Mirror monster. WTF.

 

“Did you leave your handprint on the bathroom mirror?” Jill asked me, her brow furrowed.

 

“No. Why would I do that?” 

 

I was indignant. Did she think I had nothing better to do than leave prints all over people’s bathrooms?

 

But she was relentless.

 

“Seriously, was that your hand?” 

 

“No way. Why would you even think it was me?”

 

“The print is so big,” she said. 

 

“There’s your answer. It wasn’t me. You know my hands are small,” I said, feeling triumphant, like a detective who had just solved an incredibly complex case. 

 

But Jill ignored my CSI moment. She didn’t seem impressed – she just look scared. She whipped out her iPhone, flipped through her photos and handed the phone to me.

 

Suddenly, I was scared too. The print was big. And so defined. I could see all the fingers. So creepy. Creepy times two hundred. It was like a horrible monster had decided to leave a mark on the bathroom to let us know he had been there. I felt a chill run down my spine. 

 

We stared at each other, our eyes wide with fear.

 

But then I thought, wait a minute, I may be afraid but I’m also still indignant. A handprint on the mirror and automatically it’s my fault? I needed scientific proof that it really wasn’t mine. I zoomed in on the handprint and held up my left hand to compare.

 

“It’s the right hand,” Jill said. 

 

I rolled my eyes and switched hands. 

 

I looked closely at the lines on the handprint and the lines on my hand. Did they match? I wasn’t sure. I needed a closer look. I got up and headed to the bathroom as Jill called after me, “Wala na, nilinis na ni Manang!” 

 

As I took those three steps, it hit me. In slow motion. A scene from the previous night. 

 

I was brushing my teeth in front of that very mirror. Suddenly, a mosquito started flying around my face. Annoyed, I swatted at it. It disappeared for a few seconds before reappearing. It flew around and then landed on the mirror. “Aha!” I thought. “You’re dead now!” I smacked the mirror with my open palm. Then I continued brushing my teeth. 

 

FUCK. IT WAS ME.

 

The flashback ended and, like that goddamn mosquito, my indignation had disappeared. I turned towards Jill, my shoulders slumped in defeat, and said, “Yeah, it was me.” 

 

I’m the handprint-leaving monster.

 

And the worst part? I’m not even sure I really killed that mosquito.