Beast shifted his weight, watching Laurent’s shoulder blades shift under the T-shirt he was wearing. His ass pushed back slightly when Laurent leaned over the sink to gently knock on the reflective surface.
A shudder passed through Beast’s body, but it came from beneath his feet, like a deep base during a particularly loud gig. There was a whiff of a breeze, as if there was an open window in the bathroom, and just like that, the door slammed shut.
Failing electricity, he could still explain, since the wiring was shit in the building, but this was weird.
Laurent glanced over his shoulder but kept his hand on the mirror. “I would like us to speak,” he said after another pause, and the lamp Beast had just thought about started blinking as if it were a shivering animal, afraid of what was to come.
He took a deep breath, but the air was so dry it left his throat feeling like parchment. The base thumped again. And again, and this time, cracks opened in the tiles behind like ice over a lake. Beast stared at it, not quite sure if he was hallucinating or if it was real. An unsettling sensation curled in his stomach, and when he saw smoke come from where Laurent’s hand met the mirror, he almost pulled him back.
With a loud crack, the lamp died, leaving them in a darkness unnaturally thick during the day. There should have been sunlight coming through the tiny gaps around the door, but there was nothing.
Nothing beyond the sickly reddish glow of the mirror.
A part of Beast didn’t believe any of this would happen even when they came here, and yet here he was, having to admit that the fantastical events Laurent told him about were all too real.
The water that had been dripping from the sink before, turned pink, but then a deeper, darker color Beast didn’t want to believe possible.
Laurent backed into him, watching the mirror as it became duskier, smoke building up on the other side of it as if it was not their reflection, but a screen into another world altogether. A part of Beast regretted asking this of Laurent, worried he could get hurt, so he quickly wrapped his arms around Laurent, pulling the boy close.
He stiffened when a high-pitched screech that couldn’t have originated in a human’s throat tore through the small room. It sounded wrong, an artificial sound like nothing he’d ever heard before. Beast’s embrace tightened around Laurent, and he wasn’t even certain if he was holding on in hope of protecting Laurent or because his body was helplessly battling its fight-or-flight response. The rusty-looking mirror hypnotized him, drew in his gaze, and if he looked closely enough, there was something he could spot in the surface that no longer resembled their faces.
The screech came again, sending trembles down his arms, and for the briefest moment it felt as if ghostly claws trailed down his spine under his clothes.
And then, a voice came, loud and clear, even if it sounded like the product of a crazed electronica artist rather than something that could be produced by vocal cords. It had a metallic quality to it, as if the throat that made the voice was rusty steel and old wood.
“I don’t need you.”
It was a simple statement, but before Beast could react, the ghost of long fingers appeared in the mirror, long claws ripping through glass and leaving behind five long scars running throughout the surface.
Beast screamed out and pushed Laurent away, hitting the mirror with his fist. The glass gave in, crumbling under his touch, but then the door opened, and as the daylight came in, it revealed nothing but cracks on the mirror and walls. There was no inhuman presence to be seen.
With one more blink, the lamp came back on.
There was no blood in the sink.
No smoke in the air.
And yet, the broken mirror, the tiles, were proof that Beast hadn’t imagined this.
Laurent cowered in the corner by the shower. “I guess he didn’t want to speak.”
Beast looked at him, slowly removing his aching hand from the mirror and letting it rest next to the sink. His chest throbbed with the rapid heartbeat within, and his hand with the pain of impact.
The devil didn’t want him. It simply didn’t think he was worthy of its time. A dull sense of anguish coursed through Beast, closing him in. He didn’t want to talk to anyone or see anyone.
Did the thing think Beast had nothing to offer? That a boy like Laurent was worthy of its attention more than him?
Beast had to leave, to not spill his resentment out on Laurent who had only done as he was asked. It wasn’t Laurent’s fault.
“Y-your hand…?” Laurent stepped closer, but Beast only growled in answer. He was an injured animal, and he would lick his wounds on his own.