In “The House of Mirrors,” Donavin, a shy fifteen-year-old loner, is drawn out of his isolation by two charismatic teens who invite him to trick-or-treat in a neighborhood of gothic mansions. Their adventure leads to a mysterious haunted house attraction that promises candy and thrills, but delivers a surreal and terrifying journey through a maze of mirrors.
I’m gonna tell you one hell of a Halloween horror story. But first, I’ve got a question for you: Is fifteen too old for trick-or-treating? Nevermind. I’ll answer that myself: yes, it’s much too old for it.
I should’ve known better, but peer pressure and loneliness pushed me down an… ill-fated road. I was an awkward teen, painfully shy. Forming friendships in middle and high school was tough, leaving me to my own thoughts. I spent most days in the library, buried in books, while others laughed and hung out outside.
I wasn’t exactly bullied; I just kept to myself. Finding the right words or tone in conversations was always hard.
The truth hit me in seventh grade, when I watched classmates pair up easily for group projects. No one looked my way, and I saw myself for what I was: an outsider, the unseen kid.
It didn’t bother me too much; my imagination filled the gaps with daydreams and hopes for the future. It also left me with little to focus on besides academics.
I excelled in my classes, although only a few teachers recognized my efforts.
It was isolating, I’ll admit. My thoughts often drifted to what it’d be like to have a friend—someone to share jokes and secrets with.
There’d be no story if that wish hadn’t come true. It didn’t come as one friend, though. It came as two.
One day in ninth grade, during lunch in the library, two kids walked in as if they owned the place. “Yo, I gotta show you this book. Carson, you know The Black Farm?”
My ears perked up. I knew that book—Elias Witherow’s story of a guy who dies and lands at the Black Farm, deciding whether to stay and feed the pig.
“Sounds kinda racist, Ethan,” Carson shot back.
I couldn’t hold back a chuckle, catching their eyes. They looked at me with friendly grins, not the usual blank stares.
“Nah, man, it’s about this dude sent to a farm, and he’s gotta feed the pig. Help me find it, it’s wild,” Ethan said.
As luck would have it, I had that book in my bag. Looking back, it feels like fate. Trying to mask my excitement with calm precision, I fumbled to pull the book out. My fingers grazed its cover, and I placed it on the table.
“Hey, uh, I’ve got that book right here if you wanna take a look,” I said quietly.
Ethan flashed a grin, a blend of playful mischief and friendly teasing, like SpongeBob catching Squidward sneaking a Krabby Patty.
“No way…” he said. “Lemme see that, man.”
He took big, goofy steps toward me. I tried not to notice, but he made it impossible to ignore. If I had to compare Ethan to anyone, it’d be Jim Carrey, no question.
He and Carson plopped down at my table, one on each side. “Holy crap, he’s got it. Carson, you gotta read this, man. If you’re into creepypastas, you’ll eat it up.”
“You guys into creepypastas?” I blurted, shocked at how easily the words came when talking was usually a struggle. Or Halloween horror stories?
“Hell yeah, we are,” Carson said. “You?”
“Hell yeah! I love them. You know The Third Parent?”
“No freaking way, we were just talking about that,” Ethan yelled.
A wave of “SHHH” swept over us, and Ethan raised his hands in mock defeat. A warmth bloomed in my chest as we chatted.
“Can he borrow this?” Ethan asked.
“Nah, go ahead.”
“Thanks, man. He’s been ranting about this book all day. I’ll get it back to you—wait, next week’s Halloween, right? Where do you live? We’ll swing by, and you can trick-or-treat with us.”
Teenagers trick-or-treating aside, would you give your address to these guys after one talk? Some might say no, others yes. I said yes.
“Hell yeah,” Carson said. “Ethan, tell him what we’re planning.”
“We GON’ FUCK SHIT UPPP, WE GON’ FUCK SHIT UPP,” Ethan chanted.
More shushes followed.
“Right, sorry. But yeah, we’re gonna stir things up, and we hope you’re down, uh… what’s your name?”
“…Donavin.”
“Nice to meet you, Donavin.”
Ethan shook my hand wildly, then stopped, placed a hand on my shoulder, and whispered, “Fuck shit up with us, Donavin,” before patting me and walking off.
Would you feel okay giving these guys your address? I didn’t see them again that day, and as I went through my routine, unease started to creep in. I’d just told two strangers where I lived. I thought I was smarter than that.
I hadn’t seen them before, and not seeing them the rest of the week worried me. The next Monday after school, I found a strange car in my driveway. As I got closer, I saw Carson and Ethan in the front seats. Ethan spotted me in the rearview mirror and jumped out.
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“What’s good, Donny-boy?”
“You guys were just… waiting here?”
“Yup, since school let out,” Carson said, climbing out of the driver’s seat.” Been here like an hour. Got any water, man? I’m parched.”
“For real,” Ethan added.
“Hold up. You’ve been here an hour? How? School just ended.”
