Fake. That's what it is.

Not real, nonexistent.

That's what I tell myself as I stare at the mirror.

The mirror with a spider in its reflection.

I'm not turning around.

I won't.

Now there's two.

I have to be seeing things.

They're moving.

Towards me.

I have to turn around.

What?

Nothing.

Nothing's here.

I turn back around.

Shout. That's what I do.

They're everywhere.

The walls, the ceilings.

The door.

I'm trapped.

Dead. That's what I am.

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