The Hidden Half

“Alright, Sophia. Truth or Dare?”

“Dare,” she replied confidently, knowing Jen’s dares were never too daring. Lauren was the more creative of the two.

“Damn,” Jen replied with a giggle. She glanced around the room for inspiration. Her eyes lighted on the telephone.

“Under no circumstances am I calling Mark,” Sophia said quickly.

“Fine.” Jen stood and crossed to the dresser, stumbling over Lauren in the process.

“Ouch! Watch your feet, loser!” Lauren yelped with a laugh, as she rolled onto her back and continued examining her nails.

“Hey, Sophia. What’s with all the candles? Holding a séance?” Jen examined the row of colored wax, her fingers grazing over their wicks before she paused over the deep red, picking it up to examine it closer.

“Very funny,” Sophia said coolly. “I’m going through a phase, I guess. Besides, they were on sale and they smell good.”

Jen shrugged and brought the red candle to her face, quickly scrunching up her nose. She tilted it and read. “‘Cedar Cherry Delight.’ Who came up with that? This smells good to you?”

“Well, all but that one. The other ones are normal, I swear.”

Jen shrugged again and used her free hand to open the top drawer of the dresser.  “Oh, come on, Sophia. No embarrassing panties?” Jen clicked her tongue in mock disapproval.

“I’m glad,” Lauren interjected. “Let’s not do something generic for once, Jen.” She winked.

“Alright, Lauren. Then you make up the stupid dare,” Jen said, throwing her hands in the air defensively.

“Right away!” Lauren flashed a grin at Sophie, who responded with a wary half smile. “Feeling brave, Soph?”

“Bring. It. On.”

“Alright. Toss me the candle, Jen,” Lauren said enthusiastically. The candle flew from Jen’s hands to Lauren's, and Jen soon followed, plopping back down on her sleeping bag. “Are you two familiar with the ‘Myth of the Hidden Half’?” Lauren asked, putting on a sinister grin. Sophia and Jen exchanged silent glances. “I’ll take your non-response as a ‘no.’” The other two laughed. Lauren waited for them to stop before continuing, “This is no laughing matter. I assure you.” She turned to Sophia, fixedly staring at her, to add a certain effect to her story. “Sophia, by accepting this dare you accept the unknown, the horrifying, the grotesque, the—”

“C’mon,” Sophia urged, shifting in her seat. “Let’s just finish it.”

“Do you accept?”

“You haven’t told me what it is—”

Lauren leaned forward, closer to Sophia and repeated, her words slow, her consonants crisp, “Do…you…accept?”

A moment’s hesitation and then a response, “Yes.”

“Good. According to the myth, inside us all there is a… ‘hibernating’ spirit—a demon, if you will. It stirs in our nightmares, flurries in our fears, but for the most part remains stagnant unless it is called. This is your dare: you must call the spirit.”

“How?” Jen whispered, entranced.

“The spirit dwells within you. It is part of you. You must access it first, through a reflection.”

“Bathroom mirror. Got it,” Sophia said, getting up. Lauren reached a hand out to Sophia’s arm to sit her back down.

“Then we must use one of the base elements to call upon the spirit. One that is compelled to chaos and destruction. Wild, flickering, burning.” Lauren held the large red candle out to Sophia. “Were are your matches?”

“What, think I’m a pyromaniac?” Sophia laughed.

“Where…are…your…matches?” Lauren said, repeating her previous tone.

Sophia sighed, “Second dresser drawer. Jewelry box.”

“So you were having a séance?” Jen joked.

“Shut up and get the matches,” Lauren interrupted. Jen saluted her and hurried to the dresser again, bringing back a new box within a minute. “You must light the candle, Sophia.” Sophia rolled her eyes and took a match from the box. The red tip struck the side and with a soft pop ignited. She brought it to the wick and the candle soon glowed, the repulsive smell intensified by the burning. Jen and Sophia pinched their noses. “Mmm,” Lauren hummed. “That just means it’s ready.”

