The Mirror in the Mire

The air in Eddie’s trailer tasted of dust and old pizza, but the smell that curled from his words was wet earth and rot. “The girl with the lantern vanishes into the fog before you can ask her name. The lantern light doesn’t fade—it just… sinks into the mist, like a drowned star.” Mike leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Sir Michael draws his sword. We’re not waiting for that thing to find us.” Will’s fingers paused over his character sheet. “Will the Wise wants to look for tracks first. The fog could be an illusion.” Eddie grinned, enjoying the friction. “Make a Perception check, Will.” Will rolled. “A fourteen.” “You see boot prints—small, like the girl’s—heading east. But there’s another set behind them, wider, dragging something heavy. And the fog isn’t natural; you feel it pressing against your mind like a memory you can’t shake.” Mike was already standing in his chair. “East it is. Sir Michael takes point.” “Of course he does,” Eddie muttered, shuffling his notes. “You push through a grove of twisted sycamores. The trunks are scarred with symbols that look like the ones Will drew on the wall of the Wheeler basement two years ago. The air gets colder. The ground turns to black mud, and you hear a low hum—like a generator, or a heartbeat.” Will set down his pencil. “I cast Light on my shield. I don’t want to be surprised.” “Good call. The light pushes back the dark and you see it: a building, half-sunk into the mire. Corrugated steel walls, a door hanging by one hinge. It looks like the old Hawkins Lab, but the letters on the sign read ‘HOLLOW RESEARCH FACILITY—DO NOT ENTER.’” Mike slammed his fist on the table. “We go in. That’s where the answers are.” “We don’t even know what’s in there,” Will said, his voice tight. “Remember the demo-dogs? Remember the Mind Flayer?” “That’s why we go,” Mike shot back. “We survived all of it. This is just a game, Will.” The word ‘just’ hung in the air. Eddie tapped the dice in his palm. “Are you sure about that? Because as you step through the doorway, the door slams shut behind you. Torches on the walls flare to life, not with fire—but with pale blue light. And at the end of the corridor, a full-length mirror stands alone. Your reflections don’t mirror you. They’re moving differently.” Mike’s jaw tightened. “I charge.” “Your reflection charges too. It’s wearing the same armor, carrying the same sword, but its face is El’s, after she almost died. Its eyes are black.” Will grabbed Mike’s arm. “Wait. If we attack ourselves, we’re fighting our own traumas. That’s what the girl warned us about.” Eddie leaned back, letting the silence stretch. “What do you do?” Mike’s breath came faster. “I…” He looked at Will. “I don’t know.” Will spoke quietly. “I step forward and offer my shield to the reflection. I say, ‘We’ve already fought this war. Let us pass.’” Eddie rolled a die behind the screen. The clatter was loud. “The reflection hesitates. The black eyes flicker. For a second, you see your own face, Will, crying. Then it shatters the mirror with a scream. Shards fly—make a Dexterity save, both of you.” They rolled. Mike passed, Will failed. “You’re cut across the cheek,” Eddie said. “The wound burns, but it heals instantly—leaving a faint scar shaped like a lightning bolt. The wall behind the mirror crumbles, revealing a staircase going down. A cold wind howls up from below, carrying a voice: ‘You should have stayed in your kingdom of broken things.’” Eddie put his hands behind his head. “End of session.” Mike slumped back. “You can’t end there!” “I can, and I did. You want the next level? Show up Saturday.” Will touched his own cheek, where an old scar ghosted. “That wasn’t just a game, was it?” Eddie’s smile faded. “Nothing ever is, Byers. Nothing ever is.”