What makes you You? Welcome to Night Vale.

Do you ever stare at yourself for so long in the mirror that you no longer understand what you look like? Is this the same effect as thinking about someone you miss so much that you forget the shape of their face? Why would you do that? Why would you refuse to maintain order? Are you refusing? Or are you a victim of your own mind? Do brain cells dictate souls? Is thought matter? Does thought matter?

Who can say? Can the person looking back at you from the mirror tell you the answer? Just because you can see a person, does that mean that person exists? Is it you you are looking at? Or is it someone else?

How many hairs do I have? How many did I have yesterday? Are they the same color? The same length? Are these the same hairs I had when I was a child?

Should I be high if I’m going to ask myself these questions? Can you get high by behaving high? Are you a good person because you do good things? Does a qualitative assessment mandate empirical evidence to support its truth? If I point at something and declare it good, will I be crossexamined? And if so, am I to be held in contempt for refusing to answer?

Narrative is everything, right?

Has anyone else been feeling this way: that you don’t recognize yourself? Have you told anyone? Does it help? Is it helping now, hearing me talk about it?

Basically, why do I know I am me? How many times have I seen myself in the mirror? Is it bad that the answer is rarely? Shouldn’t we all be afraid of mirrors? Or is it just me? How many times, in a fit of dissociation, do we see someone else behind us? Are you, too, too afraid to turn around? Do you really want to challenge the veracity of your eyes? Do you think disbelief in death will make it disappear? Are awareness and manifestation one and the same?

So, what did I see in the mirror today? Don’t we all see the same thing? Isn’t it a person who looks exactly like ourselves? And weren’t they making the same physical gestures? And behind that person, in the reflection, did you not also see, just over your shoulder, a pair of eyes? The curve of a head? And did you notice how that head was human in shape but maybe only a third the size?

And did you make the same mistake as I, thinking that because the head was so small it must have been some distance away? But you stared so long into those tiny eyes, didn’t you? And then you saw it, right? Did you see little, spiny fingers reach up in front of its miniature, dispassionate face and touch your shoulders? Did you scream inside when you understood? Did you really truly understand that it was climbing, right there, on your back?

Are you still screaming? Like I am still screaming? How can you know how I feel?

What do you want from me?

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Where was I?

Who is behind you in the mirror? Or what is behind you? Should I speak in present or past tense? Is the face there? Or is the face gone now? Are you no longer at the mirror? Do you feel safer? Why do you assume that because you aren’t looking in the mirror right now that the tiny face and spiny digits are not still behind you?

Do you feel it? Are you reflexively touching your shoulder right now? Or are you too scared? Is this like when the ATM asks if you want to check your balance before withdrawing money, and you decline, because you just don’t want to know? It doesn’t change the fact of your bank balance, does it? Again, you think awareness and manifestation are one and the same don’t you? Don’t we all?

So what of that little face with its inexpressive eyes and flat, lipless mouth? Didn’t it look oh so familiar? Where have you seen that face before? Is it a ghost, a monster, or your own imagination? Are you thinking about it? Are you starting to forget exactly what it looks like? Do you want to go to the mirror again? Do you want to stare and stare at it until you can comprehend what it is?

Why?

What will that accomplish? Are you being honest with yourself? Isn’t the real danger your own face? Could it be inferred that you invented the creature to distract yourself from the real horror?

What if we went to the mirror together? If we don’t feel alone in our feelings, could we conquer our fears? Are we in agreement, you and I? What are you even looking at? Is your focus drifting to your shoulder? Can you not do that? Can you resist the urge? What will staring directly into your terror accomplish?

You see the face again don’t you? Are you as scared as before? Or have you steeled yourself for this? Is your mind more free to think critically about what it is and what it wants? Is it attacking or defending? Is it friend or foe or indifferent? Why is it so familiar? Is it something from childhood? Or was it a dream you once had? If you think about a memory long enough, doesn’t that mutate the truth? Isn’t every act of remembering another log on the fire of lies?

When was the last time you saw your mother? It’s been since childhood, hasn’t it? Didn’t she warn you about mirrors? Didn’t she tell you they would be your demise? Or was that just a popular bedtime story?

Do you see a flickering behind the tiny face? Is that sunlight oscillating behind swiftly moving clouds? Or is that the creature creating that effect? Is it getting closer? Is the flickering less like a strobe effect and more like a hand drawn flip book? Now that we’re looking with clearer eyes, is it just me or does the creature look like a drawing?

Do you suddenly remember a swing set? Why a swing set? You were on the swing set, weren’t you? How high did you go? Was it possible to do a full loop? Would you have fallen out at the top of the circle? Or did you understand centripetal force without knowing the term?

And when you let go at the apex of your arc, did you predict correctly the pain of a broken leg when you landed? Do you still remember the sound of the snap? Do you still shudder when ice cracks in warm water? Or when someone pops a knuckle?

What did your mother tell you about swing sets? What did she say to you when you yelled to her for help? Did she lean over your sobbing face and ask you: “Why are you crying when you don’t even exist?” Did she tell you again about the mirror?

