I walked along the dimly lit corridor, not really paying attention to my surroundings, as I was caught up in my own thoughts. It had been about eleven months since I moved to Kyoto, Japan. I took my time learning the language and getting accustomed to the different rules, regulations and traditions they follow.
But not in my wildest imagination had I thought that sticking upright chopsticks into rice was a bad omen. I mean, who would have thought?
My train of thought was interrupted when the light over me flickered. I stood there a while and looked up at the light. The old-looking light bulb cast a sickening yellow light on me and the corridor.
I was on my way to give an interview for a receptionist’s job. I walked to the elevator and pressed the button. Once the door opened, I stepped into the uncomfortably small, slightly stuffy elevator. I pressed the button for the fourth floor. I waited and waited for what seemed like ages.
I took this time to smooth out my clothes with my fingers and spray on my cologne. When the door finally did open, I stepped out, trying to maintain balance. For some reason, I was feeling dizzy.
I walked for a while before I suddenly stopped. Why weren’t there any rooms in the entire corridor? I turned around just to see that behind me, from where I had only walked seconds ago, there was complete darkness. Like that of a void.
I could not build up the courage to walk back. I took deep breaths and walked on ahead. But there was nothing in front of me.
I started to panic, and I closed my eyes. My mother always says, “Take deep breaths when you find yourself panicking.” These thoughts fill my mind.
When I opened my eyes, instead of the peeling walls of the dimly lit corridor, there were mirrors everywhere. On the ceiling, the walls, the floor, everywhere.
The only thought that my working brain cells could muster up was to run. “Run,” I heard a voice within me say. So I did just that. I bolted back in the direction I came from while trying not to look forward.
I made the mistake of glancing at the mirrors. Each of them reflected a mass of black energy, which seemed to be chasing me. I squeezed my eyes shut and ran as fast as I could. But I was going nowhere. At last, I ran into a rough wall.
I fell down as though into a muddy puddle. I looked around frantically. I cannot express in words the relief I felt when I realised that I was now in an alley that led to the main road.
I scrambled onto my feet and sprinted as far as possible towards the open road. And just when I thought I was saved, I felt a car crash into me.
Now, I trail the people who come to the fourth floor of that blasted building, hoping that one day I could follow them out of this prison.
But why do I feel like a black shadow staring out of a mirror?