The Ang Moh in the Mirror

This is a very short story - under 900 words.

It is also a very dark erotic horror.

It has strong themes of non-consent, captivity, control and ghosts.

I don't know what possessed me to write this; it is extremely disturbing. Please consider if you are comfortable reading such material and, remember, don’t stare too long into mirrors after midnight.

You look in the mirror and meet the eyes of a stranger. 

Blue eyes. Cold. Wrong. Your head whips around, but the bathroom is empty, of course. No one behind you, just the harsh fluorescent light reflecting off the tiles. From the hallway you hear the tick-tock of the clock, the hum of the aircon, and the other normal night-time noises. But no footsteps.

You turn back. He’s still there, mirroring your every frantic movement. You blink, he blinks too. You raise your hand, so does he. Just like any other mirror.

Except it isn’t.

A chill runs up your spine. The old tales Ah Ma used to tell rush back. Don’t stare too long into mirrors at night, something might stare back. And here it is. 3 am. And the thing staring back at you isn’t you.

You study his face. He’s white, with fair hair, sharp features, and stands a good four inches taller than you ever have.

You run your hand through your hair. Your fingers meet the short stubble that you know is black. But the man in the mirror runs his hand through longer, fairer hair. You bare your teeth and run your tongue over your crooked tooth. You feel the crooked tooth, but don’t see it. The man in the mirror shows perfect, straight teeth.

“What are you?” The mirror man’s mouth moves, but your voice alone rings out. “What are you, some ang moh hantu, is it?”

There’s no answer.

You step back, so does he. You step forward, so does he. You rush at the mirror, face so close it’s almost touching.

“What the hell are you!” Flecks of spittle fly from your mouth and land on the mirror. But still, the only voice is yours. You take a deep breath. Must calm down. Maybe a dream? Or a trick? You raise your hand, and the mirror man raises his. Could there be, somehow, a man hiding in the space where your mirror was? You reach forward, until your hands touch. You press your palm against the glass. Glass, not a man.

This cannot be. This… just… cannot. “Don’t siao siao…” You mutter as you rest your forehead against the mirror. It’s cool. Calming, almost.

You step back. You see your reflection! Yours! Your face, your short black hair, your crooked tooth. A grin spreads over your face.

Elation!

But, the shower is on the left. Wasn’t it on the right before? And the door… you take in the room around you. It’s reversed. Flipped. Like a mirror image.

No. Not like a mirror image. It is a mirror image.

Your head whips around— no, it doesn’t. You try to turn your head, but can’t. The man in the mirror stares back at you, grin still on his face, so grin still on your face.

He’s not the man in the mirror. You are.

“Oh, you getting it, now, mirror-boy?”

Your lips move to the words, but no sound comes out of your mouth. The words are muffled, as though a barrier were between you and the speaker. There is a barrier. The glass of the mirror.

The man smirks. He steps back, running his hands over your body, like he’s smoothing out a new suit he’s just tried on.

“Wah. You damn ugly, you know. Shame. Not much to work with, you know. But never mind… a body is a body..”

You can’t respond. You can’t… You can’t anything. Forced to copy his every movement.

The man starts touching things. He turns on the tap and puts his hands in the water. He runs his hands over every surface. The basin, the walls, he even fingers the bristles of your toothbrush. In the mirror, you see yourself doing these things. In your reality, your own hands do these things, but they’re not your hands. And you don’t feel a single thing you touch.

His grin turns uglier.

“And this… I’ve really missed.”

He tears your clothes off and throws them to the floor. Naked in front of yourself. Should you blush? You couldn’t, even if you wanted to.

Hands grasp cock. You harden because he does, but you’re not aroused. In the mirror you see a look of pleasure on your face, but you’re not feeling pleasure. But your disgust can’t stop his hands pumping your cock furiously. Like a puppet on strings, you have no choice as he uses your body like a sex toy.

You’re still not aroused, but your eyes are half closed with his ecstasy as he jerks you off with violent, selfish strokes.

He cries out. You’re not done, you’ve not even started. But ropes of cum fly from your cock and splatter on the mirror, dripping down the glass in front of your trapped eyes..

“Fuck… I missed that,” he pants. He wipes the mess on your thigh like it’s a rag he can discard.

“Well… goodbye, mirror-boy. You stay there, ah.”

He turns, so do you. You walk to the bathroom door. The mirror shows a glimpse of the hallway but then…

Darkness.

Nothingness.