I roam my old, empty home, tormented by a horrible memory I literally can’t escape from; the reminder of dying in the place I thought was secure made me want to sob with rage and grief, but I can’t do anything about it now.

I knew the abode like the back of my hand, where all the wall plugs and faint carpet stains were located, but usually, I chose to stay in my bedroom, safe from everything that triggers my trauma. Of course, none of my old possessions are in here anymore, but either way, the gray walls and creaking floors keep me company. Today, I felt the strange desire to move around a bit and revisit the ghastly home I’m bound to, and after the long war in my head, the impulses won once again.

Despite the rising anxiety and nostalgia in my translucent body, I began to venture in every room; everything looked so abandoned and dusty, yet that was no surprise to me. After a while though, it was time to go into the room I feared the most… the bathroom.

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When I stepped into the dull bathroom, a vivid evocation of my death tortured me; the stabbing, the suffering, the culprit’s sadistic gleam in his eyes, it was horrific to even think about. I looked around with apprehension, and as I did so, I noticed there was a strange reflection on the bathroom mirror when I passed by._ Why would there be a reflection of me when I’m a ghost?_

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And then, when I looked in the mirror, I was petrified with what I saw..

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It was my corpse, staring right back at me with its undead eyes. My skin was paled and weathered, my hair disheveled and my mouth slightly ajar. But, what provoked me the most was the fresh stab wounds littered on my body that endlessly oozed. The sight made my eyes widen with shock and bolt out of the bathroom, all while my mind raced with thousands of questions, “_how is this even possible? Why is that my reflection?” _being a couple of them. Either way, I swore that I’d never leave my bedroom or go near a mirror ever again; it was just too much for me.