Ethan gasped dramatically. “Oh, we don’t go to your school. We were there looking for that book. He’s at an alternative school, and I dropped out.”
“Oh, sure. You just show up at a random school and find the one guy with the book you want. What a coincidence, right?”
“To be fair, it was my school before I got expelled,” Carson said. “I know it looks weird, okay? Even I was wondering why I invited you tonight. Not that you’re not cool, just… you know, everything you said.”
I gave a forced laugh. “Let me grab those waters. Be right back.”
Inside, my mom questioned the two boys in her driveway. “They didn’t even introduce themselves?” I asked, laughing for real.
“You didn’t check who they were?” Honestly, Donavin, they looked your age. I assumed you knew them.”
“Well, you assumed wrong. I barely know who they are.”
She stared, then squinted. “So, you’re saying they’re total strangers?”
“Not total strangers. I lent one a book, and they’re returning it. They asked me to go trick-or-treating tonight.”
“Trick-or-treating? You better not be drinking, Donavin…”
“Okay, Mom, bye. Gotta go.”
I tossed the water from the porch, and they invited me to sit in the car.
“So, Donavin, like I said, we’re trick-or-treating tonight,” Carson reminded me.
“Yeah, I got that.”
“But… I didn’t mention we’re hitting the gothic mansions off 129. You know the ones?”
“Yeah, right, those old folks wouldn’t give candy to kids our age.”
“Nah, you’re wrong,” Ethan chimed in.
“Yeah, we know a guy there,” Carson said. He’s got a haunted house thing at his place—candy, costumes, fog machines, the works.
“How do you know him?”
“Carson’s dad works with him.”
That settled it, I suppose. We drove around, checking out residential neighborhoods’ Halloween vibes as we waited for nightfall.
As darkness fell and trick-or-treaters filled the streets, Carson suggested we head to the mansions. I hadn’t trick-or-treated since elementary school, and the Halloween atmosphere reignited my excitement. My leg bounced with anticipation as we neared the massive houses, adorned with stunning decorations.
Yards were transformed into cemeteries, with animatronic hands bursting from the ground.
“Look at that!” Ethan shouted, pointing to a house on the right.
It was covered in spiderwebs, a giant animatronic spider with glowing red eyes crawling across the roof.
“No, dude, check that one,” Carson said.
My eyes widened at the house he meant. Dozens of holographic zombies groaned and lunged at trick-or-treaters. The house looked like the epicenter of a zombie outbreak, with boarded-up windows and yellow containment tape. Speakers blared helicopter sounds and officials urged calm.
“That’s the coolest thing I’ve ever seen,” I said.
Ethan nodded, but we were both proven wrong.
“Here it is, gentlemen,” Carson announced.
“No way…” Ethan gawked.
I was speechless. The house glowed with neon lights, eerie carnival music, and the laughter of clowns echoing from the yard. A circus tent surrounded the property, with a man in a ringleader’s hat at the entrance.
“There he is,” Carson said, heading toward him.
Ethan and I followed, soon standing before the man.
“Come one, come all, to the greatest show on earth! Step right up, the worst night of your life starts here!”
“What’s up, Larry?” Carson called from a distance.
“Ah, hello, Carson. Your dad said you’d come.”
“Yeah, well, the old man says a lot.”
The man paused, then replied, “…Right. Who’re your friends? Jeff didn’t mention them.”
Ethan and I exchanged glances.
“Well, Larry, it’s Halloween. Figured friends were a given,” Carson said, smirking.
Larry stared coldly. “How old are you boys?”
Before we could answer, Carson said, “He’s 16, he’s 17.”
Larry eyed me. “16, huh? Young, but I was 16 once.”
“Young? For trick-or-treating?”
They all laughed, and I joined in nervously.
“Well, you’re in for a treat, kid. The greatest show in the world!” Larry shouted, turning to the growing crowd in his driveway.
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Carson, impatient, cut in. “Yeah, greatest show, cool. I promised these guys candy. You got it?”
“You’re just like your dad, boy. Here, take it. Hit some houses—nobody here cares about your age, they love the holiday.”
Carson grabbed three full-size candy bars from Larry’s hands.
“There you go, boys. Shall we hit some houses?”
He handed Ethan and me our bars. I examined mine—solid white packaging, no branding.
“What’s this, Carson?” Ethan asked.
“Just open it, trust me,” Carson said.
Ethan tore into it, revealing a rainbow-colored bar glowing under the lights, with a chocolate aroma wafting out.
“Looks pretty good,” Ethan said, snapping it in half and eating one piece, pocketing the rest. Carson did the same.
“You saving them for later?” I asked.
They stared, then burst out laughing. “Nah, dude, you’re only supposed to eat half. It’s super rich—more would make you sick,” Carson said.
Ethan nodded. “Alright, if you say so.”
I opened mine, revealing a deep blue bar. I snapped it in half and ate one of the pieces. It was rich, almost bitter, tough to chew.
“I get why you wouldn’t eat the whole thing,” I said.
