Two-Way Mirror (full, unedited)

I worked as an intern in the psychiatric wing of a hospital when I was younger. I had spent years studying to be a doctor, but I was still deciding on which area would be my expertise. Having known many people -- both family and friends -- with mental health struggles, I thought I'd give it a shot when this psychiatry internship came up. At very least, it would be one more experience to add to my growing resume.

On the first day, I was in the outpatient area -- it was mostly a collection of private rooms for therapy sessions, fronted by a reception desk. As I wasn't legally able to sit in on private sessions yet, my supervisor had me sitting in a room adjacent to reception, going over basic procedures expected for dealing with long-term outpatient clients. Pretty run-of-the-mill stuff, really, but it never hurts to refresh your memory on such things -- especially as a physician.

The room itself struck me as perfectly ordinary. Perhaps ten by fifteen feet, the door to the reception office to my left, and another door on the facing wall at the opposite end. I sat at a large, oblong conference table, with the receptionists clearly visible through the open door beside me. The other door was shut. Along the same wall as the closed door was a square, dark window. Must be a two-way, I thought. There must be an observation room on the other side, though I couldn't see it since the lights were off. I didn't think they used those anymore, except in cop dramas.

Anyway, I got down to work, reading through the manuals and policies and various other forms my supervisor kept piling on over the next two hours or so. He was one of those people who would bound in, half-dazed, saying "Oh yeah -- I almost forgot --" and list off another encyclopedia's worth of information you needed -- absolutely needed -- to know immediately. I was beginning to suspect he was actually an escaped patient from another area of the psychiatric wing. Finally, though, I hadn't seen him for a good half an hour or so.

I could hear the soft chatter of the staff in the office as I scanned the text in front of me. It soothed me to a point that I nearly jumped out of my chair when I saw a flash of -- something -- from the direction of the window. I stared at it for a moment, not sure if my mind was playing tricks on me. Coffee. I probably need coffee. I yawned widely, and made myself another cup from the Keurig on the trolley behind me.

Back to work, and not five minutes later I saw something out of the corner of my eye again. This time it looked less like a flash, and more of a streak. Like someone with a light-coloured shirt walking past the window in the other room. I hesitated for a moment, then stood up.

"Hey, is anyone using the observation room?" The question was directed into the reception office. One of the ladies answered.

"No, it hasn't been used in years."

I was going to ask if there was another entrance into the room, but she had already picked up the phone to answer another call. It was pretty busy there, I'll admit. Lots of clients and patients to keep anyone on their toes. Instead of bothering another receptionist, I did the next simplest thing: I walked across the room to the other door, opened it, and switched on the light. Apart from a play mat, and a few toys in one corner, the observation room was deserted. There was no other door. I stepped in two paces and glanced at the window -- a mirror on this side. Nothing seemed out of place, and there was nothing which could have made what I saw. What I thought I saw.

I turned off the light, closed the door, and went back to my reading, feeling a little... weirded out.

Tap, tap, tap.

This was stupid. Now I was hearing things. I got up again and closed the door to the conference room, hoping to drown out any noise coming from the chaos of the reception office.

Tap, tap, tap.

It was definitely coming from the two-way mirror. At this point, I really didn't want to turn around to face it. Part of me, more than I'd like to admit, believed I was going to see something... something out of a horror movie. I was in the middle of a busy hospital, in the middle of the day, in a bright room... and I was scared. I can't even tell you why I was scared -- it was like the feeling was injected into me, against my will. I turned.

Nothing. Everything was normal, including the dark window on the other wall.

Tap, tap, tap.

I went over to the window and put my ear against it. You're an idiot if you believe that last sentence. I didn't move an inch, and neither would any sane person with an ounce of self-preservation. I stared at the window from across the room, the conference table providing a much-appreciated barrier between me, and whatever was making that sound. Without realizing what I was doing, I reached out to the table and tapped it three times. What the hell was I doing?! My breath caught in my throat as I waited, but there was no response. I was concentrating so hard on listening, that it startled me to realize that faint words had materialized on the window. I could only read one word.

help

I ran over to door of the observation room, flinging it open and slamming on the lights. This time I found myself in the middle of the room, on the play mat, looking all around. No one. Nothing. Not even the mirror had anything on it -- no dust, no fingerprints. Nothing at all. My heart was pounding like mad. It didn't make any sense! What could possibly--? No. That was it. I was going to find somewhere else to sit and work. That was the answer, and the only one I needed. Any other answers... well, I no intention of sticking around to investigate.

I turned off the light, and shut the door for a second time. I gathered my materials quickly, carefully keeping my back to the window, despite another round of tapping. I had to ignore it.

BANG, BANG, BANG!

I spun around, almost knocking myself off-balance. The once faint words had become distinct.

let me help you

Three feet away from me, these words formed, thicker and thicker, as though some viscous substance was trying to give them life. I was paralysed. A small, spindly, ash-grey hand pressed itself against the window from the other room.

I don't know if you've ever heard a grown man scream, but it's not a pleasant experience for anyone. The receptionists next door rushed in, obviously alarmed, and I crashed into them on my way out. One of them fell, and I think another grabbed his nose in pain. I hadn't even grabbed my stuff -- in fact, I didn't stop until I was in at my car, in the parking lot, five minutes later.

Needless to say, I didn't go back. Embarrassed hardly describes how I felt. I know it's incredibly unprofessional, but I resigned from the internship immediately, with a thinly-worded email to the university, hospital, and my supervisor. Oddly enough, it didn't cause any trouble. I suppose that was incredibly lucky.

I did continue on to other internships, and eventually a residence at the same hospital. But I never stepped foot into the the psychiatric wing again, nor did I continue to take any interest in psychiatry at all. Today, I'm a obstetrician with my own private practice, far away from the hospital with the square, two-way mirror.