Mirror Horror Short Story - Envy: Carnival of Sin #2

About this story:

After losing her partner, Valerie is drowning in grief — and in the suffocating presence of Lydia, the friend who always manages to make everything about herself. When a mysterious woman from the funeral invites Valerie to the Carnival of Sin, she reluctantly agrees, hoping for a distraction. But the carnival has its own intentions. In the hall of mirrors, Valerie watches as the reflections twist, revealing Lydia’s deepest hungers… and the price for wanting someone else’s life. “Envy” is a mirror horror short story about grief, toxic friendship, and the moment the carnival decides who deserves to be devoured.

 

“Jesus, I thought funeral homes were supposed to be somber.” Lydia patted Valerie’s shoulder with brisk irritation. “I’m going to speak to someone about this.”

Valerie opened her mouth to argue, but Lydia was already striding down the grey‑toned hallway, her feet making no sound on the thick carpet.

Left alone, Valerie sank into a thick armchair in the corner, collapsing more than sitting. Her legs barely seemed willing to hold her these days; she was forever out of breath, as if she were in her seventies rather than barely past thirty. She fixed her gaze on a brown spot in the carpet — a place the vacuum had missed — and tried, unsuccessfully, to quiet the voices in her head.

“Excuse me. Do you know where the coffee room is?”

It took Valerie far too long to lift her attention from the carpet to the woman standing beside her. Her gaze traveled slowly upward: purple suede shoes, dark tights, a long black skirt embroidered with purple and gold thread, a deep‑purple blouse, ropes of gold necklaces… and finally, an oval face peering down at her.

By the time Valerie reached the woman’s eyes, she’d forgotten the question. “I’m sorry?”

“Oh!” The woman pressed a hand to her chest, her expression folding into a deep, sympathetic frown. “No, I’m the one who’s sorry.” She extended a hand and pulled Valerie gently but insistently to her feet. “My dear, I’m so sorry for your loss.”

Before Valerie could respond, she found herself enveloped in an incense‑scented embrace. She stood stiffly, arms at her sides, allowing the stranger to squeeze her until — mercifully — she was released, just as her legs threatened to give out. She slumped back into the chair.

Instead of drifting off to rejoin whatever wandering troupe she looked like she belonged to, the woman perched on the chair beside her and patted her knee. “Tell me you aren’t here alone.”

“I’m always alone now,” Valerie moaned, then gave a small, embarrassed chuckle. At the woman’s deepening frown, she straightened. Come now, woman, she scolded herself silently. “Wow, could I be any more dramatic?” she said aloud. “No, I’m not alone. My friend Lydia has gone off to berate the priest.”

“Well, now, that sounds like a worthwhile pursuit.” The stranger leaned back with a satisfied smile.

Valerie blinked at her. “Um… do I know you?”

“How silly of me.” The woman extended her hand again. “I’m Zarabella.”

The name sparked no recognition. Valerie shook her head.

“Did Charlie not mention me? I’m Jacob’s girlfriend.” She lifted her hand to admire the ring on her third finger. “Fiancé now, I suppose.”

“It was your stag and doe…” Valerie stared at her, horrified.

“God, yes.” Zarabella clutched her purse to her chest. “Do you want me to leave?”

After a moment, Valerie shook her head. “No, no. It wasn’t your fault.” She pressed her palms to her eyes. “I just keep seeing it.”

“Seeing what?”

“The car.” Valerie shivered. “What it must have been like—”

Zarabella swept off her chair and dropped to her knees in front of Valerie. “Don’t you even think about that.” She gripped Valerie’s shoulders and met her eyes — something no one had done since Charlie’s accident. Valerie noticed the sweeping arc of eyeliner, the dusting of glitter on her cheekbones, the long black hair framing her face like curtains.

Her eyes filled suddenly, tears spilling over.

“Oh, honey!” Lydia’s grating voice shattered the fragile bubble around them. She swooped in, wrapped an arm around Valerie, and hauled her to her feet. “Let’s get you a cup of coffee.”

Valerie looked back over her shoulder as Lydia dragged her away. Zarabella was still kneeling in front of the chair, growing smaller as she retreated into the distance.

---

Later, after the funeral — after the well‑wishers, the hand‑holding, the endless sorry‑for‑your‑loss murmurs. After the music Valerie had decided should absolutely NOT be allowed at funerals — she hadn’t cried this much in years — and after watching the hearse carry Charlie’s casket toward the crematorium, a morbid “new tradition” she had flat‑out refused to attend, she was finally back in her own house.

