Another twisted short story for my Morbid Ink Project (my paid subscribers get the first look at all my stories). The tale will also be available for subscribers to Medium.
On a certain Thursday morning in October, I discovered something unusual as I was standing at the sink. A swift, unaccountable motion caught my attention in the mirror as I was shaving. More specifically, the movement came from something reflected behind me. Although I was alone in my apartment, I paused and leaned forward. I noticed the vintage mirror in the reflection, which was at the foot of the large bed. The slightly upward angle showed the overhead light in my bedroom. I turned around, staring at the old mirror, then shrugged, deciding that the movement effect must be a pure illusion.
Maybe the light flickered.
When I finished shaving, I stepped into the bedroom. Passing by the mirror, I felt the hairs on my neck rise and I stopped again. A closer inspection showed me the big bathroom mirror through the doorways. Yet, the effect caught me off-guard. It looked exactly like staring at an endless, though diminishing, corridor.
Interesting infinity mirror effect!
As I gazed at the vintage piece, I chuckled to myself for getting the heebie-jeebies from a mirror made in the 50s. Angie found the piece covered with dust in an outbuilding at a dusty shop called Ganna’s. The vintage glass had a sticker on the back from a company we never heard of. My girlfriend claimed her research on the Internet found nothing about the odd style of mirror or the company.
I guess that’s why she got it for a song.
Still, I didn’t like the mirror’s location, still half covered in dust and abandoned at the foot of our bed. You could say Angie’s attention span didn’t last long after her initial impulsive purchases. She told me about her big plans for the mirror as I helped haul it out to her Mercedes. Of course, I smiled like an idiot since keeping her happy kept my life comfortable.
After getting out my clothing from the walk-in closet where I had a tiny corner for my storage, I looked over at her curves, barely hidden under the silk sheets. Angie had her back to me, peacefully sleeping even after all the noise I made. My morning routine seldom bothered her since she liked to stay up late for her show. A frown came to my face, but I shrugged and quickly got dressed. Then, as quietly as possible, I picked up the mirror and hauled it to the hallway.
Angie finally decided last night after her show, and she wanted the mirror near her desk. I thought the idea was dumb since her huge, but messy, desk was an old Victorian piece made of dark walnut. On the other hand, the oval mirror I sat down on the gray tile floor looked from the 50s. I think they called it mid-century modern. Looking into the reflection, I could see Angie’s leather couch next to the hallway off to one side. Her HD camera stood on a stand, connected to her gamer PC with the HDMI cable. I knew this since I worked with the camera, at times, and Angie complained about better shots coming from one of her rival’s shows.
It took little to figure out what she was doing. She wanted to show off her backside to the camera. The soft pink devices laying on the couch explained the purpose of her show. It was one reason we had the money to live in an expensive townhouse overlooking Boulder was her soft porn routine. Every night, Angie acted out her sex fantasies on a livestream with several thousand idiots paying to watch.
It wasn’t like I cared much. She got off on it for a couple of reasons. First, it pissed off her wealthy family. Not that they could do much. Angie’s a trust fund kid, so as long as I played the adorable beta male, I got regular sex while dressing in the best clothes and driving an expensive car. Second, her show gave her occasional hookups with porn stars she’s met. Hell, I didn’t care about that if I didn’t get a disease from it. After all, it left me time for my other girlfriends. Life is sweet among the wealthy, bored brats once you get inside their clique.
When I returned in the late afternoon, Angie was out of bed. Dressed in her sweats and tight t-shirt, she sat on her couch in the middle of the messy living room. The woman just finished working out with her dumbbell set. That’s why she looked hot, even with her blond bed-hair still showing along with a dash of sweat. I walked over and kissed her cheek.
“Thank you for moving my mirror,” she said before gulping down water from her bottle.
“That’s going to be a perfect spot.”
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