The first chance he got, he bolted to the door. He didn’t stop until he reached his room. He went to the closet and pulled out a long sheet, throwing it over the mirror he had placed by the window.
He removed his clothes once again, put on some shorts, and put his head against the pillow. Though he tried to keep his eyes closed, he could not take his eyes off the mirror. He was waiting for it to do something, anything, to prove that he wasn’t just seeing things. This couldn’t just be the anxiety or stress, he thought to himself. This has to be real. I can’t be going this crazy.
A soft glow emerged from the mirror, filtering out from under the sheet. Carlos put his head underneath the covers, hoping it would be gone when he emerged. However, he could see it getting brighter and brighter as the moments passed.
A whisper began to fill the room. It was a soft whisper, but still enough that he could hear his name. “Carlitos…Carlitos. Come to me, Carlitos.”