Mirrors: they hid a horrifying side people didn't know.

The town called me crazy, but I saw the changes infiltrating the town long before anybody else noticed. The mechanic, normally cheery and musical, stopped whistling during his projects. The little girl who lived above the sweet shop no longer offered free samples with a beaming smile. The hot thirty-something-year-old who always wore the too-tight clothes at the coffee shop started dressing like someone's grandma. The changes were subtle and would have been unnoticeable to the average Joe -- they wanted to keep the lives they'd stolen in this world, see -- but my parents brought me up to see the bigger picture, beneath the surface, through the facade and the lies. Their fake smiles, the glassy eyes, the awkward attempts at mimicking the originals' skills didn't fool me. I checked my wife and kids every single day. They laughed at my concerns, but they didn't know better. There were arguments, tears, tantrums. They wanted gadgets, mirrors, televisions. I shot all those ideas down. Those were dangerous, and they had no idea.

They yearned for me at the same time every night. I heard them all. My wife, Sherie, didn't. They couldn't touch her. Richard... Richard... So many of them. Their tone was sweet, their words persuasive, but I knew better. My house had no mirrors, no windows, no reflections. Vanity drives people insane, Richy-boy, my old man used to say. He wasn't wrong. He'd only had a mirror once in his life and it was destroyed not long after I came into this world. We kept on the move, growing up.

Maybe he was old, maybe it was a slip of judgement or out of love. I'd done the same: I never envisaged starting a family. Loved ones were a liability, a weakness, but they brought me so much joy. I thought I could risk some happiness after all these years. Maybe he thought the same. My old man installed a mirror at my stepmother's blessed insistence when they got married in the 90s and he was gone within the week. Ran away, the woman said. Like hell. He'd take a hurricane head-on. As if that old cow could make my old man run. I left, too.

It must have gotten its way through half the town before some of the bigwigs spotted differences. Some missing persons posters went up -- the pastor, the baker, the mayor's kid, but nobody had seen them. The old bird next door had been suspicious too, like me. I saw her smashing the glass of her son's car, ignoring his shouting, and then just went back into the house like nothing happened. I didn't interact with her. Too dangerous. But their arguing went on well into the night, keeping my two kids and I awake.

"They're taking people away, don't you see?"

"I'm telling ya, Ma, nobody's been taken away. A few got lost, some ran away, that's all."

"You see with your ass boy, not your eyes. Folks ain't the same."

"How so, Ma? How so? See? You can't prove it!"

"You're so busy staring at your damn reflection all the time, boy. One day, it'll take you away along with all the folks and you'll regret it."

A week later, she died. Old age, the town doc said. Bullshit, I thought. Her boy must have been taken, too, then poisoned her or something. They didn't want someone on this side knowing. I kept my mouth shut, but I knew it was only a matter of time before it spread to enough people and they got onto my trail. I began to prepare. Food, water, weapons, clothes -- I knew it was time for me to leave town again. Whenever the voices got bad and people began to disappear, I knew I would be hunted.

My daughter brought home a mirror that night.

The moment I walked in, I sensed a change in the air. Bitter, stomach-churning. Michaela froze in her pose, arm above her head and hip sticking out, at the far end of the living room, seeing me.

"Dad--"

"What the hell is this?" I exploded. Charlie, my son, ever the pacifist, darted away from the conflict. Michaela's face turned white, her words catching on her tongue.

"I'm sorry, Dad. Tommy's dad had a sale and I wanted it because it's hard to do my hair--"

"This thing is dangerous!" Flecks of spit hit her face. I saw red. Blood slammed in my ears. I jabbed a furious finger at it, my voice climbing octaves. Tommy's Dad. He planted this. "You have no idea! The things there kill -- you think this is some game?"

She curled into a ball, whimpering. So innocent, so naive was my little girl -- and she could have killed us all. I didn't hit her. I would never strike my family, but my words lashed.

"Richard!" My wife's shocked voice penetrated my fury. I stopped. "We'll get rid of it in the morning. Just... just leave it here for--"

"It has to go!" I roared.

"It's too late in the evening to move a full-length mirror, dear. Folk would notice."

Her words struck a chord with me. Folk mustn't notice. I heaved a shuddering sigh.

"We have to cover it." I kept my voice low. Michaela escaped to her room, weeping. But the mirror could not stay in this house the way it is.

"We'll paint over it, all right?" Sherie's calm hand on my back pulled some sense back into me. I hadn't felt fear that crippling in many years, not since I was a boy. They were onto us. I'd kept so safe all this time, not mingling with the town folk.

"Thick paint," I said through gritted teeth. Tomorrow. We had to leave first thing tomorrow morning.

They came for me that night.

My eyes flew open. It was that time of the night again. The temperature froze me to the bone. Goosebumps covered my arms. My breath became mists in the air. Richard... Richard... the sweet words were much louder tonight against the silence outside. I should have ignored it, but, chilling me to my core, I recognised my children's voices calling me. I kicked off my bed covers and sprinted down the stairs, slamming the lights on in the living room.

Standing at the mirror with a knife in his hand was Charlie, chipping steadily away at the paint. The bottom half had been scraped away, the flecks lying on the wooden floorboards.

"You're here, Dad," said Michaela beside him, smiling at me. "What's the matter? You don't like mirrors?"

"You're not Michaela," I said in a shaking voice. "You're some damn fake impersonating my daughter."

"Is it that obvious? Damn." she said with a giggle, toying with the strands of her hair, worn on one side -- the wrong side. Michaela always wore her hair on the right. Charlie continue to scrape at the mirror. The sound grated against my ears, sending shivers down my spine. "I've been watching Michaela all this time. She sure likes the mirrors in school. Such a pretty girl. But I had to wait till now. You sure are careful with details."

"What have you done with her?" I said hoarsely.

"Same place where you left him. Do you have any idea how long we've been watching, waiting? It's so dark and cold on the other side. No place for children."

"You're no child."

"No, not really." 'Michaela' toyed with a strand of her hair, smiling at me with those empty eyes.

"Richard..."

I turned. My wife had come down stairs after me.

"Sherie -- get away--"

"Paint was an excellent idea, Mother," Charlie lilted, pausing after another stab.

I stared at my wife, who sauntered her way over to me, hip swishing. My wife was not a seductive woman. She ran a finger along my chin, pursing her lips, her eyes bright.

"You gave us quite the wild goose chase, Richard, dear," she whispered. "I waited sixteen years to catch you. Did you really think a criminal like you could keep running forever? You can't escape us."

I struck her across the face. Sherie's head snapped back with a gasp. She stumbled back. 'Michaela' and 'Charlie' yelled expletives in harsh voices, a far cry from the innocent ones I'd loved and saw thrive, and dashed towards me with knives in their hands. I couldn't hit them, let alone kill them. Even if they were no longer my kids, but some imposters. They looked just like them.

I knew I'd messed up the moment I got outside and tried to start my car. The truck wouldn't start. I toyed with the accelerator, turning my keys. It was an old thing, but it hadn't let me down so far. The whispers and darkness crept in. You can't escape us. Eyes glowed in the darkness. I swore. Those bastards must have messed with it.

Before I knew it, they circled the car, trapping me with their glassy stares and wide smiles, my wife and children at the front of the crowd. Sherie's left cheek was bright pink and her eye bloodshot, but there was no masking that glee.

I thought I'd hid my tracks well, but they caught me in this world, after all.

"You can't escape us, Richard," they sang. "Did you think you were the only one who can enjoy this freedom?"

Word count: 1564. Written for 's Wattpad Witching Hour Part 1 Contest.