Martín didn't sleep that night. He sat in the corner of his study, eyes fixed on the mirror, waiting for something—anything—to happen. But the reflection remained still, the twisted smile gone, replaced by the familiar but now ominous image of himself.
As the hours dragged on, the house seemed to close in around him. Every creak of the floorboards, every whisper of the wind outside, felt like a harbinger of something dreadful. His thoughts spiraled, tangling into a web of fear and doubt. He knew he couldn't stay in that room much longer, but the thought of stepping outside, of facing the world beyond, filled him with an inexplicable dread.
Finally, as dawn's first light began to seep through the curtains, Martín forced himself to move. His body ached from the tension, and his mind felt frayed, barely holding onto the thread of sanity. He needed answers, but more than that, he needed a way to ground himself—to remind himself of what was real.
Stumbling into the bathroom, he splashed cold water on his face, hoping to shake off the fog of paranoia that clung to him. The water dripped from his chin, pooling in the sink as he stared into the smaller mirror above it. This time, his reflection seemed normal—tired, yes, but normal. No twisted smiles, no strange movements. Just him.
But the memory of the previous night lingered, gnawing at the edges of his mind. He couldn't ignore what he had seen, what he had felt. The reflection in the study mirror was something else, something that defied logic. It wasn't just a trick of the light or a figment of his imagination; it was a challenge to the very fabric of his reality.
Martín needed to talk to someone, anyone who might understand—or at least offer some semblance of reassurance. He grabbed his phone, scrolling through his contacts until he found the name of an old friend: Alejandro, a psychologist with a penchant for exploring the mind's darker corridors. They hadn't spoken in months, their lives drifting apart as often happens with old friendships, but Martín knew Alejandro was the only one who might take him seriously.
He hesitated for a moment before hitting the call button, the phone ringing in his ear with an agonizing slowness. Finally, Alejandro's voice crackled through the speaker, groggy and confused.
"Martín? It's early… is everything okay?"
Martín took a deep breath, trying to steady his voice. "Alejandro, I… I don't know. Something happened last night, and I need to talk to someone. Can you meet me?"
There was a pause on the other end, followed by a sigh. "Alright. Give me an hour. Café La Luna, like old times?"
Martín agreed, the relief washing over him momentarily. But as he hung up, the doubt returned, stronger than before. He couldn't shake the feeling that whatever was happening to him was beyond anything Alejandro—or anyone else—could comprehend.
An hour later, Martín sat in the corner booth of Café La Luna, nursing a cup of black coffee that had long since gone cold. The café was a small, cozy place, its walls lined with bookshelves and framed photographs of the city from decades past. Normally, the atmosphere would have comforted him, but today, it felt like another layer of the trap closing in around him.
Alejandro arrived a few minutes late, his disheveled appearance suggesting he had barely had time to throw on some clothes before rushing out the door. He slid into the booth across from Martín, eyeing him with a mixture of concern and curiosity.
"You look like hell," Alejandro said, no trace of humor in his voice. "What happened?"
Martín struggled to find the right words, unsure of how to explain something that still made no sense to him. He recounted the events of the previous night, leaving nothing out—the journal entries he didn't remember writing, the cryptic note, the reflection in the mirror that seemed to move on its own.
As he spoke, Alejandro listened intently, his expression unreadable. When Martín finished, there was a long silence, the din of the café fading into the background.
Finally, Alejandro leaned back, his fingers drumming on the table. "Martín, I've heard of people experiencing strange things—sleep paralysis, hallucinations, even delusions caused by extreme stress. But what you're describing… it sounds like something else entirely."
Martín's stomach twisted. He had hoped for a rational explanation, something that could be explained away by psychology. But Alejandro's tone told him that this was far from ordinary.
"Have you been under any unusual stress lately?" Alejandro continued. "Sometimes our minds can play tricks on us when we're overwhelmed."
Martín shook his head. "Nothing out of the ordinary. My life's been the same as always, maybe even more stable than usual. That's what makes this so terrifying—there's no reason for it. I'm not imagining this, Alejandro. I know what I saw."
Alejandro sighed, rubbing his temples. "I believe you, Martín. But I also know the mind can be a labyrinth, full of hidden corridors we don't even realize exist. What if this is your mind's way of telling you something? Something you've been avoiding or suppressing?"
Martín stared into his coffee, his thoughts swirling like the dark liquid in his cup. He had always prided himself on his ability to confront the truth, no matter how uncomfortable. But what if there was something deeper, something buried that he hadn't dared to face?
"Maybe you're right," Martín murmured, though he wasn't convinced. "But how do I figure out what it is? How do I make it stop?"
Alejandro considered this for a moment. "There are different approaches we can take. Therapy, of course, might help you explore these feelings. But if you believe this is something beyond just your mind, something… external, we might need to look at it from a different angle."
"What do you mean?" Martín asked, a flicker of hope igniting within him.
"There are… other methods. Less conventional, but sometimes effective in situations like this. We could explore the idea that this isn't just psychological, but something more—something metaphysical."
Martín's eyes widened. "You mean like… the supernatural?"
Alejandro nodded slowly. "It's not something I usually consider, but given what you've described, it might be worth exploring. There are people who specialize in these kinds of phenomena. It's risky, though, Martín. Once you start down that path, there's no telling where it might lead."
Martín hesitated, the weight of the decision pressing down on him. He had always dismissed the supernatural as nonsense, but now, faced with the inexplicable, he found himself grasping at straws.
"Do you know someone who could help?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
Alejandro nodded. "There's someone I've heard of, a woman who deals with cases like yours. She's… unconventional, to say the least, but she might be able to help you find the answers you're looking for."
Martín took a deep breath, the decision made. "Give me her name. I don't care what it takes—I need to know what's happening to me."
As Alejandro scribbled down the contact information, Martín felt a strange mix of fear and anticipation. He was stepping into unknown territory, but the pull of the truth was too strong to ignore.
He glanced at the mirror behind the counter, half-expecting to see that twisted reflection staring back at him. But all he saw was his own weary face, pale and drawn.
This time, however, he didn't look away. He was done running. Whatever this was, whatever had taken hold of his life, he would face it head-on.
Even if it meant confronting the darkest corners of his mind—or something far worse.