Mark stared at the mirror.
This wasn't a thing that happened. It just wasn't.
Was it an optical illusion?
This was a practical joke, it must be, reflections weren't actual things, you couldn't steal them, or accidentally lose them.
Deciding it was far more likely there was something fishy going on with the mirror than his reflection, Mark went to the other mirror in the hall.
Nothing there either. Oh, he could see the hall, and things that were behind him.
This must have been some kind of elaborate practical joke. Yeah, someone had replaced the mirrors with screens that were hooked to hidden cameras somehow and on a feedback loop showing empty rooms.
He bet Jeremy was in on it.
"Yeah, got me there for a moment, but I'm onto you now, really funny!"
He yelled at no-one particular. And then it hit him. The thing that had been wrong with him.
He didn't breath anymore. Oh, he did when he paid attention to it, like when he was trying to smell something, or talking, but when he didn't think about it, it didn't happen. Breathing just was one of those things that were on the background. Usually it just happened, you didn't have to think about it, and in fact you had to make a conscious effort not to breath.
The world had just stopped making sense.
Mark stood in the hall in his towelling robe, staring at the mirror, holding his breath and trying not to think about what was happening. Maybe he had been poisoned. There were some fish that made you appear dead. But you generally didn't walk around after being poisoned. As far as Mark knew, you just appeared dead. Not undead-
He stopped right there. He wasn't- that kind of a thing wasn't happening. And he wasn't going to think it was. Because if he articulated it in his mind, if he for a moment suspected what he was almost suspecting, they would win. Mark wasn't certain who they were, possibly the crew of some insane new reality-tv programme.
Where they stalked some poor sap and convinced him he was a vampire.
Shit, he thought of it!
It was okay, he had just thought about thinking it. They hadn't gotten him yet.
But he had been decidedly NOT breathing for at least five minutes, and didn't feel any need to.
This just wasn't something that happened. Not in real life.
There were things that happened, things that were very unlikely, and things that DIDN'T HAPPEN, because the world was not an insane place.
Or maybe this was an actual thing. Maybe it was common knowledge that vampires existed.
No, that was stupid.
Maybe it was something just some people knew about.
Maybe vampires were a minority group in Britain. Maybe you just couldn't tell, since how often did you notice the reflections of other people anyway? Maybe the country was run by vampires.
But surely someone would have noticed? And asked questions. This was the kind of thing free press existed for.
Paxman had never grilled Michael Howard about whether or not he was a vampire. Maybe 'vampire' was a racist term or something, maybe they preferred to be called 'vamps' or 'undead'-
No, he was doing it! He couldn't just start thinking this was real!
He had just lost his reflection and didn't breathe anymore. Maybe all of his autonomic nervous system had just given up, and from now he'd have to think about doing all the breathing and digestion. Maybe that was why he had been throwing up, he hadn't thought about digesting the food enough. And his teeth-
Instinctively he looked in the mirror, but when it hadn't started behaving like normal laws of universe dictated, Mark tried to feel with his fingers what teeth he had actually lost.
He wasn't certain, but they might have been his two upper canines. But wasn't that backwards? If he was a vampire (which he was NOT) why would he lose teeth?
But why would any of this make sense or follow rules?
Rules.
He needed to know what the rules were. Even if he wasn't a vampire, there was something wrong with him. And if he could establish what exactly was wrong with him, it would all be better. Marginally.
What other things were there?
Sunlight?
No, it was still the middle of the night.
Crosses? Holy water?
No chance of finding the latter, but he could try the former.
He sat on the sofa, pulling out an ark of paper and some biros. He noted he didn't need to put the light on to see. All the colours were washed out, and the world looked almost black and white. But he could definitely see.
That was pretty damning evidence.
He drew a cross.
He poked it. No, wasn't burning him. Was he feeling repelled by it? Even a little bit.
He stared at the cross.
Maybe you had to be Christian for it to work?
Figuring he might as well try other religions (maybe this was in fact the way to find out which religion was true? The one Mark Corrigan recoils away in horror from), Mark drew the Star of David.
No result.
What did the Muslims worship? There was the moon, right?
Nothing.
He tried a pentagram, a swastika (it was a religious symbol of some cults in Asia) and a Buddha, although due to his drawing skills it ended up looking more like a scone with eyes.
No burning or being repelled. Or maybe he just wasn't doing it right?
Well, in any case, that was a result. Of some kind.
He was feeling tired. Dead tired. No, not that. Just normal tired.
But he just didn't feel like dealing with any of this right now.
He barely had the energy to change into his pyjamas and slip in bed.
Maybe he could just sleep it off.
Although nothing ever was that simple, was it? Not for him.
When Mark stirred from his dreamless sleep, there was the blissful moment where he didn't remember what was wrong. He did remember that something was wrong, but that was pretty much the standard with his life.
But, of course, it all came back. And as he lay there he became more and more convinced it was all true.
He closed his eyes, trying to listen to his heartbeat. Could he feel his heart beating? He didn't feel warm in his bed, under the covers. Not that he felt cold either, it was just neither.
