Chapter 02: A Face in the Mirror

"So how's the new place?"

"Fucking haunted. Or something." Tom took a deep drag of the cigarette loosely between his lips, rubbing a hand across his tired eyes. "I don't know." The bleach-blonde sitting across the table on the patio of the small coffee shop looked at the dreadlocked teen sceptically. Tom shot his best friend a glare, violently stabbing the butt of the cigarette against the table top to snuff it out. He lowered his gaze to the steaming cup of coffee set in front of him, glaring at it, as if his sleepless night and messed up life were somehow the caffeinated drinks fault.

"Haunted?" the blonde repeated, his voice laced with suppressed laughter. "What are you, eight?"

"Fuck off, Andreas." Tom leaned his elbow against the table, cupping his chin in his hand. A slight frown graced his lips. "I'm not kidding; there's something really messed up about that place."

"You were just stressed and over-tired," Andreas replied casually. "Probably just your mind playing tricks on you." Tom gave a non-committal grunt and turned his attention back to the drink in front of him. He stared at it blankly, loosing himself in the depths of the murky brown liquid.

Maybe I really am just losing my mind.

"Oh," the other teen breathed out, glancing at the watch around one wrist. "Listen, Tom, I have to go before I'm late for work. We'll try hang out sometime next week again, alright?" Tom just nodded mutely, eyes still staring blankly at nothing.

"And don't loose any more sleep over this," Andreas added. "Just get a proper night of rest and relax. Try not to worry about anything and you'll be fine."

Tom just grunted again, giving the other youth no reply.

***

Tom wandered the near empty streets for most of the remainder of the day, hands shoved into the pockets of his baggy jeans, shoes absently scuffing against the concrete of the cracked sidewalk. He couldn't really fool himself anymore; he knew he was just avoiding going home. Tom looked up at the steadily darkening sky, exhaling softly. The nineteen year old heard a small rumble of thunder in the distance, and as if on cue, large, fat drops of rain started to fall, the downpour growing heavier and heavier by the second. He watched the very few people littering the streets run for cover, some shielding their hair with newspapers, bags, and other random objects.

"Great," Tom mumbled under his breath, yanking his cap down by the brim to cover his face from the cold rain.

Spotting the old apartment building looming up against the dark sky at the end of the block, the lanky teen broke into a jog, his soaked sweater clinging uncomfortably to his body.

Tom swung the large, heavy doors of the building open with a creak, stepping inside to seek shelter from the pouring rain. The same old woman from the day before was bustling around the lobby again, and turned slowly to look at the young man, her dull eyes shifting to his muddy shoes and the small puddle of water that seeped into the atrociously pattered carpet underneath him. She shot Tom one last look of disdain, then turned away from him to continue the task she had been doing before he entered. Wordlessly, Tom crossed the wide room to the door that led to the flights of stairs. Pausing with his hand on the door knob, the nineteen year old turned to face the woman.

"Does anyone else live here?" he asked. It took the elderly woman several seconds to answer.

"No," she finally said, her back still to Tom. "You are the first person to move in in almost four years."

"Why?"

Tom waited for several minutes, and when he didn't receive an answer, turned and exited the room. There was definitely something suspicious going on in this place, and he was determined to figure it out.

He finally reached the third floor, slightly out of breath from his climb up the dozens of stairs. When he reached the door to his apartment, Tom felt that uneasiness welling up inside of him again. Frowning, the dreadlocked teen gave his head a small shake and realized he really was being ridiculous. It was just his imagination. There were no ghosts, nothing in his room. No one else even lived in the building.

Tom let himself in the room, peeling off his wet hoody and tossing it into a careless heap in the middle of the floor. The room was filled with such a thick silence that the air felt heavy enough to crush him. Tom thought that if he had to stay here much longer, he would surely go insane. He shuffled across to room to the narrow door that blended in with the walls, which he had only discovered earlier that morning. It led to a tiny kitchen and living area, and an even tinier bathroom. Tom figured that a magician of some sort must've been needed to fit the bathtub into it.

The nineteen year old entered the cramped bathroom and sat down heavily on the old, yellowed toilet. Everything in this place seemed to be decades old. Burying his face in his hands, Tom let out an agitated, tired groan. He was already sick of this, sick of everything, and lately, he realized, nothing seemed to go right. Everything was just a huge disaster.

Tom rose from his position and leaned against the chipped porcelain sink, staring at his reflection in the dirty, streaked mirror. His eyes burned intently into his reflections, and he studied his features. Dull, tired eyes encircled in black due to the previous sleepless night. A face worn from exhaustion and stress that looked years older than it should have. The nineteen year old wrinkled his nose slightly at his appearance, blinking slowly as he leaned closer to the mirror. And then his heart practically stopped.

A pair of eyes that weren't his own were staring back at him.

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