Me in the Mirror

I make a living copying forbidden texts for people.

Recently, I landed a major commission, with a reward so generous it made me uneasy.

But when I went to deliver the manuscript, I found the client’s apartment had been vacant for three years, its rooms thick with dust. The signature on the contract suddenly writhed and changed shape, pointing to another address in the city.

I followed the trail to the library basement, where the librarian handed me a yellowed photograph. “The person you’re looking for died three years ago.”

On the back of the photo, in my own handwriting, were the words: “Don’t trust the you in the mirror.”

When I looked in the mirror at home, my reflection took a step backward and gave me a strange smile.