into distant memory. “Snap out of it! What if Maria heard you?” Coach called out sharply, snapping James back into reality. “Yeah...yeah.” James spoke between large exhalations. “Should we call the police?” Coach asked, reaching towards his home phone. “No, no. Whatever that is, it’s only a threat to me.” James explained sharpy, standing and making his way to the front door. “Hey! You’re just gonna fight that thing?” Coach yelled out to James. “It’s literally me Coach! It’s me, okay! When it cut me, it started bleeding in the same place!” Coach stood absent-mindedly and watched as the injured James sprinted out towards danger. Scratching the collar of his yellow tank top, Coach closed his door.

Second of June, six ‘o'clock pm. Just outside of James’s town was a train station, where he sought to flee his attacker. James pulled his blocky cell phone from his back pocket and dialed a number. “One, six, three, one.” Fierce ringing echoed through James’s right ear. “Hey, Maria and James here!” A smile flashed on James’s face for a moment. “We can’t get to the rock right now, but we’ll call back soon! If this is one of the uni students, we won’t call back. Bye-a!” The familiar tone of his voicemail box came to James, and he waited a moment before leaving his message. “Hey Mar, it’s me. Something really odd happened today. I saw this thing that looked like me, and I think it’s trying to...find me. I’m heading a little south, just the town we like to visit some winters. If you see me, it is not me. Run. Take Melissa and run as far away as you can. I love you both, please stay safe.” James held back somber feelings and hung up the phone. His gaze shifted around the crowds and rails in the station. A sickly brown stain erupted from the walls of the subway and spread throughout the crowd, giving a dark and musty air to the underside of the station.  James let out a small cough as he exchanged a few dollar bills for a tram ticket. Nodding to the clerk who wished him a nice day, James turned slowly. Behind him, no more than twenty meters away, was Mirror. His scowl had transfigured into a gruesome smirk, his teeth stained an ugly brown by chewing tobacco. The two locked eyes, and had a unspoken conversation above the murmurs and shouts of the stations patrons. Just to the left of James was a stairwell leading to the upper floor of the station, and it was the safest place he could run to. Shoving the people behind him to the side, James sprinted to the stairs. Mirror was not going to wait, he pursued him with the same animal instinct he showed before.  James was slamming his shoes onto the stairwell when Mirror stormed just behind him, causing him to slip and fall. The ugly concrete hit James’s face rough and hard, causing his vision to blur for a few moments. In this confusion, James felt Mirror grip his back. “Finally, I’ve found you! And just as disgusting as I remember.” Mirror hissed through gritted teeth. “Up yours!” James shouted back, turning his head to the side violently. “Good, I might actually find some respite in this.” Mirror shouted, his head starting to leak blood. Just as Mirror raised his switchblade, his eyes fell back into his head and he fell unconscious. James, with his vision returning to normal, stood groggily and clambered up the steps. James reached the street level with relative ease, but as he did he felt a warm drip on his forehead. Taking a breath, James touched his head and looked at his hand. Blood. He knew what would happen next. In a single instant, James was gone.

Shrieking pain shot through James, from his toes up to his eyes. He gasped for air, and an excited nurse walked over to the bed he was laid up in. “Him! Where...is he?” James spat between coughs. “...Who?” the nurse asked, the clipboard held tightly to their chest. “Mirror!” What James had shouted was not an answer, but an exclamation of fear. Just beyond the thin glass windows of the hospital bed stood Mirror himself, looking in solemnly. The nurse noticed him, and opened the door to invite him in. James called out in protest, but his cry was not understood. Mirror spoke to the nurse as James would Maria, with the very same innocent and sweet tone that she was so fond of. Although the nurse stepped out due to Mirror’s request, James continued to call out in fear. Looking back, the nurse flashed a smile. “She thinks he knows me! The...the end?” James thought to himself, staring his attacker in the eyes. Mirror took a seat beside the bed and began to talk. “Why James? Why did you do it! You’re vile!” Mirror spoke these words with an angry tone and slammed his fist on his knee as he finished. “What am I saying. I’m no better than you, because I am you.” Mirror brandished his knife. “Do you even know what you did you monster? You don’t, do you?” James just stared back, unable to speak, from either fear or injury. Mirror spoke again, lightly stroking the blade of the knife. “You killed them James. You found your wife Maria, and stabbed her with Coach’s pocket knife. You burned Melissa’s room as she slept with your lighter. I’m so glad I get to kill you. I hope you go to hell, so you can never see them again. I’m so happy to kill you myself. You deserve worse.” Pocketing his knife, Mirror lifted the very same lighter that James’s uncle gave him as a young boy. His thumb snapped, and James let out a scream as the flames ate his bed, and soon after, him.

Sweet mystical music drifted from the ornate bronze stage orchestra and into the restless crowd. Among them was James, with Maria by his side and young Melissa in his lap. The song was sharp, yet pleasant to hear. “Mozart, Concerto twenty three.” Maria whispered to James. He nodded, and Melissa began to talk. She asked questions and said she was bored. James shushed her. Maria was a “girl next door” type, with soft blonde hair in a tightly pulled ponytail. Melissa was a young girl at the age of three years old, her brown hair in a bobbed bowl shape. James was a gruff, hardly shaven man, with a leather jacket wrapped around his torso. His hair was a dark brown, resting softly just above his ears. As the music shifted to pianos alone, James began to fiddle with the lighter in his pocket. “Hey. Hey James. How lame is it that we named her after Mozart?” Maria whispered over to James, glancing at Melissa as she finished her statement. James gave her a grin, his focus on keeping his daughter quiet for the other spectators. Melissa complained about being cold, so James let her wear his coat. He made sure his lighter was no longer inside the pocket. She played with the sleeves for a few moments, but soon pulled out a metal object from his left jacket pocket. “Woah woah woah, that’s not safe.” James scolded as he slipped the object from Melissa’s hand. He did not recognize the object, and began to press the sides. As he did, a cloth-covered knife blade shot from the top of the object. James’s heart stopped. He knew what this was. James lowered the knife and looked ahead to orchestra. His eyes darted around until he saw his favorite instrument: the viol. Twenty-six men in spiffy suits were softly rubbing the bows across the strings. As someone else began to play the flute, James noticed a change in the players. They were no longer dressed as orchestra players, but wore jackets of ragged leather. James squinted, and saw something else odd about their faces. They looked like him. Oceans of fear and anxiety overcame him, and his eyes began to return to his family. As they did, he saw that every player and every patron all wore the same clothes, the same pose and bore the same face: his. Looking over to his left, he longed for the comfort of Maria’s gaze. Instead, he viewed her limp body, with thousands of his own knives stuck within her. James knew what was coming. In his lap, sat a pile of hot, scalding ashes, James closed his eyes to cry, but he could not. He still cried, but not the tears of a grieving father, but the blood of the innocents he had spilled. This was hell.