He listened to the sounds of the flat. He could hear a car outside, some mumbled talking, someone, probably Jeremy, moving in the room next to his. It hadn't been like that before. He had been kept awake by Jeremy or his neighbours before, but his sense of hearing had never been this acute.
He could smell much better too. He could smell the carpet. It smelled dirty. A while back he had spilled coffee on it and gotten most of it off, but now he could smell it. Among to all kinds of nasty smells that were most likely the result of him collapsing on the floor after dragging himself away from the alleyway.
He couldn't just lie in bed all day doing long-distance smelling. Or all night, as his clock told him, it was 9pm. And he had just woken up. Was this going to be his rhythm from now on? Sleeping through the days and being awake at night?
How would he fit this all with his job?
He had already missed two days of work.
Maybe he could work from home somehow?
What was he going to do?
Mark got up and went to the bathroom. There he noticed he didn't actually need to go. And the mirror was reminding him of his situation, taunting him as much as an inanimate object could.
Feeling like he needed to do something, he washed his face. Did he look normal? As far as he could tell, his facial features were unchanged, but if his eyes were all demonic or something, he would have no way of telling. He thought he looked pale, but not inhumanely so judging by looking at his arms.
The girl had looked human.
He should find her. Make her take responsibility for infecting him with this stuff. That was really rude of her, just taking what she wanted from him and abandoning him to face all this weirdness alone.
He was so deep in his thoughts he almost ran into Jeremy when coming out of the bathroom.
Panicking, Mark slipped to his room, avoiding eye contact, and closed the door.
Why was he hiding? Maybe Jeremy would know about this stuff. No, better to-
He could hear Jeremy moving in the hall. He could smell him, and that was just something he'd just rather not think about right then.
He would have to know what sunlight did to him. That was important to know, so he would know if he had any hope of having a normal life again. Somewhat normal. For that, he needed to wait for the morning.
In the meanwhile, he could do some research.
He turned his computer on and googled 'vampire'.
Vampires are mythological or folkloric beings who subsist by feeding on the life essence (generally in the form of blood) of living creatures.
He read up on vampires on Wikipedia for a while. At least he wasn't a Chinese hopping vampire. That would have been even more embarrassing.
There were so many different kinds of vampires in folklore and Hollywood fiction, how was he supposed to figure out what the truth behind the legends were before he accidentally stumbled in them and found out pumpkins or crossroads or lack of pumpkins could kill him now?
And he wasn't even certain if he needed to, well, feed.
He hadn't been eating anything for days now. Or at least managed to keep anything down.
He was feeling a bit hungry. In a different way from normal hunger. It was more like an all-encompassing physical need. And he was so tired.
He tried typing 'Are vampires real?'
But all search results he got were either badly spelled messes or dismissive.
He tried reading a book, but found it hard to concentrate on Rommel's campaign in North Africa.
If he did have to drink blood, did it have to be human?
And if it did, where would he get it? Could he find other vampires to ask them all this stuff?
Mark noted he had decided to tentatively accept he was a vampire. Maybe not like in books and movies, not like Dracula, but maybe it was some real disorder that made you allergic to mirrors, and breathing optional.
If he did have to bite people, though, could he do it? That didn't sound very hygienic.
Maybe he could talk Dobby into it. Maybe she would think it was romantic.
Hi, I just popped in to tell you I am dead now. Would you fancy a romp? It would probably be like shagging a corpse, assuming I even were able to get it up, and it would involve me trying to eat a part of you. It would be like mixing food and sex in a totally new way.
That sounded horrible even in his mind, and based on his experience, things he thought to say to women always came out sounding worse than they did in his head. Even when they didn't involve cannibalism.
He waited for Jeremy to leave, to do who-knew-what, and went on to close all the curtains and blinds. Just in case sunlight was fatal to him now.
He left the blinds in his room partly open, and sat down to wait what would happen.
It started to become lighter.
And as the night gave way to dawn he started to feel queasy. Finally he closed the blinds, blocking any light.
He would wait until the sun had properly risen, and then quickly step into it. Partly.
7 am. Sun should be up.
Here's hoping this won't reduce me into a pile of dust.
Mark slipped his hand through the blinds. And jumped back when the sun hit his skin.
Fuck, that hurt!
It felt like his hand was burning but it didn't look like it was actually on fire. Closing his eyes, he pushed his arm in the sun again.
He managed to count to twelve before the pain became unbearable and he was certain his flesh was on fire.
He rushed to the bathroom, putting his arm in the cool water.
It felt better. Mark inspected his arm.
It looked like the most horrible burn he had ever seen on telly. His arm looked all red and black and sickening.
So, the sunlight caused him 3rd degree burns. Achieving normalcy in his life had just gotten much more difficult.
A/N
As funny (and sadistic) as giving Mark as many weaknesses as possible would have been, I didn't feel like dealing with the theological implications of religious symbols having an effect on vampires. I suppose if the vampire was religious and believed in it, it might work, though.