They laughed again for no clear reason.
“Well, fellas,” Ethan said. “Where to?”
“Everywhere, Ethan… everywhere,” Carson replied.
We hit ten houses in a row, and Larry was right—nobody cared about our age. We got extra candy for being “veteran trick-or-treaters.”
At the eleventh house, I felt uneasy. My thoughts blurred, sounds amplified tenfold. My vision grew fuzzy, but a wave of euphoria hit me. A goofy grin spread across my face. Ethan noticed and nearly collapsed laughing.
“Dude… why are you smiling like that?”
His question made me laugh harder. Carson joined in, howling. We crumpled onto the sidewalk, unable to stop.
“Okay, okay, listen,” Carson said. “We gotta hit more houses. My bag’s feeling light.”
“Oh, I bet it is, junior,” Ethan teased.
“Shut up, Ethan. Donavin, what do you think?”
I paused. “I don’t know, man. What about your dad’s friend? That haunted house seemed cool.”
“And so it shall be,” Carson said. We stumbled to Larry’s, struggling to keep straight faces.
As we walked, I heard a faint whisper from my trick-or-treat bag—a mass of voices. I stopped and looked inside.
“Well, howdy, stranger. You weren’t planning to eat us later, were ya?”
“No, Mr. Hershey bar, I promise. I love you, I’d never eat you.”
“I don’t believe you, fatso. You want to eat everything in this bag, don’t ya, Fatty McFatBack?”
“If you’re gonna talk like that, I might just eat you.”
“‘Cause that’s what you do best, ain’t it, big guy? Twizzler, check this guy out.”
I stared, confused. “Twizzler? Who’s—”
“Is this the guy? This fatty? Haven’t you had enough candy, fatso?”
“Alright, I hear you. I’m eating you both later, but I’m starting a diet after. Thanks, I needed this.”
I was lost in the bag until Ethan’s shouting snapped me back.
“Donavin, what the hell are you doing?” he laughed.
They were somehow 100 yards ahead.
“Right, uh, I’m coming.”
“Better run those calories off, fatty,” I heard Twizzler mutter.
I caught up, and Larry’s voice rang out: “Step right up, step right up!”
We hurried to the entrance of the tent. Larry greeted us with a hat tip and a smile.
“You boys ready to go in?”
“As ready as a virgin on prom night, Larry,” Carson replied.
“Well then, step inside, gentlemen.”
Larry pulled back the curtain, plunging us into darkness. I reached for Carson and Ethan, but my hands found nothing. A blinding light seared my eyes, and the room lit up. I was alone, surrounded by mirrors—a maze, each reflecting a distorted version of me.
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These weren’t carnival distortions, bending or stretching. They showed me as different people. I saw myself as an old man, hunched with an oxygen tank. As a child, wide-eyed. As I was then, but with two friends beside me.
Further in, the reflections changed, showing not stages of life but deaths I’d endured. One showed my body, crushed from a car accident. Another, just my legs and torso, swaying. The worst was me on a deathbed, alone, no one to hold my hand.
The reflection moved like a broadcast—nurses covering me with a sheet, wheeling me away.
Then a gravestone: “Here Lies: Donavin Meeks. No one.”
I sprinted through the maze, crashing into mirrors. One hit knocked me down, blacking out my vision. When it returned, the mirrors were gone, and darkness enveloped me. My friends’ voices called my name. I followed them, walking what felt like miles.
A glow appeared ahead, reading “EXIT.”
“You’ve got to be kidding,” I thought.
I ran toward the sign, launching myself through the door. I landed face down on wet grass, the sprinkler water hitting my back. My name was called again. This time, it was my mother.
“Donavin! Donavin James!”
She shook me, trying to rouse me. I rolled over, blinded by sunlight overhead.
“What… what happened?”
“Holy crap, we thought you’d never come out,” Ethan said.
“Yeah, man, you ran into a dark corner and started crying,” Carson added.
I stared, bewildered. “You’re lying…”
“We tried to get you, but you’d bolt to another part of the tent. Larry didn’t want cops shutting it down, so we called your mom. She found you standing in the center, staring at the floor.”
“You didn’t see the mirrors?”
They looked at me, concerned.
My mom spoke up. “Donavin, let’s get you to a doctor, okay?”
Carson and Ethan agreed, helping me to my feet.
“You didn’t see the mirrors? The ones showing what you looked like?”
“Yeah, Donavin, that’s what mirrors do. Go with your mom. Text me later.”
They added their numbers to my phone and went to talk to Larry. My mom drove me to the hospital, where I was evaluated for hours. Doctors found nothing, calling it an unusual psychotic break.
But I knew what happened. It unfolded exactly as planned. I stopped isolating myself and sought out friends, joking and laughing instead of acting invisible. I even started dieting and hitting the gym, losing 50 pounds. All thanks to that Halloween with Carson and Ethan.
Look, maybe 15 is too old for trick-or-treating. But maybe it’s the perfect age.
