Beware & Behold

The Ball

The straight razor left cuts around Derek's cheeks and chin. Softly pressing the sharp blade to his skin, avoiding another pinch, Derek sighed deeply. Spending time in solitude was soothing to his soul. He wiped the razor blade with a towel and refilled the hot water from the pitcher. The snowflakes cruised on the other side of the mosaic glass, and he stopped for a moment to observe them, his shirt wrapped around his torso. A layer of white swiftly covered the windowsills in a thick blanket.

It was quiet inside the cadet bathrooms. Oval-shaped mirrors fringed the walls and pulled the sunrise along with them, trapping it inside. Derek set his razor blade on the washstand and dug into the duffel bag for another bar of soap. When his gaze returned to the mirror, he felt like he had seen his face change, and it startled him. It was as if Derek became blind. His lips parted, merged into one black line, and then sealed. He looked like a warlock with rotting flesh melting off his face.He swiftly covered his face with a soft towel and stepped away from the mirror. He was still catching his breath when he felt a hand touch his shoulder, which made him jump.

"What the hell, Cromwell?" John Levine came out behind him, boar-bristled brush and a comb in his hand. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and rather thin. His dark brown eyes matched the luscious silk of his hair. He was known to be the most easygoing and bright cadet in their class.

"God! What are you doing here, John?" Derek asked. He was relieved the vision in the mirror had vanished.

John shook his head. "What do you think? The same thing you are doing—shaving. I ran out of soap! The parcel my mother sent for Thanksgiving is rather late. I came to see if you had any, and here you are, looking like the demons are chasing you."

"You have no idea," Derek said and exhaled, feeling the numbness in his legs drift away. "I was looking for soap in my duffel bag..."

Derek's voice trailed off when he noticed that the straight razor he had put on the washstand was no longer there. John stood beside him, not saying a word.

Derek's eyes were locked on the mirror. There were two people in its reflection, one of them John. In the other, Derek recognized himself, though a decade older, holding that same razor blade. His eyes were two dots of black, like the eyes of an insect. A long beard with silver laced through it slowly formed black snakes instead of hair. Derek flinched, bumping the soap off the sink. That's when the shadow-Derek slashed John's throat, who was locked inside the mirror. Blood splattered out of John's neck and shadow- Derek's mouth formed a smile.

"No!" Derek yelled at the mirror, throwing his duffel bag and the towel onto the tiles, causing his artillery books to fall out. As soon as he broke eye contact with the mirror, he snapped back to reality to find John staring at him with his brown eyes as big as two quarters.

"Okay, I'll go find soap somewhere else. If you ask me, Cromwell, you must have a break from studying, or soon you will throw yourself into the artillery fire without real- izing it." John's eyes travelled from the mirror, to Derek, to the shaving kit. He rolled his eyes and shrugged.

Derek gave John a wide-eyed stare as he watched him exit the cadet bathrooms, his limbs quivering. He noticed that blood ran down his face and down his bare torso. He had cut himself shaving, leaving a bloody path along his throat. That same path the shadow-Derek made when he cut John's throat.

Derek was convinced the demons were after him. They were trying to convince him to kill John, and it was a matter of time until they succeeded.

"HAVE YOU BEEN FEELING UNWELL?" Shawn Grimwood asked as he eased into one of the beige sofas in the main hall of VMI that morning.

For weeks, Derek had trouble remembering falling asleep, which wouldn't be an issue, had he also not forgotten the times he had been awake. Most days he found rather strange: he almost felt like he had missed them entirely. There were lapses in his memory he couldn't explain. Dreams that turned to nightmares that were so vivid that, at times, he couldn't tell if they were real. It was almost as if something was haunting him.