warning/s: mentions of blood, violence, psychological torment, implied animal abuse

 

There’s a word for the creepy sensation of being watched, but Sehun can’t remember what it is. He may never have learned it, and knowing it wouldn’t make him feel any better.

Lately, he’s been sensing eyes on him. No matter where he is or what he’s doing, whether in a crowd or completely alone, someone is watching. Looking around, he’ll sometimes catch the eye of a stranger and bow his head in silent acknowledgement, but it never goes farther than that.

“You’re paranoid,” his roommate says. Chanyeol loves attention; he’s always been a little vain, ever since high school. Sehun’s always been rather shy. He doesn’t mind being seen when there’s something worth watching, like a dance performance, but otherwise he’s quite content to be unnoticed and keeps his hood up or hat pulled low.

“But it’s never been so constant.” That’s the thing. The feeling has persisted for weeks. Jongin, with his idol friends who have had experience with stalkers and obsessive fans, worriedly asked if anyone has been in the apartment lately.

“Maybe there’s a camera somewhere.” They search every obvious place, including the dolls and figurines Sehun and Chanyeol collect, but they find nothing. “Maybe it is just paranoia,” Jongin suggests with a helpless shrug.

Maybe it is.

Yet the feeling is anxiety, not jealousy or persecution. He does start to distrust people; there are always stories of stalkers being someone close. There have been no exes, and Sehun doesn’t think any of his friends could be so obsessive and delusional as to follow him constantly, but one never truly knows anyone else…

Or even oneself.

 

He tries to ignore it. No one approaches him. There are no gory gifts or bloodied love letters. Chanyeol stops brushing it off, noticing how jumpy Sehun is, but nobody can do anything to help, so they watch him sleep less, withdraw more to his bedroom, and pick at his food. Shadows hang beneath his eyes, haunted yet aware.

One morning, Sehun is running late and trying to gather his things while getting dressed. He drops his wallet while pulling a sleeve up his arm and slams his wristwatch against the mirror when he bends down.

The mirror splinters but doesn’t entirely break. He stares at the spiderweb of cracks and all of his broken faces but leaves it up to deal with later. His wrist is sore for a while.

But he feels normal for a while after that.

 

Then the feeling of being watched returns, and he only finds solace in the dark. He sleeps well in total blackness but dreads the light and the inevitable attention of his phantom.

Following his morning routine, he glances up as he washes his hands, as is habit. There’s not much else to do standing at the sink aside from look at himself or look at his sudsy hands. Something is strange, and he stares at his reflection.

He supposes it’s his reflection, although he doesn’t quite look like himself. The hair is the same, as is the shape of his face, mouth, and nose. The mole on his neck is still noticeable. The eyes are completely different—irises pale and blending in with bloodshot sclera. A jagged, red scar runs from nearly his hairline down over his right eye, ending in a narrow point just over the apple of his cheek. It’s bisected by a narrower scar, more of a cut than a gory tear.

Raising a hand to touch his face, Sehun is mystified to feel nothing but smooth flesh.

His reflection looks in his eyes and smiles.

Throwing himself back, Sehun slips over the tile and drops to the floor. He scrambles from the bathroom and reaches in just to slam the door.

Chanyeol looks out his bedroom, headphones around his neck. “Dude, what’s the matter with you?” Toben sniffs Sehun’s feet and sneezes.

“There was—The mirror…”

“You got scared of your own reflection? Now you know how we feel, looking at you all the time.” Chanyeol laughs and returns to his room. Sehun follows him, snatching the Poodle off the floor to keep him from the bathroom door.

They don’t talk about Sehun’s reaction or the mirror. Sehun pulls Chanyeol’s messy comforter up over his shoulders and pets Toben’s curls until the dog is nearly asleep.

Sehun goes to his own room, closing the curtains and tossing a blanket over the window, as well, when he sees his darkened reflection in the computer monitor.

 

He avoids the bathroom mirror, carefully reaching into the bathroom to open the cabinet before using the toilet or shower. Chanyeol always closes it, complaining that Sehun leaves cabinet doors open and invites the dogs to be naughty.

The anxious feeling of being watched stays with him, clinging to his back and blowing cool air on the back of his neck, always demanding some part of his conscious attention. Mirrors, windows, even shiny metal countertops and doorknobs make him nervous. There’s no other way to explain it.

