The Chromium Double

horror

The kitchen smelled of lemon wax and burnt toast. Everything was white. Everything was mint green. The linoleum was a grid of surgical precision. Evelyn smoothed her apron; the starch felt like armor. She reached for the chrome toaster. The surface was a curved mirror. It captured her face in a distorted, fish-eye stretch. She pulled her hand back. The reflection didn't. Evelyn froze. Her hand was at her side. In the chrome, her hand was still reaching. It lingered there for two seconds. Three. Then, the reflection snapped back to match her position. A glitch in the light? A trick of the tired eyes? She moved again. She reached for the kettle. The lag grew. The reflection stayed still while she moved. It was a delay now: a distinct, yawning gap in time. Evelyn leaned closer to the toaster. She watched her double. The reflection was no longer mimicking her. It had stopped. It was staring at the space behind Evelyn's left shoulder. The reflection's expression shifted. The polite, housewife mask vanished. Its eyes widened. Its mouth opened in a silent, jagged scream. The double raised a finger. It pointed. It pointed directly behind her. Evelyn felt a sudden, freezing draft. The smell of lemon wax vanished. In its place came the scent of wet earth and old copper. She didn't turn. She couldn't. In the chrome, she saw it. A figure stood inches from her neck. It was grey. It was featureless. It had fingers like long, pale needles. The reflection began to shake its head. No. Do not turn around. Evelyn turned.