Flash fiction ghost story
|It doesn't look real. I kept thinking the mirror was warped as though by heat. It didn't seem to be cracked, however, the person blinking in the mirror when I blinked just wasn't me. I searched my memory: had I had an accident or plastic surgery, maybe facial reconstruction, that I wasn't remembering?
I kept staring. I blinked hard and stared again. I examined my eyes close up.
“The sun is in your eyes,” Jonathan had said years ago. Was the sun still there?
No. The eyes staring into mine were a flat blue. Pretty eyes, but not mine.
“Who are you?” I asked her, and she asked me. But was there a millisecond delay? “I want me back,” we both said.
Finally, I left the mirror. I put on my coat and hat, stepped outside, locked the door, crossed the street and was narrowly missed by a speeding car. I looked over my shoulder toward the car and there she was, across the street, staring at me.
“Who are you?” I hollered.
“... you” she echoed over the traffic.
I ran away, into the park, with no plans except to just get away. While I was running, I thought of my psychic friend, Jenny. She said she sees ghosts and talks with them, to heal them so they go to their next level, away from the living. I stopped running, reached for my phone, and called Jenny.
“I need to see you now,” I said.
“I know,” said Jenny. “I see you both.”