Sitting on the edge of her bed, one shoe off, she stared into nothing. Downstairs, the low hum of somber voices rose and fell, occasionally pierced by a bright thread of laughter. Valerie wondered who that might be. She wanted — achingly — to go down and find that person, to ask them to tell her something that would make her laugh like that. But going downstairs meant finding Lydia, and Valerie wasn’t sure she could handle any more of her “best friend.”

A soft knock sounded at the door. When Valerie looked up, she found herself face‑to‑face with the woman from the funeral home — the one she hadn’t seen since Lydia had dragged her away.

“Hey.” Valerie dredged up a small smile. “Did you finally find some coffee?”

The woman stepped inside. “Actually, we made a whole carafe. Would you like some?” She gestured toward the hallway.

Valerie shook her head. “I don’t think I can manage people right now.”

“I’ll go,” the woman said — though she didn’t move.

“You don’t have to,” Valerie murmured.

Zarabella sat on the bed beside her. Valerie bent with a huff to remove her other shoe.

“When my grandmother died,” Zarabella said softly, “everything was a chore.”

Valerie tossed her shoes toward the closet. “How long ago did she die?”

“Oh, years.” Zarabella waved a hand airily. “I thought the world should stop turning. That everyone else should be in mourning, too.”

“Exactly!” Valerie turned toward her, eyes brightening for the first time all day. “I keep seeing people going about their business as if nothing happened. But my world is shattered.”

“When my grandmother died, the carnival was the only thing to stop,” Zarabella said. “For one night, we were all aimless. Without direction. That was worse.”

Valerie sighed. “I guess that’s true. It’s the list of things to do that keeps us moving. I feel like I can’t move a muscle, but I know if I don’t, I’ll freeze solid.” She clenched her hands in her lap. “Does that make sense?”

“Absolutely.” Zarabella stood and held out her hand. “Come. Let’s keep you moving.”

“I don’t think I can.” Valerie resisted the gentle tug. “I’m not sure I can manage any more of Lydia.”

Zarabella frowned. “Is that the woman you were with earlier?”

“She’s exhausting. Always trying to one‑up everyone. Me especially. I think she wants to be me. And today, having to rely on her for the first time in years…” Valerie sighed again. “Oh!” She pulled back. “Please don’t tell her I said that.”

Zarabella’s eyes glimmered in the dim light. “Don’t worry. I wouldn’t say a thing.” Then, briskly: “Besides, you don’t need to worry. She got a call and asked me to tell you she’s sorry, but she had to leave.”

“Wait. Lydia’s gone?” Valerie flopped backward onto the bed. “Thank God.”

Laughter pealed through the room — and Valerie realized it was the same bright laughter she’d heard downstairs earlier. Zarabella’s laughter.

“Do you feel up to coming downstairs now?” she asked.

Valerie took her outstretched hand and let herself be pulled to her feet.

---

When the house was finally empty and only the two of them remained, Valerie asked the question that had been circling her mind all evening.

“Where’s Jacob?”

Zarabella set down her coffee cup. “I told him about your reaction at the funeral home. He thought it best not to disturb you anymore.”

Valerie snorted. “Yeah, right. I bet he just didn’t want to show his face after what happened.” She leaned across the table. “I like you, Zarabella, so I have to ask — what are you doing with such a toxic individual?”

“I like you too, Val, which is why I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that.” Zarabella stood and began stacking cups and saucers. After a moment, she paused, hands braced on the table, and stared at Valerie. “No. Forget that. Seriously — how could you call Jacob toxic? You’re lucky he didn’t kill Charlie years ago.”

Valerie jerked back as if slapped. “What? Are you saying—”

Zarabella blinked, confusion smoothing into alarm. “No! Of course not. Jacob had nothing to do with Charlie’s death.” She resumed stacking dishes.

“Then what did you mean?” Valerie’s voice tightened. She sat rigidly, fingers clenched around a napkin.

“You know.” Zarabella didn’t meet her eyes.

“I assure you, I do not,” Valerie growled. “Jacob was always the passive‑aggressive one. That’s why I wasn’t…” Her breath caught. “…there. That night.” She cleared her throat. “I couldn’t take the comments anymore.”

“He could have handled it better, that’s for sure,” Zarabella said. “But he had reason.” She finally looked up. “You have to admit that much.”

Valerie shook her head. “Charlie never told me what happened between them.”

Zarabella chuckled — then sobered. “You’re serious.” Valerie nodded. “God.” She resumed cleaning. “You think you deserve this fancy house and your luxury cars?”