Do you still see the flickering creature climbing up your back? Is the little hand reaching up again? Do you notice it wears black rings? Are those talons? And what is it opening its mouth to say? Do you see how it rises up behind you? How long is its torso? Is it some kind of snake but with human skin? Why does it have so many teeth? How long can a tongue be? What is it doing? Why is it crying? Is it a child? What unholy monster cries like a child? What does it want? Why won’t it stop?

[beat]

Is it gone?

For you too?

Why did I not look away? Did you? How were you able to do that?

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Did you figure it out? Could you see past your own mental inventions? Who out there looked beyond the long, gape-jawed figure and its inexplicable whines? Did you see the table? There in the mirror image of your house, did you see the table? You hadn’t noticed the table before, had you?

What of the table? Of its chipped corners? What of the mismatched wood stain on the tiny drawer at its center? What of its tarnished, yet ornate, brass bulb knob? Did you turn around to see if the table was in your home, too? Were you sad when you realized it was not? Or were you relieved?

Why was the table only in the mirror? Why isn’t it real?

But isn’t it, though?

You didn’t ask for any of this, did you?

But what have you ever asked from the universe that you could not get yourself? And when has the universe ever obliged?

What’s inside the drawer of the rickety table in the mirror? What other uncanny discoveries await you if you could just break through? Is it as simple as breaking through?

Do you find that the simplest problems require the biggest efforts?

Have you ever decided you wanted a lightweight, wool button-up coat, all black? Did you go shopping for it? And did you find one? How disappointed were you to learn that this design was not available in any of the five stores you went to? Did you ponder the idea that such a coat was so basic, so unassuming, so without frill or feature that no one had ever thought to create it?

Do you want to know what’s in the drawer below the table? Shouldn’t it be as easy to obtain as a lightweight, wool button up coat, all black? But nothing easy ever is, is it? How do you get to a table that’s right in front of you, but only visible in a mirror?

Shouldn’t you take a break from this? Wouldn’t some fresh air be good for you? What’s the weather like outside?

#WEATHER: “Flower Lane” by Funbearable#

What are you not getting? Besides the creature and the table, what are you not noticing? Do you see yourself? What is different about the you you are and the you you see before you? Are you paying close attention to the color of your eyes? Are you watching for any deviation in the movement of your reflection?

Are you able to ignore the creature over your shoulder? Now that it has revealed itself, do you find it less frightening? Does its cry kind of sound now like the high pitched howl of a Siberian Husky puppy vocalizing its hunger? Isn’t it less scary and more just weird?

Did you see the movie Signs? Did you feel less creeped out once the aliens were shown on screen? Isn’t all fear fear of the unknown?

Are you only concentrating on the table now? And you’re sure it only exists in the mirror? You double checked?

Do you want to know what’s inside the drawer on the front of that table?

Are you willing to break something? Are you willing to break the mirror, yes, but so much more? Are you willing to go to a place from which you cannot return? Are you willing to learn things you cannot unlearn?

Do you have a hammer? Or if not, can you find something heavy that you can lift? Will you smash the mirror? Will you do it quickly? Why are you hesitating?

Have you let your comfortability lapse into carelessness? Why did you take your eyes off the creature on your neck? Did you see the blood or feel the pain first? Is it tearing into your flesh? Is that why you’re screaming? Can you still break the mirror? Are you losing consciousness? Are you? Are you? Are you?

[pause]

Are you okay?

Did you do it?

If you look into the mirror you just smashed do you see that the creature is gone?

Cool, right?

But isn’t it strange that all about you on the floor are shards of the mirror you shattered, yet in front of you, the mirror remains, fully intact?

Strange? Or scary?

Wouldn’t you think that the mirror being simultaneously broken and unbroken is strange, while the fact that you have no reflection is scary?

Is that true though? Do you have a reflection? Do you see yourself? On the floor of the mirror’s world? Is your body crumpled on the floor like a wet towel? Is your lower jaw hanging open because you died screaming, or because of gravity?

Do you have a blanket of some sort? Why don’t you cover that mirror up? Why don’t you cover all the mirrors, in fact?

While you are walking about your home, do you notice the antique table by the door, with its tarnished, yet ornate, brass bulb knob? Was that table always there? Did you enter the mirror world? Or were you always in the mirror world? What else is different around you?

Do you remember why you never open that drawer? You do, don’t you? What was it about the book inside that frightened you so? Was it the handwriting that matched no known language? Was it the drawings of serpents with human faces but innumerable teeth? Was it the disorientation you felt from seeing these faces contorted into a scream yet their eyes expressing nothing? Does inscrutability scare you?

What was it your mother said before she left home when you were a teenager? Did she tell you she was an oracle? Did she tell you to read the book till you understood its alphabet? Did she make you promise to never tell another soul? And did you keep that promise by burying it so deep, so deep?

Now what? Will you cover the mirrors and sweep the floor and pretend it never happened? Will this prevent it from happening again? Are awareness and manifestation one and the same?

Who can say?

Will you stay tuned next for a sound of a muffled crack, presented without context or commercial interruption? Could that be an egg, or a twig, or a leg? Narrative is everything, isn’t it?

Won’t you have a good night, Night Vale? Won’t you have a good night?

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PROVERB: Call me old-fashioned but I believe dance is the only true language.