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I should have listened to my brother all those times he told me about the mirrors. I should have believed him when he said mirrors were like a different dimension; a portal into a bad, horrible alternative reality. But, I did not believe him. I thought he was just being a pesky, teasing older brother. That's the way Brandon usually was anyway. Why would I have thought he was really telling the truth? It was just mere days from my fourteenth birthday. Mom said I could begin wearing makeup when I turned fourteen. All my friends were already doing so. My best friends Jimma, Rue Adaline, and Daria had been using cosmetics for months. So, I was always looking in the miror. l would daydream and imagine. Should I use a pink lipstick or maybe something darker? What color eyeshadow? Brown or blue? What went best with green eyes? And if makeup made me look older, should I wear my hair differently? I was always primping. The word 'surprised' when Daniel Luckett asked me to the fair would be a gross understatement. Daniel was the most popular boy in the eighth grade. He was gorgeous. He was captain of the football team. Winning football team, I might add. The entire female population at Woodson Middle School was head over heels for this guy. l just could not understand why he would ask ME out. "Because you are such a bright, beautiful, and very friendly girl, Brooke," my Mom tried to explain. "You're my Mom," I whined. "You're supposed to say stuff like that." I stared at myself in the bathroom mirror. "Look how plain I am. My face looks blah. My hair just lays there. I need new clothes." "Did you accept his invitation?" she asked. "Well, of course. I'm not stupid. Who would turn down Daniel Luckett?" Two days later, the boy of my dreams was holding my hand as we strolled through the fairway. We ate mustard-drenched corndogs and cotton candy and sipped on extra large cherry sodas. All the while, I would duck into bathrooms to peer into the mirrors. Did I look okay? How was my hair? Did my bangs hide that zit on my forehead well enough? We stepped into the fun house, already laughing. Despite my insecurities, l was actually having a good time. I think Daniel was as well. "The mirrors in here are so fun," he said. "It's hilarious to see yourself with a great big nose and a fat squatty body. Let's go see if we can look like our science teacher Mrs. Maxwell." He ran ahead of me and stopped at the third full-length mirror. He lifted one foot and hopped two or three times. He waved his arms in the air and stuck out his tongue. "C'mon, Brooke, give it a try." A huge grin on my face, I walked over to the second mirror. I gazed into the glass, but there was no reflection. "Hmmmm, this one must be broken." And then, the mirror rippled like a stone's throw on a quiet lake, and a pale hand with arthritic-looking fingers grabbed me around the throat. My brother's words echoed in my ears. "And your reflection is protecting you from crossing to the other side. And your reflection is protecting you from crossing to the other side." With a crash and tumble, l found myself sprawled on a cold, concrete floor. I was slow to return to my feet and rid myself of the shock and stupor of my surroundings. "Hello?" I cried. An eerie silence filled my ears. Rubbing my hands together, I walked a few steps and turned a corner. "Daniel?" I called. Was this some kind of trick? Or a joke? It had to be a joke. My brother and Daniel concocted a mean, cruel joke. They were probably somewhere laughing their heads off right now. I looked up at the wall to my right. Picture after picture after framed picture of me was hanging on that wall. I was plain-faced as usual. I looked hideous. At the end of the hallway stood a white door with a copper doorknob. I reached out and opened it; quiet and cautious. "Daniel?" The room seemed to shimmer and ripple just like the fun house mirror. In the room's center was a white, wooden folding chair. Seated on the chair was a girl, about my size, facing the wall. She was disheveled. Her white outfit was dirty. Her long blonde hair was a tangled mess. I stepped closer. Can you tell me how to get out of here?" l asked. She turned, slow and methodical. The girl looked exactly like me. Exactly, except for the bright, garish makeup all over her face. Red, red lipstick. Heavy pink blusher. Much overdone blue-tinted mascara and sparkly green eyeshadow. My heart leapt into my throat. "Ask someone else," she cackled. "Ask someone else." She pointed a slender finger toward the left. "Ask someone else." Backing from the room, it took pretty much everything I had not to scream. Where had they found someone just like me? Why were they doing this? My head began to get fuzzy with confusion. Another door. My God, what was going to be behind this one? I twisted the doorknob and stepped inside. Cold. So cold. A frail, bald man with a grey mustache and fancy suit greeted me. "Good afternoon, Brooke." He nodded his head and smiled, revealing rotting and missing teeth. "Are you enjoying the fair?" "Was," I whispered in a croak. "But no more?" "No." "How about your life? Are you enjoying that? You know, in general?" "Yes." "Me thinks not," the man frowned. "You look in the mirror too much, my dear. Way too much. l used to do that. So one day my grandmother brought me to the fair to teach me a lesson. That ol' witch. I have been here alone for a hundred years, watching people from the other side of the mirror. Now, I have company. Finally."

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The Dark Side

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The Dark Side 

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The Dark Side

Melissa

Melissa

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The Dark Side

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Melissa Andres

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