Valerie frowned. “What are you talking about?”

Zarabella stopped. “Charlie stole that idea from Jacob. He took it and he sold it. This should have been Jacob’s life.”

---

Hours later, Valerie found herself sitting alone in the dark. The house was silent now, emptied of guests, and she hadn’t bothered turning on a single light. Eventually, she pushed herself up from the table where Zarabella had left her after storming out. As she made her way toward the back of the house, she flicked on lights one by one, each click sounding too loud in the stillness.

She stopped in front of Charlie’s office door.

She hadn’t meant to come here. She had avoided this room entirely since his death. But the insistent little voice in her mind — the one that had been circling ever since Zarabella’s accusation — had finally convinced her there was only one way to stop the carousel of thoughts.

Prove Zarabella wrong.

There was no way Charlie could have done what she claimed. No way he would have stolen Jacob’s idea. And now that he was gone, it felt vital — urgent — that Valerie find proof. Something, anything, that said without a doubt that Charlie had been the one responsible for the idea that built their life.

She didn’t know where to start. It had been years since the first spark of the idea; surely the records wouldn’t be on his desk.

An hour later, surrounded by a field of scattered papers, she was desperate enough to search the desk anyway. That was when she found it — stuffed beneath the pen box, as if hidden in haste.

A picture.

Valerie dropped into the desk chair, staring at it. Proof, all right.

Proof that Zarabella was right.

Her voice echoed hollowly in the room she’d never entered before today. “Who were you, Charlie?”

The Friendship Begins

A few weeks later, life had settled into something resembling normal. Valerie kept calling it the new normal, as if naming it made the hollow ache in her chest easier to bear. Eventually, she decided it was time.

Her thumb hovered over the number in her phone. Then — click — she dialed. The ringing made her stomach twist. She wondered if she should hang up, but then a voice answered.

“Hello?”

“Zarabella?”

“Yes.”

“Hi. It’s me. I mean… it’s Valerie.” She pressed the phone tightly to her ear with one hand and braced herself against the kitchen island with the other. She closed her eyes, listening for the telltale snick of a call abruptly ended.

“Oh, Valerie. It’s so nice to hear from you.”

Valerie heard the smile in her voice. Her shoulders slumped in relief. “I was sure you were going to hang up on me.”

“What? Don’t be ridiculous. So—” There was rustling on Zarabella’s end. “What can I do for you?”

“Am I interrupting?”

“No, no. I’m just doing laundry.”

“Could you get away for an afternoon?” Valerie asked.

A pause. “What did you have in mind?”

“Coffee?”

“I know just the place,” Zarabella replied.

Valerie closed her eyes. She’d be able to get out of the house after all.

---

Small tables sat in the sun outside Valerie’s favorite downtown coffee shop — thankfully without the little umbrellas she hated. She’d already ordered a special and a croissant and was enjoying some people‑watching when Zarabella arrived.

Today, her clothing was even more flamboyant than at the funeral: another long, flowing skirt — her signature style — this one a deep emerald; a draped black blouse tucked in; and even more golden bangles, necklaces, and earrings. Valerie’s grief fog had lifted just enough for her to notice that Zarabella’s eyes were a bright, mischievous green.

Valerie stood and surprised herself by returning the woman’s hug.

“It’s so nice to see you, Zarabella.”

“Oh, please. Call me Zara.”

Valerie smiled. “Thank you. I will.”

A few minutes later, they sat with their drinks, watching the Saturday crowd drift by.

Holding her cup in both hands, Valerie hesitated. “I wanted to say thank you.”

Zara turned from the pedestrians. “For what?”

“Everything.” Valerie took a sip, then held the cup in front of her mouth like a shield. “For your kindness in my grief, when you have your own.”

“That’s how one gets past grief — by sharing the coping.”

Valerie nodded. “Still. And for telling me about Charlie.” She gritted her teeth. Tears threatened whenever she said his name. “I can see why he didn’t tell me himself years ago.”

“So you believe me now.” Zara twirled her cup between her hands.

“I searched his office.” Valerie pulled the picture from her pocket and set it on the table. “That was hidden on his desk.”

Zara picked it up and stared for a long moment. “I can’t believe he kept this.” She tossed it back onto the table.

“Right?!” Valerie didn’t want to look at it again.

“What are you going to do about it?”

Valerie chewed her lip. “I don’t know. I can’t just sell my house and give Jacob half.”

“You can’t?” Zara’s eyes glinted knowingly.

Valerie shrugged. “Can I ask you something?” Zara nodded. “Had Jacob said anything to Charlie about this? Recently, I mean?”