Jongin suggests a movie night. He even accepts Sehun’s suggestion of horror movies, because the next night they’re both free is Halloween. It’s something to look forward to, which Sehun realizes he’s not had in a long time.

Chanyeol leaves to meet up with friends as Jongin is unloading the convenience store bags from his arms. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, kids!” He kicks out a foot to keep his dog from following him into the hall, mentioning he may be home late as an afterthought.

Sehun tells Jongin to find something in their subscription service to watch. He stays in the kitchen and microwaves popcorn, peeling some grapes to hide inside to freak out Jongin while he mindlessly stuffs his face.

Vivi and Toben both claim Jongin as the best place to sit. Sehun feels a little betrayed, but then he looks at the lit TV. When nothing plays, it’s shiny like a mirror, and even the dark background of the menu allows for their images to reflect.

His reflection behaves, however.

He’s still tense.

They start a marathon of classic slasher movies. Some, one or the other has seen, but they’ve never seen any in order.

“Not that it even matters. After the first one or two movies, the entire premise changes,” Jongin complains, shaking sour gummy candy into his palm. He pushes another bowl away with his foot when Vivi stretches to sniff it.

Partway through the second movie, Sehun scoots to the edge of the sofa, and Jongin shifts to lean against the sofa arm. “I’ll wash these,” he says, gathering the pile of buttery and salty bowls. “You don’t have to pause the movie.”

“You just don’t want to watch!” Jongin accuses, slouching further into his safe blanket cocoon. Sehun doesn’t hear the movie and knows his friend paused it anyway; neither of them are big horror fans. Jongin can sleep through them, but Sehun’s jumping has kept him awake. Blood makes him quesy, and some of the bad guys are inhumanly creepy, which makes them all the more scary.

In the kitchen, Sehun takes his time letting the water run to get to an acceptable temperature, squeezing in a drop of dish soap and watching the suds spin and grow.

Reaching for the knife he used to peel the grapes after he rinses the last glass leftover from earlier in the week, Sehun sees his distorted image swirling in the remains of soap scum on the surface of the water. His arms are connected; he can’t see his hands, and when he yanks them from the sink, a third hand follows, feeling for the edge of the counter. It finds the knife and curls its fingers around it.

Sehun crashes back against the table and chairs, throwing them back and falling to the floor.

Another hand joins the first, fingers and tendons tightening and pulling. A head, then shoulders, arms, torso, and hips, surge from the sink, throwing water over the ledge and onto the floor. Sehun’s sock is saturated, which is normally disgusting, but he’s too terrified to notice.

“Sehun?” Jongin looks into the kitchen, seeing Sehun on the floor and then the body rising from the sink. He throws the nearest thing—an old banana, which smacks the side of the refrigerator and slides sadly to the counter—at the body, which looks uncannily like Sehun. Sehun’s head snaps to Jongin, and he gets his feet under him, slipping but keeping his balance and grabbing his friend by the arm.

They tumble into Chanyeol’s room; it’s closer. Sehun snaps the lights off and pushes Jongin to the floor with the bed between them and the door.

“What is that?” Jongin hisses.

Sehun shakes his head. He’s sitting on his wet sock; now his jeans are damp, too. “I dunno.”

“Is that who was stalking you?”

“I don’t know.”

“Did he climb out of the sink?!”

Sehun hisses at him to be quiet. Since clamoring into the bedroom, he’s not heard much.

Vivi starts to bark. Toben joins in, higher pitched and insistent. One of them yips.

Metal jingles in the hall—keys. They clank against the front door, turning the lock. Someone’s singing. Jongin grabs Sehun’s arm.

“Sorry to break up your date, guys, but I forgot my phone, which has my card in its case…” Chanyeol laughs. “Dude, what are you supposed to be? And why are you all wet?”

Sehun and Jongin peek out the bedroom door. Chanyeol is feet away from the reflection, dripping in the doorway to the kitchen. Light from the paused movie shines on the blade in its grip. Jongin waves his hand, shaking his head; Chanyeol notices him and then Sehun, and his smile drops.

The reflection moves, and Chanyeol steps back, pushing the door shut behind him. He recoils and tucks into himself as the knife embeds in his stomach.

