Agoraphobic - Creepypasta

Especially You - Ch 2.

Mary Josephine's POV

I've always wondered why grandmother never had mirrors in the house. She was a very superstitious lady and let nothing slip. Salt was thrown over the shoulder, fingers were crossed, and pennies were picked up. I always wondered why I couldn't look at myself in a mirror. It was very distressing and sometimes humiliating but grandmother always refused and said,

" Jo, mirrors aren't just for reflecting your appearance, they hold pieces of your soul. Especially yours!"

She always added ' especially for you' to the end of every explanation for something I wasn't allowed to do something or have something. As if it would somehow influence me not to do it. Very peculiar indeed, however, it only furthered my aggravation.

Mirrors started haunting my dreams and I would see horrible images in the misty mirrors. When I walked past them I would see a person that vaguely resembled me but wasn't me at all. These phantom people were all women with red pupils and black abysses where the whites should have been. Blood seemed to be part of each of their props. It would drip out of their mouths or they would cry blood tears. Blood would be splotched on their nighties or drenching their hair. Most of them carried a reflective object. They were frightening.

Now I am dreaming and I'm doing the strangest things. The room I am in is like one of those old libraries with creaky wooden shelves and ancient books. The bookshelves seem to be as tall as the ceiling, if there even is one. It's too dark to see any further up, it's so high. I'm holding a clear plastic umbrella up and forks keep falling from somewhere above. They're just raining over me. I'm standing very closely to a wall behind me and in front of me is pitch black nothingness except for a small flicker of light that's maybe 20 or so feet away. When I approach it, with the forks still raining on me, it's my closet from back in the cabin. The closet doesn't lead to my clothes though. There is a painting of a woman from the late 1800's. She's at the bottom of a set of stairs with a candle in her hand. On the wall in front of her is a mirror and in this mirror is the reflection of my grandmother crying tears of blood. Even though it's a painting I can hear her say to me,

" Jo, especially you! "

Under the painting is a regular cardboard box but it's empty, so I step into it. It's not a big box and I'm just standing in it but suddenly I feel the need to hide in something and to never let the thing I'm hiding from find me. My body already seems to have shrank to that of a toddler's. I crouch down low to hug my knees and bury my head into the little crook between my chest and thighs. I make sure that the umbrella rests over me to shield me from the danger and when I've finally settled down I hear the sound of footsteps echoing off the marble floors.

Tap, tap, tap...

I hug my knees tighter.

Please leave me alone?

The umbrella lifts up and something else leans down. I can feel warmth radiating off of it proving that it's a living thing and dark, thin hair brushes against my cheek. I duck down more as I hear it breath hoarsely next to my ear. A raspy voice breaths,

" I'm coming to gobble you up. Go to sleep before I do."

I need to be scarier than this guy. He doesn't know who he's dealing with. If I show strength and power he will leave me alone like a dog.

I do the only thing I can imagine to be more scary. I screech and lung at the monster with my fingernails out in the open...but he's gone and I'm awake. I'm not in a box, I'm in bed tangled in sheets on my side.