“I don’t think so. Why?”

“I remembered Charlie being jumpy the last few weeks before his… accident.” She forced the word out. “He was paranoid. Kept checking the locks. I thought maybe…”

Zara reached across the table and took her hand. “It wasn’t an accident. Someone took Charlie from you. No matter what Jacob and I felt about the situation, we wouldn’t have done something like that.”

“If only I had gone with him, maybe this wouldn’t have happened.” A single tear escaped before Valerie could blink it away.

“Do you have a time machine?”

Valerie let out a shaky laugh. “A time machine? Uh, no.”

“Exactly.” Zara squeezed her hand. “You cannot go back in time. So get rid of should, would, and could. They do no one any good.”

Valerie nodded. “You’re right. Can I ask — why did you have your event so far out of town? It was kind of remote for a stag and doe.”

“Family land,” Zara replied. “Can I ask you a question?” Valerie nodded again. “Have you had to deal with your ‘friend’ anymore?”

Valerie frowned. “Oh, you mean Lydia. No, I’ve been able to avoid her since the funeral.” She rubbed her face. “Dealing with Charlie’s loss has been hard enough, but she makes everything about her. Did you know she actually said that at least I still had my stuff? Apparently there was a fire and Lydia lost everything. I don’t know.” Valerie shrugged. “I NEVER know whether she’s telling the truth or making things up. I think…” She met Zara’s eyes. “I’ve never told anyone this before, but I think Lydia wants to be me.”

A glint sparked in Zara’s eyes. “Be you?”

“Yeah. Ever since I first met her, I’ve had the feeling she would take over my life.” Valerie laughed creakily. “I know. It’s silly.”

“Some people never stop wanting what isn’t theirs,” Zara said with a slow nod.

---

The Carnival

Valerie stood at the kitchen island, sorting her mail. Bills, bills, and more bills. She didn’t know what she was going to do if the insurance money didn’t come in soon. She’d probably have to sell the house. She rubbed her hands over her face and looked around the large kitchen. She probably should sell the house. She didn’t need all this space anymore.

With a sigh, she returned to the mail. That was when she found the large envelope — thick, embossed with curling designs. It looked like something you’d give a friend for their hundredth birthday. Valerie slit the top and pulled out an equally ornate card. She lifted it to her nose and caught a faint scent — incense or woodsmoke.

She stared at the invitation. She almost threw it away. She was too old for this sort of thing. Then she noticed the handwritten note on the back.

Valerie, I’d love for you to see the carnival the way I do — after dark, when the lights breathe and the stories wake up. Come find me tonight. I’ll be waiting by the green tent. —Zara

Valerie hesitated. She didn’t have many friends, and now was definitely the time she needed one. Besides, she could use a distraction from all the real life she’d been drowning in lately.

It wasn’t until she parked in the makeshift lot that Valerie remembered this was near where Charlie had lost his life. Well, not here exactly, she thought. This time the carnival was on the edge of town, within sight of the first houses. She hesitated before getting out of the car, but the sight of people wandering around eased her nerves. She wasn’t alone. And Zara would be there.

---

She tucked some money into her bra, left her purse on the passenger‑side floor, and took the invitation.

The ticket taker accepted it with a nod, and Valerie stepped inside. She spotted the green tent immediately. Zara stood beside it — but she wasn’t alone. Only when the other woman turned and greeted her did Valerie realize who it was.

“Val, what a surprise!” Lydia crowed. “I wouldn’t expect to see you here.”

Valerie endured a bone‑crushing hug from her friend, then embraced Zara as well.

“I completely forgot you two know each other,” Zara said. “Lydia and I just happened to meet here a few minutes ago. What a coincidence.”

There was that same glint in Zara’s eye, but Valerie couldn’t imagine why she would have invited Lydia too. She pushed the suspicion aside.

“It’s a good thing Lydia showed up,” Zara said. “I have a little work to do. I won’t be long, but I wouldn’t want you to explore alone.” She squeezed Valerie’s arm. “You two should explore together. Especially the hall of mirrors. It’s my favorite.”

And then she slipped away into the crowd, swallowed instantly.

“Shall we?” Lydia asked, tugging Valerie’s arm.

It didn’t take long for Valerie to remember exactly why she hated spending time with Lydia. Every time Valerie opened her mouth — to talk about her loss, her health, her job — Lydia topped it. Always bigger, always worse, always more dramatic. Valerie’s irritation grew until her teeth ground together. Eventually she just stopped talking. Lydia didn’t notice.