The three stood and crossed to the bathroom door. Lauren, the last to enter, flicked off the lights. “And now,” she continued. “You turn three times—one turn for the body, two for the soul, and three for the demon. While you spin you must recite these words, ‘Oh mortal self, oh yearning demon, come and revel in your birth!’ Then you must blow out the candle, stare into the mirror, and look into the eyes of your Hidden Half.”

“Where do you come up with this, Lauren?” Jen asked, quirking her brow.

“Oh, I’m not making this up. This is totally legitimate.”

“What?”

         “When I was eleven, this was the major myth of the camp I went to over the summer. This was the biggest, baddest dare—no one had the guts to go through with it… There was this legend that someone years and years ago did this and was found dead within a week. Bullshit, I think…Or is it? Let’s find out, shall we?”

Sophia stared at the dancing flame she held in her hand, suddenly weary. A tense silence followed, but eventually her common sense won over her fear of the incredibly, incredibly small chance of something happening and she began to spin, Lauren and Jen watching in utter silence. “Oh mortal self…Oh yearning demon… come… and…revel…in your…BIRTH!” She extinguished the candle and glared into the mirror, her suddenly hard breaths the only noise. Silence.

RING! The girls jumped, the hair on their backs rising at the sound of the phone from the bedroom. They turned to each other with wide eyes. “…Should we answer it?” Sophia asked, her heart pounding against the walls of her chest.

“Not my house! You do it,” Lauren exclaimed, suddenly terrified.

“Lauren, Lauren. If something happens I’m going to kill you. Lauren. Do you hear me, Lauren? This is all your fault,” Jen murmured in a whisper, following closely behind the other two as they reentered the bedroom and approached the phone.

Sophia’s shaking hand hovered above the receiver and slowly her fingers wrapped around it. She lifted it carefully and held it against her cheek, “H…hello?” As Sophia listened she turned her head to her friends, her eyes wide and fearful. They held their breath. Sophia suddenly lunged forward and they screamed.

She laughed, “Kidding, kidding…you should have seen your faces! It’s my mother calling from downstairs. Wants us to go to bed.” She spoke back into the phone, “Yes, Mom. We’re going. Love you too. Goodnight.”
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Sophia woke in a cold sweat from a nightmare she could somehow not quite recall. She rose from her sleeping bag, stepping over her friends and heading to the bathroom where she went immediately to the sink. After turning the faucet, she splashed some cold water on her face and rubbed her cheeks liberally. She was distracted suddenly, however. Something dimly glowing in the mirror caught her eye. She squinted into the mirror and slowly recognized the light as a human silhouette—haggard but human. “Very funny, guys,” she said, turning her head over her shoulder. No one was there. Her breathing quickened and her hair rose all over her arms. She spun back to face the mirror. She watched in horror as the silhouette rushed into her own reflection, causing a great almost… fiery chill in her body. Her reflection was no longer her reflection—she was a glowing teal, translucent almost. Horrifying, grotesque. Her hair disheveled, patches missing, her skin peeling; rag-like. Her teeth pointed and glistening white. But her eyes were the most horrifying of all—sagging, yet glowing with flame. Flames, in fact, reflecting that of a red candle the apparition held in its hand.

Sophia glanced down at her own hand—normal, empty, yet clenched, as if she were holding a candle. She jerked her head up, as if unable to resist an urge to look into the flaring eyes of her reflection. Inwardly, she felt as if she battled another palpitating heart, another soul entirely. The reflection then began to mouth words, and she was terrified to find that her own lips, too, moved in unison with them. “I…see…you,” it mouthed…she whispers. The spirit lunged forward towards the lit candle and Sophia’s body jerked forward with it. With a rush of wind, the candle of the reflection went out and the spirit was done. Sophie fumbled for the light switch and flipped it.

On the mirror were drops of blood-red wax, and her hand felt as if it was burning. She looked at it—the wax was on it, and it was spreading, following along the distorting creases of the palms of her hands. A perfect sketch of an eye appeared, drawn as if it were looking at the mirror.

Then. It swiveled. The picture moved and made eye contact with her.
A scream.
A collapse.
A rustle of sleeping bags.
Yawns.
“Sophia?”
Patterning feet.
An opened door.
“Oh my God.”
Silence.