Peter

Peter ran to the garage door the second he heard the door going up. His tiny feet stumbling with the clumsy gait of a five-year-old. He threw open the garage door and found both his parents deeply absorbed by their blue screens. He slowly approached them looking up at their foreboding frames. Their combined shadow blocked his little eyes from the overhead light.

"Mom? Dad? Could you play with me?"

His mother peered down at him over her phone. She sniffed in distaste at the sight of her son's dirty hands.

"Oh, Peter you little fool, you're not worth my time. Just look at yourself. You're not a CEO or a President. Mommy has important people to "play" with, darling. So run along and make something of yourself. Maybe then we can play." Peters father turned to her,

"Couldn't have said it better, my dear". He leaned over and gave mother a quick kiss on the cheek. Just as quickly as they shared a glance they both returned to their screens.

Peter's eyes filled with tears as he slowly turned and walked away. He paused before leaving the garage at a dusty old mirror leaning against the wall. Peter took a hard look at himself in the mirror scrutinizing every inch of his appearance. At the sight of the dirt on his hands, he quickly rubbed them off on his pants. He then moved closer to the mirror.

He blinked and suddenly he could no longer see himself in the mirror. He frantically waved his arms in an attempt to find his reflection. He starts to gasp faster and faster as he starts to hyperventilate with panic. Surely, he could not disappear simply because he was not important, could he?

Suddenly, it all became too much for little Peter. He grabbed his head and screamed. His parents groaned and left closing the door behind them. It locked in their wake with a soft click.

..............................…..

Peter lay shivering in his sleep on the garage floor, his back turned away from the old mirror.

"Peter." Peter shifts in his sleep. He whimpers when he heard the whisper.

"Peeeter." His eyes blink open. He sat up and turned toward the door, and the mirror.

"Mommy?"

"Peter."

"Daddy?"

"Peter!"

"Who's there?"

"Look in the mirror Peter." Peter stumbled to the mirror. He gasped at the sight of his reflection. Upon a closer examination of the mirror, he gave out another whimper. His reflection was exactly like him except for the eyes. They were yellow around the pupil but shifted to a blood red.

"Wha-. Who are you?"

"I am you." The reflection spoke with cold mocking precision.

"You're me?"

"Yes."

"But, but I'm me."

"Well, I'm the new and improved you."

"But I don't need improvement. What is improvement?" His reflection let out a long-suffering sigh and rolled its eyes.

"Let me explain in simple terms. I'm. here. to. REPLACE. you." Peter's eyes fill with fear and a hint of lingering confusion.

"I'm going to take your mommy and daddy, kid." Peter's eyes widened even further as his reflection stretched and grew in the mirror. The reflection strangely still looks like him, a future teenaged version of little Peter.

The reflection of the garage shifts away, replaced by a bedroom. His parent's bedroom. He could see their chests rising and falling through their blue blanket.

"Say Goodbye."

The reflection turns towards Peter's sleeping parents, his fingers shifting into the sharp claws. Peter screamed out,

"MOMMY! DADDY! RUN!" At his cry, the reflection turns back towards the little boy. He sneered down at him,

"You're too late, kid. You'll always be too late." With this last remark, he lunged at Peter's parents.

"NO!" Peter lunged at the mirror trying to save his parents. The mirror shattered at the boy's impact. An eerie cackle ringed in little Peter's ears as glass shards exploded around him. He cries out as a glass shard slices a crescent moon shaped scar around the left side of his jaw.

Peter looked down at his hands, his hands shaking as he watched his hands start to bleed. He looked down at the glass dazzling with moonlight from the skylight. Blood soon mixed with the pure white shards. Peter watched in fascinated horror as the glass started to absorb his blood.

"A- A- AAAAAAAH!" In a corner of the old mirror within a largely unshattered portion of the glass, a dark red shadow's gleaming white teeth smiled at little Peter's screams.

..............................…..

"We have Peter's psychiatric evaluation back." The doctor sat down behind her desk and faced the two parents seated in the two plush black armchairs. She laced her hands in front of her on the desk. What she was about to say would be hard and she wanted to give the parents time to get comfortable. She was surprised when the father snapped at her,

"And?" She blinked. His tone was so different than it had been in the emergency room when he and his wife had first brought their son in. Then again the press had been crowding into the room with them…

She mentally shook her head and decided to give them the benefit of the doubt. She calmly responded,

"It seems Peter suffers from a rare phobia called catoptrophobia."

"Do you expect us to know what that means? You're the doctor here, explain." Shrieked Peter's mother. The Doctor slowly blinked once again, both their attitudes had changed severely. She suddenly became very cautious of the high power couple.

