The Wax-Faced Visitor

When I was ten, my family moved from the crowded city of Meridian to the quiet town of Hollow Creek. The move wasn’t hard for me, but what was hard was that I had always been plagued by nightmares, ever since I was a toddler and a stray dog attacked me, ripping open my arm. I lost so much blood that I nearly died, and sometimes I think that maybe that trauma is why my dreams are so vivid and terrifying.

In Hollow Creek, I made friends quickly, and I thought I had left my night terrors behind. My room was furnished with an old wooden bed that used to belong to my grandmother, and a matching dresser with a huge, ornate mirror. The mirror was so old that its silver backing was tarnished, giving reflections a strange, wavy quality. I never thought much of it, except sometimes I saw my own face look different, but I chalked it up to a trick of the light.

The first night I slept in that room, I had a dream unlike any before. I dreamt that my door was sealed shut, as if someone had nailed it from the outside. My room was chaotic: papers floated in the air, and thick vines crawled across the walls, twisting around the furniture. I got out of bed, my feet bare on the cold wooden floor, and I approached the mirror. My reflection looked different. Instead of my own face, I saw a demon. His skin was the color of old ash, and his horns were twisted like ancient roots. His face was like wax that had melted and hardened, with deep, running furrows. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth, and his teeth were black, sharp needles.

I woke up screaming, but my parents, thinking it was just a nightmare, comforted me. The next day, I tried to ignore it, but when I looked in the mirror, I saw a faint outline of that face, as if it were etched behind the glass. I threw a towel over the mirror, but that night, the dream returned, more intense. This time, the demon spoke, his voice a low rumble, ‘You can’t hide from me, little one. I am in your blood.’

I began to spend less time in my room, but the dreams followed me everywhere. Each night, the demon grew clearer, his form more solid. He told me that he had been with me since the dog attack, when my blood spilled on the ground, and he had seeped into me. He said my fear was his sustenance, and my blood was his portal.

I tried to tell my friends, but they laughed, thinking I was joking. I tried to tell my parents, but they thought I was just having nightmares. I started to lose sleep, afraid to shut my eyes. One evening, I decided to confront the demon. I took a knife and held it to my palm, ready to draw blood to see what would happen. But as I raised the knife, the mirror began to pulse. The demon’s face emerged, and his hand reached out, his fingers like long, brittle twigs. He touched my cheek, and I felt a cold, numbing sensation spread.

‘You will join me,’ he whispered. ‘You have always been mine.’

I backed away, but the door was locked. I screamed, but no sound came out. The room grew darker, the vines from my dream materialized on the walls, and the papers on my desk swirled into the air. The demon stepped out of the mirror, fully formed, his feet not touching the ground. He opened his mouth, and a swarm of black moths flew out, enveloping me. I felt myself being pulled into the mirror, my reflection merging with his.

I woke up on my bedroom floor, my face pressed against the cold glass of the mirror. I stood up and looked at my reflection. It was my face, but there was a faint, grey tint to my skin, and my eyes seemed darker. I could feel a presence inside me, a constant, humming menace. Since that night, I have not had a nightmare. Instead, I stay awake, listening to the whispers in my head, and I know that the demon is now a part of me, waiting for the day when I lose my grip on this world, and he can fully take over. And sometimes, when I pass by a mirror, I catch a glimpse of his smile behind my own lips.

My name is Daniel, and I am the host of the wax-faced visitor. If you ever see a person with an unnaturally still face, and you feel a chill as they pass, know that they are not what they seem. They are just a door, and the one behind it is always waiting.