Jongin screams in Sehun’s ear; Sehun shoves him off his back and grabs his elbow, dragging him to the window.

They live in the second story. It’s not a long drop, but people have broken bones over less.

With no time to consider the odds, Sehun pushes the curtains aside, fumbles with the lock to throw the window aside and finally throws a leg over the windowsill. He lowers himself as far as he can before letting go. The drop is jarring, but he’s fine and tries to catch or pull Jongin as he follows.

They run.

“What do we do?”

“Police!” Jongin points. The police department is a few blocks away; Sehun has learned to tune out the common noise of sirens.

No one seems to notice them running. There are couples in the distance, some people walking their dogs. A woman sweeps colorful leaves off the sidewalk. It’s cold out; Sehun feels the bits of gravel dig into his socked feet. Jongin is worse off, running barefoot.

Winded and blocked by traffic following a green light, they drop their hands on their knees.

“Is he following?”

There’s no one when they look back, and Sehun almost catches his breath. He glances at the side mirrors of the cars parked at the curb and blanches at his reflection.

He yanks Jongin upright and drags him down the sidewalk, away from where they want to go and tailed by danger. Cars and scooters line the street, matched to metal meters that chime as the reflection jumps.

It reaches from the last mirror, nearly catching Sehun’s arm. It retreats, just to leap out entirely from the glass of a new advertisement at a bus stop.

Hands shove his back, and he stumbles, catching his footing in an awkward spin. Jongin crashes into his reflection, rolling and holding its wrist and arm as he’s pinned to the pavement.

“Run!” In every movie, separating is a bad idea. Fighting with the bad guy is a bad idea. Stopping while running away is a bad idea. All bad ideas are pretty much always fatal, but Sehun can’t help himself and screams when Jongin is stabbed in the shoulder.

Blood makes him quesy. The reflection’s satisfied smile makes him run.

He cuts through traffic, dodging as best he can and leaving behind a lot of angry drivers and his best friend bleeding on the cement.

His lungs feel like exploding when he finally sees the gray brick of the police station. The few people out throw annoyed looks in his direction. Nobody asks what’s wrong or if he’s alright, as though it’s normal to run around the city in socks with water stained jeans.

Taking the steps three at a time, Sehun slams open the two doors of the foyer and throws himself into the lobby.

Inside, it’s all brightly lit and decorated with shiny steel and white. Sehun drops to a crouch where he can’t see himself and tries to catch his breath. The desk sergeant hustles from his seat, holding up a hand to the man he’d been talking to, and looks at Sehun, reaching for him cautiously as though trying to catch a spitting cat.

“What’s happened?”

“My friends have been stabbed. It’s following me.”

“Who’s following you?” Another officer joins the first, attracted to the curious stranger who ran in like the Devil’s on his heels.

Sehun shakes his head. He’s pulled to his feet by other officers and escorted to what’s either a holding room or interrogation. They have to push him when he tries to dig his heels into the floor, babbling about the large wall-to-wall mirror behind the table.

His reflection slams its palm against the glass, leaving crimson smears. It starts to reach into the room, blade inching towards Sehun's face and wholly ignorant of the officers’ shouting and panic.

“I’ve reflected your entire life, Sehun; it doesn’t work, if we don’t look the same!” The eyes over the scar are crazed, singularly focused. Sehun sees himself—unhinged, obsessive, determined.

Bullets strike the mirror, splintering it and shattering it to pieces on the floor.

Blood pools from the shards.

 

Officially, the police report a desperate homeless person went berserk and started a stabbing spree, having been surprised at Sehun and Chanyeol’s apartment while trying to steal something and then following the eye witnesses. No identification meant no next of kin to contact. No one to ask questions or demand answers.

Chanyeol survives. His wound is deep and will scar, but he doesn’t blame Sehun.

Jongin’s wound leaves him in a sling for a while, and he starts physical therapy after surgery to repair his cuff muscles. He doesn’t stop dancing but swears off horror movies.

Sehun doesn’t feel like he’s being watched anymore. Mirrors are blank; looking at one shows nothing, as though he’s looking through himself.

He’s completely alone.

 

Sometimes, his cheek itches, as though there’s an old scar.

 

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a/n: Written for Case94's Midnight Tales.