A few days had passed since the first eclipse, and it was becoming clear that it had caused more than just a tremor in The Wood. Pooh had been scarred, horrified. What was happening to Christopher out there? What were these nightmares?

And nightmares they were. Awful terrors. Every night, he was plagued by such terrors, cracks in Christopher's psyche. They had targeted Pooh. But why?

Why? He asked himself, as he stared into the mirror, staring himself dead in his frightful eyes. Eyes full of fear… terror… anger… hatred.

He reatreated a few steps, eyes widened. He looked at his reflection. It stared back, just as he was… mimicking him. Mocking him?

"You mocking me?"

The reflection copied, lips moving in time. The bastard.

No, wait. This is crazy. It's a reflection.

The reflection was staring at him. Through him. It grinned. Pooh leaned in close, staring into his own teeth. They were sharper. Dangerous.
Abruptly, the mirror shook. Pooh jumped. The reflection did not. It only continued to grin at him, a leer with eyes so wide, teeth so sharp. It mocked him. Pooh could feel it. The sickness. It's deepening.

The doppelganger glared on. It raised a hand. Pooh could no longer move. Terror struck him as the hand curled, revealing wicked crooks, jagged and sharp. His mirror image inaudibly chuckled, waving his claws in front of the glass.

Let me out.

Pooh fell to the floor, eyes never leaving those of his reflection.

Let me out, Pooh.

A single claw grazed along the glass, leaving deep gouges. Pooh's ears cringed at the sound.

LET ME OUT!

Glass broke. Screams.

A cry was at his throat as he awoke. He lay there for who knows how long, staring at the ceiling, not daring to blink for fear of another nightmare. He rose from bed, and walked towards the bathroom.

Look at yourself. Just a look, and you'll be fine. It was a dream, you have to realize—

He eyed the mirror, and was at first terrified the beast had returned. But no. He stared at his teeth, fangs shining under curled lips. His fur. He touched the top of his head. It was dark on top, shaggy. Growing fast.

I have hair?

He looked again at his own eyes. So crazed. He stepped back from the mirror. He didn't have to look to feel his hands. He knew the claws were there. He felt them.

What is happening to me?

You are . This mind is cracking.

" It is changing. So must I."

He peered at himself, and smiled. What a wild, deranged visage he had now.

" I like it."

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

Christopher had come home from school. Father wasn't home yet, and he was left with her. She-devil. Oh, he hated her. And it most definitely was mutual.

She had hit him today. Again. His face, arms. He didn't want to think about it.

In his room, he looked at his toys, his favorite things. He picked up little Rabbit. He was so angry.

He threw it, it struck the fan, tearing at the shoulder. In his anger, he kicked it, furthrt tearing it. Tigger was next. Swung by his tail, he hit first the wall, then the lamp, tearing the tail and breaking the lamp. They were only toys, what were they? He was to break them all.

Piglet. Dragged in the glass of the lamp, cutting Christopher's feet. Blood on the toy. He was torn by teeth, face bitten. His gums soon bled, too.

Then Pooh. Thrown into the window, shattering glass. Grab the sliver. The eye. Stab. Stab. Tear out the eye.

Christopher sat, breathing heavily and bleeding profusely, was surrounded by glass and toen childhood when the stepmother walked in. She unleashed her wrath on him, face, arms, legs.
" Damn boy is mad, Alan. He should be taken in. He has thrown a fit and hurt himself. I don't know what else I can do, Alan."

Crocodile tears. How he hated that woman. He lay in the mess, and cried. He finally slept, with one thought.

I want her to die.