"Y-yes ma'am. It means a fear of mirrors, but more precisely reflections. He is having extreme attacks of anxiety because of his irrational fear of his reflection." Both parents glared at the doctor. The mother rolled her eyes and the father sighed, severely irritated,

"And? How do we fix him? We don't want a mentally challenged son. That is not the image we want, the public is only sympathetic for so long!"

The doctor had to mentally hold herself back from screaming at the man. His son had been severely injured and the resulting mental and physical scars would haunt him for the rest of his life. This fear was not something he could just "get rid" of. He would need love, understanding, and therapy. He would need parents who were concerned about him, not their public image.

"Well, Mr. and Mrs. Lake we have found the easiest way to fix phobias is to slowly expose them to the source of their phobias in a controlled environment. This allows them to see that their fear is irrational and eventually overcome it."

"So your saying we can fix him by placing him in a room full of mirrors for a few hours?"

"Well, sort of sir. It would probably take around three months because of his youth."

"Do it. As fast as possible!"

"Right away, sir? I don't think that is a good idea. He is still injured."

"Did you not hear my husband the first time? Do it. NOW!"

"Yes, ma'am. Right away. We will expose him for half an hour." The doctor stood from her desk. As she walked away a shiver of disgust snaked down her back. She could read this couple like a book. They were the type who wanted power and would do anything to achieve and maintain as much of it as possible. Their son Peter was a pawn to them. A way of gaining favor through the ruse of being a perfectly happy family.

They were people easy to despise.

..............................…..

The doctor quickly found her way to Peter's room. She took a moment at the door to observe the small child. He was kicking his legs nervously against the bed frame while looking down at his bandage hands. Fear emanated from every twitch of his small frame.

She couldn't help but feel sorry for the small boy. He had so much to deal with at such a young age.

She cleared her throat and Peter's little head shot up. He looked at her expectantly.

"Come with me Peter."

"Are you taking me back to mommy and daddy?" The doctor could see that the poor kid had yet to see his parents for the monsters they were.

"Not yet Peter. First we're going to help you get rid of your fear of mirrors."

"BUT I'M NOT AFRAID OF MIRRORS!!!" The forceful statement startled the doctor.

"Then what are you afraid of Peter?"

"I'M AFRAID OF THE BAD MAN INSIDE!"

"Bad man?"

"Yes, at first he looks like me. But once the glass broke in the shards I saw the man. He wanted to hurt me."

"Peter, that is an illogical statement that to you appears true because of your phobia."

"No it's not. He hurt me, see?" The doctor looked down at Peter who was holding up his bandage hands.

"Well, Peter we have a way to help you get rid of the bad man."

"Really!?"

"Yes. All you need to do is walk into a room and stay there for a little over half an hour."

"I can do that!" The doctor was surprised to see an ear to ear grin on the little boy's face. She had been almost certain that she would never see the boy smile. He had a lovely smile and she hoped he would be able to smile often in he's coming years. He reminded her of her sweet grandson.

"Ok. Take a deep breath." The Doctor watched as Peter took a deep breath. She unlocked the door to their left and motioned for him to enter.

"Now walk in here and I will be back in one hour."

Peter walked into a dark room. The door softly closed behind him. His panic only set in once he heard the click of the lock. The lights flash on and Peter finds himself in a room of mirrors.

"No, no no no!"

An hour later the doctor opened the door.

"Peter did you conquer your fear yet?" She cried out once she saw Peter. He was crumpled on the floor, blood splattered around him. Every mirror shattered to pieces.

A message was splattered in blood on the floor "Leave the boy alone. The time is not yet here."

The doctor looked up and saw a dark shadow in the shape of a man sitting in a window sized piece of unshattered glass. He put a finger to his lips and smiled.

.................…

The memory faded away and Peter opened his eyes.

He has a soccer ball tucked under his arm and earbuds pulsing in his ears. He turned up the music and closed his eyes for a second. He opened his eyes after a moment and saw a girl. He could see she was about his age with blue eyes and short messy brown hair. She was reading a book titled, The Language of Flowers.

The nickname Flower Girl popped into his head. He watched her as she turned a page. She suddenly glanced up and his heart spluttered in his chest. After a few seconds she looked back down at her book. Hey, she's pretty.

He shook the thought out of his head; he had to practice his "footwork". His old coach has told him,

"You're a good footballer Peter. You just need to work on your footwork. Practice soccer over the summer before you try out for your new school's football team." Peter sighed and walked around the girl on the park bench and onto the soccer field.

"Time to practice," he muttered to himself.