[ WP ] You form a pact with the monster in your closet to work together in order to get rid of your terrible roommate .

I made a deal with the devil, and the devil showed me sin. 
 
 Andrew was, by lack of a better word, a *shit*. A human blight upon the halls we inhabited. A child in a 20 year old's body that had never understood the very basic concept of the word `` No''. 
 
 The havoc he reaped spread across more buildings in the University than our own - bins were alien to him, the mere idea washing his clothes was laughable, his response to destroying other people's property was `` *Just buy a new one! *''... and last but not least, women were merely his toys. You could almost smell the lottery of STDs from his filthy boxers. 
 
 A rich kid who had no idea that he had responsibility for himself - A man who had everything done for him when he was at home and expected the same of his hallmates.... he likely thought us lesser human beings. His maids and waiters. He thought of himself as God's gift to Earth - we thought he was the epitome of a Great British twat. 
 
 And I was stuck with him in a double room. 
 
 I could barely go to lectures without a hefty dose of the strongest deodorant I could find, lest the residual smell of his abundant mess make its way to the nostrils of the poor, innocent sods sitting anywhere within 10 feet of my vicinity. 
 
 I'd long since had enough just a month into my tenure of first year, yet I was stuck with him until June of the next year. Christmas was a brief, wonderful respite, but the dread kicked in after New Years when I was due to return to my very own hell. 
 
 I tucked myself into bed with a long, exasperated sigh. I turned over and uttered several obscenities. 
 
 `` *What's wrong? *'' 
 
 I fucking *freaked*. 
 
 I jumped out of bed, holding my mouth as to try and prevent a scream. I was not one to deal well with jump scares. As my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I vaguely made out two slits of white over an area of pure black in my closet. It breathed out and I was struck with a sense of familiarity and nostalgia. I knew that noise, that breath. 
 
 `` *Tell me, old friend. *'' 
 
 It was the monster in my closet. 
 
 Jesus Christ, it was the monster in my closet. 
 
 The nostalgia washed over me as I recalled staring into my open closet as a child and witnessing something staring back at me. I always told myself it just was the mirror I kept in there, but I could never shake the feeling that I truly felt something in there - a deep, dark, primal presence. I did my best to ignore it. 
 
 But yet, here it was, presenting itself to me as a companion, as a friend - a childhood friend. 
 
 The situation was insane enough that I thought I may as well just tell it everything. 
 
 After hearing my story, it pondered for a moment - and presented a very simple solution. 
 
 `` *Just kill the fucker. *'' 
 
 Aghast, I explained to it how I could n't do that, how it would be too much, how I wanted a more peaceful solution - I just wanted rid of him. 
 
 The beast pondered once more. 
 
 `` *I'll do it, then. *'' 
 
 It explained to me all I had to do was place a mirror in myself and Andrew's shared closet, open the doors and bring him in front of it. 
 
 After hesitating for what felt like hours, I told the monster I would think about it, and finally went to bed. To bed, and to sweat and turn as my conscience wracked itself until daylight broke. 
 
 I went back to Uni and to the unholy pits of my accommodation. 
 
 It only took a month until I bought a mirror from the nearby B & Q. 
 
 I waited until the depths of the morning. Unable to sleep, with the closet doors open, ready for Andrew to show up and trample in after his big night out. His ability to pull dwindled significantly after the first few weeks of each term as he started to smell more and more, so I was certain he would be making his way back to our room, libido raging and ready to tell me all about how he could n't understand why the ladies did n't want him - being the British Adonis he thought he was. 
 
 An hour later, as I expected, he stumbled into our room, completely oblivious as to why I would be sitting on the edge of my bed at 5am waiting for him. He probably thought it was because I liked him that much. 
 
 I stopped him before he could start rambling about his failed conquests for the night ( As he had done every night when he had been drinking and I was trying to sleep ), and asked him to stand in front of the closet - bemused, he likely thought I was wanting to take a picture of his godly figure. 
 
 And so he stood. 
 
 And so the darkness swallowed him whole. 
 
 I watched as his figure wretched in the absence of light, and felt the joy surge through my veins. I started sweating a little, wondering if the monster's methods would leave any discernible traces. It did n't matter, for the moment. Watching his life end was a gift. 
 
 I smiled as his form slowly stopped moving. 
 
 `` *It is done, *'' the beast said. 
 
 I waited until any animation he once had was all but gone, and switched on the light to assess damage control, and moved my hand up to my brow to wipe off my sweat - 
 
 It was then I noticed the bloodied knife in my hand. 
 
 The moment of clarity dawned as fast as I had put the knife through Andrew's throat - 
 
 There was no monster. 
 
 I made a deal with the devil, and the devil bared himself to me - he was my reflection in the mirror. The presence I felt was my urges slowly bubbling to the surface, the simple, animal lust to remove that which stained my life. 
 
 I smiled once more. 
 
 I reminisced talking to myself at home, in the darkness, lying and staring at myself in the mirror. It was all for this moment that I'd tricked myself, to lead myself into freedom. Reminisced my resurgent asthma. 
 
 I stared upon Andrew's still frame, lying in front of me - all of his life drained onto our floor, staining the carpet with deep red hues. To me, it was the most beautiful thing he had ever made. A terrible person creating such a fantastic work of art seemed unfair. The world is unjust, I suppose. 
 
 A thought drew itself from the pits of my mind as if freed from the shackles placed upon it by social norms, blossoming from the moment I had put the knife through Andrew's jugular. He was the lock, and my knife was the key. The brush and the canvas. The metaphor and the metaphor. It truly did n't matter how I described the two, not in the slightest - The bottom line was, they *belonged* together. It was simply meant to be. It all made so much sense now. 
 
 I pondered the next thought that emerged and played with it for a short while. I turned to the mirror in our cupboard. 
 
 `` Who's next?''
