When I was young, my father always told me that the best profession in the planet was being an archaeologist. The fact that he was one probably explained his admiration for the job. He was so dedicated to it, so into his work that every time he comes home, he always brings with him a piece of his discovery. You can only imagine how our house looked like with all the relics and stuff.
And probably, that’s the reason why I became an archaeologist myself even though I graduated with a degree in Education. I became fascinated with it too.
He said that the work may entail long hours of digging, and getting dirty and getting dried up in the sun, but the end result takes all the tiredness away. We get to discover a new world, a new life, or a new object that’s worth our time and effort.
Another reason why he said that was because of a one-in-a-million chance. A chance that we get to be in two places at the same time.
Of course, even though I was small back then, I didn’t believe him word for word. I mean, how could that even happen right? Teleportations and out-of-body experiences are just a figment of human imagination. They aren’t real.
But little did we know that time, I’d be experiencing those in a literal way.
Like, seriously. In a gut-wrenching, stomach-twisting literal way.
And it all started when I brought an ancient mirror back in my place.
The six foot-tall mirror looked very classic, very old but it didn’t scream precious. For starters, the frame wasn’t gilded. It was made of metal that looked like bronze. It wasn’t adorned with rubies or diamonds too. It was just simple, little flowers and elegant curves carved on its sides.
Maybe that’s the reason why the Malta Customs Department allowed me to bring it at home, here in my apartment at the twelfth floor of Hedonia Apartment and Suites, at the heart of New York City.
The mirror looked unimportant. A junk. But I decided to keep it. Why? Because I just felt some connection to it. A feeling that I couldn’t describe. And plus, it added perfectly to my already Grecian-themed bedroom.
The first night I had the mirror with me was what I would call, haunting.
Ever felt something or someone looking at you while asleep? That’s definitely what I felt. But I didn’t really think much about it. I had experienced unexplained happenings around me since I was small. Weird flashes of memories that was vague and unclear. I had been accustomed to them. Grew up with them. I didn’t want them to ruin my daily life.
But on the fourth day of owning the mirror, that’s when I couldn’t take it anymore. There was a magnetic pull from it, as if wanting me to touch its smooth surface.
And touch it I did.
The next thing I knew, I was lying on a grassland with my head swimming in ache, my stomach twisting and bile coming up in my throat.
It was night. The place I was dumped in wasn’t clearly visible, but in the corner of my eye, I gathered two silhouettes of well...humans. People.
But they looked menacing, wearing an odd-looking armor and holding thick, curved blades. Their eyes were on me.
I knew then I was royally fucked up.