[ WP ] You check yourself out in the full length mirror before going to bed . You bend down to untie your shoes . As you are nearly finished , you see with your peripheral vision your reflection stand up seconds before you do .

By the time I returned to my room, I was exhausted. I'd taken this winter job, but the more I thought about it the less sure I was. I'd needed the money, that was for sure. Something had to plug the gap between next term's rent and my diminishing bank balance. 
 
 I had been nearly desperate when I applied. The situation was n't ideal.'Luxury hospitality centre seeks on-site estate manager during Christmas period', the ad said. Four weeks of caretaking at an old hotel somewhere out in Sussex. I'd applied in a fit of desperation after my old pub job back home had fallen through, taking with it my chances with Clare Parker, who would also be home for Christmas. The memory stung as I twisted the knob to Room 098. 
 
 I'd been assigned a room in the hotel basement itself because the regular servant's quarters were too cold during Winter to assign nowadays. It had small windows running along the top of the wall, a camp bed, a pile of unidentified junk covered in dusty cloth and a two-ring gas stove in the corner. Cosy. The hotel's owner, Mr. Carraway, had told me this with a wistful sigh, as if political correctness had gone mad. He was a skeleton of an old man with a great, wide smile that fell short of warm. My duties would involve some gardening, cleaning and maintenance, directed as he saw fit. As far as I can tell he stayed somewhere in the hotel but seemed to materialize wherever I wanted him least, leaning over my shoulder in a way that made my skin crawl. 
 
 The building itself was a grand old castle-looking thing, and according to Mr. Carraway `` built from the finest oriental sandstone at the *height* of the British empire.'' It sat atop a large down, looking over the white cliffs and out to sea. From there, it must've looked magnificent and imposing. From here, it just felt exposed and cold. Even as I entered my room where I'd left a blazing electric heater on all day, a damp cold was present. I put my box of cleaning products down and shuffled over to the kettle. Dreams of hot tea filled my head. 
 
 As I waited for the kettle to boil ( the gas ring was weak and kept catching the draft ) I paced the small, gloomy room. For lack of any other stimulation, I decided to look under the cloth-covered junk. It was in my room, after all. Could n't be that important if I was trusted with it. I pushed back the heavy, rough cloth, wrinkling my nose at the dust. 
 
 Underneath was a few broken plastic chairs and a large standalone mirror. The mirror caught my eye instantly. The frame was ornate. It was a dull yellow, maybe once upon a time ivory or bone. I put it against the clear wall and recovered the chairs with the cloth. I looked at myself and saw the smoggy imprint of a ragged man. I grabbed my cleaning box and began to wipe the thing down until it gleamed. 
 
 The frame was permanently stained yellow, with some dark brown spots that reminded me unfavorably of a smoker's teeth. The glass itself was still fine and I quickly got it to gleam. It seemed to amplify the light and size of the boxy room, which was okay with me. Somehow it made the place seem a little more cheery. 
 
 I stared at my reflection for a while. Even though I'd only been here a few days, I looked worse for wear. Solitude and cold have that effect on someone. I rubbed my stumbled jaw somewhat ashamedly. Could I grow a beard yet? I'd probably never have another chance. Shrugging off my vanities, I knelt down and began to unlace my boots. As I finished and began to stand up again, I could swear I caught something in my reflection. As if it had began to stand up before I did. I looked hard at myself in the mirror. 
 
 Only, it was n't me. There was something about it I did n't recognise. The acne scars, the matted hair, the patchy stubble; these were all the same as a few minutes ago. But the eyes. There was something about them and it took me a moment to realise. They were dark brown. Mine are green. Something about it was deeply disconcerting and I moved closer. Deep, dark pools stared back at me. 
 
 A feeling of being watched began to creep up my neck. I stared, unsure of how to act, for the longest time. Suddenly, almost imperceptibly, it winked. I was sure I had n't blinked. I took a step back. Did my mouth seem to have almost a hint of smile? I certainly did n't feel like smiling, so why did my reflection? 
 
 A sharp whistling startled me as the kettle boiled. My heart thumped as I turned to face the noise. I put my hand to my chest and felt the pounding beneath. I walked over poured the hot water into the teapot. My hands trembled visibly. 
 
 The smell of brewing tea restored me somewhat. My gaze wandered across to the mirror. Staring back at me was a scared looking man, hunched over a two-ring gas stove. A man with green eyes.
