Twisted Roads – Twisted Horror Stories by Matthew Tonks

The Eyes of My Eyes

He pulls the shirt from his back and tosses it to the ground, arching his back and grimacing as bones crack and joints creak. He snorts through his nose, scrunches up his face, curls his lips, and clenches his teeth. He draws back another breath and rubs his bulging stomach, giving extra attention to his belly button and pulling a small wad of black lint from within. He stares at it on the end of his finger, then flicks it to the floor with a frustrated sigh. He drops his pants, pulls off his socks, and stretches again, catching a wayward glance of himself in one of the many mirrors. His lips twist tight, his tongue pokes out slightly, and his brow dips low. He twists and turns, stretches his legs out, and lifts his arse up, watching and studying each twitch and turn in the mirror. He looks up and smiles at himself, nodding in shared appreciation.

“You still got it,” he says with a smug grin.

“Pity you don’t allow anyone to worship it,” another voice purrs from elsewhere in the room.

He spins around, searching with anxious eyes.

“W-Who’s there? W-Who said that?” he stammers nervously.

“I did, or is it you?” the voice says. His eyes are drawn to the mirror, to his reflection, which smiles and waves—an action he mimics.

He looks around the room again, then back to the mirror. “D-Did you say that?”

“There’s no one else here but you and me—you and I are both you, and both me,” his reflection says with a wink and a grin.

“I-I-I, I don’t get what is going on. A-Am I losing my mind? A-Am I having a n-nervous breakdown?”

His reflection takes a breath, raises its eyebrows, and shrugs its shoulders. “I’m not the best person to answer that. If you’re having a mini-stroke, I could just be a symptom—totally untrustworthy. The same goes if you’re breaking down. To keep my involvement to a minimum, I’ll choose not to answer that question, as it could incriminate me.”

“God, I hate when I do that,” he spits.

His reflection smiles and nods. “Me too. A gutless answer, every damn time.”

He shakes his head and sighs. “Why are you here?”

“No,” his reflection says. “I come here often—watching you. It’s my favourite part of the day.”

He shifts awkwardly, a nervous laugh slipping from his lips. “W-W-What?”

The reflection’s grin widens, its eyes burning with a dark, ravenous hunger. It licks its lips slowly, its gaze running over him like a starving predator.

“Oh, you know,” it purrs coyly. “Watching you strip away everything… piece by piece. Seeing all those little weaknesses, all the flaws no one else gets to see.” It grunts, its tongue sliding over its teeth, lingering as if savouring the thought. “It’s intimate—isn’t it?”

A shiver races down his spine, and he presses back, instinctively recoiling, but his gaze stays locked on his own distorted reflection. He feels the wall against his back as the reflection leans closer, fogging the glass on the other side with its breath. A scent, pungent and raw, somehow acrid, almost animalistic, wafts from the mirror. He feels his glands pulse, his body reacting, hardening despite himself.

“You know you want this—me,” the reflection whispers, its fingers trailing down the inside of the mirror in slow, suggestive movements. “You’ve always wanted something… more.”

He opens his trembling mouth, but no words come. The reflection’s hand meets his, and he exhales, trembling. The cold pane of glass separates them—yet he swears he feels the touch, electric and wrong.

“I’m here for you,” it whispers, pressing itself against the glass. “And I’m not going anywhere until you surrender.”

The room chills, but flames seem to lick his soul. He feels something burning inside him, a twisted emotion—conflicting desires, shame and need.

He shuts his eyes, takes a desperate breath, and lets his hands slide slowly down his own body, hesitating.

“Open your eyes. Look at me—let me in,” it says, its voice a throaty murmur, seeping into his mind.

With a shudder, he grips himself tightly, opens his eyes, and meets its gaze—it’s now standing on his side of the glass.

“Now that you’ve got me—what are you going to do with me?” it asks, a wicked smile curling across its lips.