He'd spent all day polishing the mirrored doors of his closet, making them perfectly pristine just to spite his wife. She'd never been fond of having such large mirrors about when they weren't aware, as she'd put it, never giving him much more of a reason than it made her feel "odd".
From that day onwards she'd refused to sleep in the master bedroom, using the guest room until he listened to her and covered the mirrors, which he refused to do as he'd spent so long cleaning them. He thought she'd be happy with how lovely and sparkly the house was but the moment she'd seen the closet doors she'd been in a right foul mood with him.
He suggested painting the glass or putting stickers on it which placated her for the time being. When the paint peeled off overnight and the stickers all refused to stay in place she went right back to the guest room and begged him to put something over the doors, something better.
No matter what he tried nothing seemed to work, always falling overnight and leaving the mirrors reflecting the room as perfectly as the day he'd first polished them. And so he gave up, resigning himself to either sleep in the guest room, get rid of the closet or sleep alone.
He chose to sleep alone for the first few days, telling his wife he was going to exchange the closet for a wooden one when their next payday came which settled her for the time being. Meanwhile he set up a camera and tried taping an old bedsheet to the wall above the mirrors, hoping to catch the moment the sheet fell.
The footage itself starts with his face as he turns the camera on, giving it a cheeky wink as he goes and settles into bed, turning the bedroom light off as he goes. Once his breathing and shuffling have ceased and it becomes clear that he's fast asleep, the sounds of rustling fabric continue, albeit quieter as something behind the covered mirror begins to push forward in the shape of a hand that grips the sheet so tightly it tears and drags the fabric off.
A blurry version of him drops the sheet and retreats back into the mirror, covering itself with the familiar blankets before resuming a peaceful sleep and not moving until it mimics him in the morning.
From that day onwards she'd refused to sleep in the master bedroom, using the guest room until he listened to her and covered the mirrors, which he refused to do as he'd spent so long cleaning them. He thought she'd be happy with how lovely and sparkly the house was but the moment she'd seen the closet doors she'd been in a right foul mood with him.
He suggested painting the glass or putting stickers on it which placated her for the time being. When the paint peeled off overnight and the stickers all refused to stay in place she went right back to the guest room and begged him to put something over the doors, something better.
No matter what he tried nothing seemed to work, always falling overnight and leaving the mirrors reflecting the room as perfectly as the day he'd first polished them. And so he gave up, resigning himself to either sleep in the guest room, get rid of the closet or sleep alone.
He chose to sleep alone for the first few days, telling his wife he was going to exchange the closet for a wooden one when their next payday came which settled her for the time being. Meanwhile he set up a camera and tried taping an old bedsheet to the wall above the mirrors, hoping to catch the moment the sheet fell.
The footage itself starts with his face as he turns the camera on, giving it a cheeky wink as he goes and settles into bed, turning the bedroom light off as he goes. Once his breathing and shuffling have ceased and it becomes clear that he's fast asleep, the sounds of rustling fabric continue, albeit quieter as something behind the covered mirror begins to push forward in the shape of a hand that grips the sheet so tightly it tears and drags the fabric off.
A blurry version of him drops the sheet and retreats back into the mirror, covering itself with the familiar blankets before resuming a peaceful sleep and not moving until it mimics him in the morning.
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