They prowled the carnival, Lydia dragging them from one attraction to the next, her voice a constant stream of noise Valerie didn’t want to hear. And then Valerie noticed something unsettling.

The carnival seemed to be directing them.

Barkers called out as if to them specifically.

“This way to the hall of mirrors!”

“Follow the lights. Find your truth.”

At one booth, Valerie noticed the mirror warp when Lydia walked past, as if the woman exerted a magnetic pull on the glass. At another, one of the prizes was a mask that looked eerily like Lydia’s face. Valerie could swear the mask leered at her friend, but Lydia pulled her away too quickly for her to be sure.

As they neared the hall of mirrors, Valerie felt it — a prickling awareness along her spine.

The Carnival was watching.

Only… it wasn’t watching her.

It was watching Lydia, as if a spotlight had been fixed on her, illuminating her for all to see.

---

“This is going to be SO fun!” Lydia trilled as she and Valerie bought their tickets. She bounced on her toes, oblivious to the way the line seemed to… shift. People weren’t just waiting. They were being sorted. Funneled. Chosen.

“Why is there a wait?” Lydia demanded of the carny at the entrance.

He smiled without showing teeth. “To give each person the chance to see their truth.”

The way he said truth made Valerie’s skin crawl.

Their turn came. They climbed the ramp toward the dark mouth of the tent. Valerie hesitated — something in her chest tightening — but Lydia yanked her forward.

Inside, the tent was brighter than it had any right to be. Light ricocheted off the mirrors, filling the space with a hazy, pulsing glow. The air felt thick, warm, almost… breathing.

Valerie lifted her hands, trying not to collide with a mirrored wall.

“Look at the reflections,” Lydia whispered. “They’re all weird.”

Valerie glanced at her own reflection — warped, shortened, stretched. But the distortion wasn’t random. It felt intentional. Like the mirror was trying to decide what shape she should be.

“How do they do that?” Lydia murmured. “It looks like… no. No, that can’t be right.”

“What’s wrong?” Valerie asked.

“Don’t you see it?” Lydia’s voice trembled with awe. “That’s me. In a Lexus. Just like yours.”

Valerie squinted. She saw nothing but warped glass. But Lydia tugged her onward, breath quickening.

At the next mirror:

“Look! I’m cooking in a kitchen like yours.”

Another:

“Is that what your job is like? Huh. Maybe I don’t want your job after all.”

The mirrors weren’t showing possibilities. They were showing hungers. Lydia’s hungers.

It wasn’t until Lydia gasped, “It’s me and Charlie on a date!” that Valerie jerked her arm away.

“That’s enough.”

But Lydia didn’t hear her. She rushed ahead, drawn like a moth to flame.

Valerie hurried after her — and then stopped.

Lydia stood before the largest mirror in the maze. The glass rippled like water. The air around it vibrated, humming with a low, hungry sound Valerie felt in her bones.

Lydia’s face was transformed — wide‑eyed, greedy, desperate. A look Valerie had seen before, but never this nakedly.

She stepped forward. One step. Two. Three.

“Lydia—” Valerie began.

But Lydia was already reaching out.

Her reflection didn’t mimic her.

It waited.

Then, with a grin too wide for a human face, the reflection lunged. Its arm shot out of the glass — slick, silver, impossibly long — and clamped around Lydia’s wrist.

Lydia had time for a single, strangled squeak before she was yanked into the mirror. The surface swallowed her whole, rippling once, twice… then smoothing over like nothing had happened.

Silence.

Valerie stood frozen. Her breath came in shallow, trembling bursts. Slowly, she stepped toward the mirror. Her eyes scanned the frame, searching for a seam, a hinge, a trick.

Then she saw her.

A distorted, silver‑skinned Lydia pounded on the inside of the mirror, her mouth stretched in a silent scream. The glass bulged with each strike, as if it were chewing.

Valerie watched. The mirror pulsed. The tent exhaled.

The carnival had judged Lydia.

And devoured her.

Eventually, Valerie turned away. She had reached the end of the hall. She pushed through the curtain into the raucous night, the carnival’s lights flickering like a creature licking its lips.

At the base of the ramp, Zara waited.

“Did you get what you needed?” she asked, her eyes gleaming. She winked.

She knew.

Valerie smiled — small, sharp, certain. “I did.”

Zara grinned. “Then come with me. There’s so much more to see.”

Next in the Carnival of Sin → Lust

The carnival is awake, and it’s not finished. Follow the lights to the next story in the Carnival of Sin.