It was late on a Saturday morning, and Frank had changed after his slightly earlier than usual shower, hurrying to his lunch with the lads without so much as a “goodbye.”  I shook my head, not wanting to believe what I had just seen.  Surely I needed more caffeine…  Frank’s reflection passed the mirror after he had.  Properly AFTER he had walked past and picked up his jacket.

I moved closer – Frank may have swapped it out with a video camera, he worked in advanced tech after all.  Maybe the battery was running low, or the wifi was lagging… something other than… no, I must have it wrong.

I looked into the mirror.  Just looking deep into my own eyes.  Have you ever looked in the mirror and wondered what was looking back at you?  Was it the demons in my soul looking me in the eye?  I shook my head again and went for a tea.

I live a lonely life; the kids at school, hubby goes to work, and I’m left inside.  I quite enjoy the peace; I can work on my own things, repairs, and hobbies. I do feel abandoned, left to my innermost thoughts, which can at times be quite, quite scary. No… worrying, no… concerning, gaah! I’m doing it again.

I walk back to the mirror, tea in hand.  My earlier investigation revealed a simple glass mirror: no wires, no batteries, and definitely no wifi connection, which caused a delay.  I stepped to the other side of the hall, tilted my head and pondered my life.  Why was I obsessing over a reflection?   Flapped my hand as a daddy longlegs flew past, then dropped my mug. My reflection hadn’t reacted to the daddy longlegs.  I stood there looking back at myself.

I stooped down and mopped up the mess of tea spreading across the wooden floor.  I stood up, and there I was in the mirror,  standing still, not getting back up, not holding a wet mug with tea dripping from my fingers.

Then I, the me in the mirror, tilted my/her head. My eyes widened in fear, and I ran.

For the rest of the day, I did my best to avoid the mirror, which seemed to be behaving as normal.  No one else was commenting on delayed reflections or misbehaving versions of themselves.  Frank returned later, smelling of rum and self-importance.

“Hiya, honey.  Did you have a good time with the boys?” I asked, thinking about how to ask whether the mirror was… what, exactly? “Did you buy us a new mirror, love?” It was all I could think of in the moment.

“Good afternoon, sweetcheeks,” he said, kissing the air near my ear, already looking past me at his own reflection. The scent of rum was stronger than I expected for a weekend afternoon.  “I most certainly did not purchase you a gift.  Although you would of course be deserving of such a consideration, if I had bothered to think of you whilst in the vicinity of the shops in our good town.”  his words were beginning to slur. I would get nothing worthwhile from him for the rest of the day.  He walked off humming gently to himself, while swaying like Captain Jack.  

I looked at the mirror, trepidation building, the reflection staggered at the same time as Frank, thank the…  Oh my God! The Frank in the mirror turned its head a little further to look directly at me and winked.

The moment passed, and the reflection was back to ‘normal’.

What the bloody hell was happening to me?  Am I having a brain haemorrhage?

As she brushed her teeth, looking at the vanity mirror couldn’tt be avoided – nothing unusual there.  Removing makeup andmoisturising before bed, her dressing table mirror did nothing unexpected.  Looking into the phone’s shiny glass face showed her nothing but a tired, worried face that needed sleep.

Sunday, she got the kids ready for Sunday school, and she and Frank were in their Sunday best, as usual, and as usual, Frank paused to check himself out in the hall mirror.  Not like usual, Frank’s reflection wasn’t looking at Frank; he was looking at me.  He smiled as he mouthed “you look lovely today”, while the real Frank barked at me to hurry for the car.

The service was a blur of hymns and hollow amens. Throughout the sermon, Frank’s reflection didn’t mimic his bored slouch; it sat bolt upright in the polished wood of the pew end, its gaze heavy and adoring upon me.

Back home, Frank headed straight for the hall mirror, grumbling about a grey hair. I stood a pace behind. Why was he so addicted to his own face when he never looked at mine?

A tiny golden orb—a stray spark of light from the window—danced across the silvered glass. It settled right between the two Franks.

The reflection didn’t look at the hair. He looked at me, expression melting into raw devotion. “I’d never leave you to the silence,” he mouthed.

Before I could scream, the reflection reached out. His fingers didn’t hit glass; they sank into the air of the hallway. He grabbed the real Frank’s tie and yanked.

There was no sound of shattering, only a wet, pressurised thwump.

Frank—my Frank—let out a muffled gasp as he was hauled chest-first into the silver. His boots kicked the air for a second before his heels clicked against the inside of the glass.

The man now standing in the hall smoothed his lapels. He didn’t smell of rum; he smelled of Early Grey. He stepped toward me, his touch warm and far too real.

Behind him, trapped in the mirror, the other Frank hammered silently against the glass, his face twisted in a permanent, muffled wail.

“Better now, darling?” the new Frank whispered, tucking a lock of hair behind my ear. “I’m all yours.”

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