Fondling in the darkness I found the small recess on the top of the clock, pressing in I squinted at the sudden flash of red light as the four numbers formed. It was almost 01:30, and though my eyelids hung heavy and I regularly let out deep bellowing yawns, my body refused to succumb to the night.

Pushing myself up to a seated position I stretched out and flicked the light switch, flooding the room with warm yellow light from the halogen bulb. Basking in its glow, I wondered if much like a lizard I just needed some warm light to help me drift off. Before a minute had passed, I realised this was a silly thought.

The room was unfamiliar, which no doubt played a part in my difficulty sleeping. Exposed wooden beams loomed in the high ceiling, holding up perpendicular dark planks which formed the third floor. Against the east wall cream wallpaper decorated with reliefs of sunflowers was heavily faded by decades of sun pouring in from the western window. Pockets of modernisation betrayed the illusion, with fresh white plastic electrical outlets and the notably recent addition of a carbon monoxide detector hidden away in the recess of my wooden canopy.

Reaching down to the bedside table I felt around for the phone left to charge overnight, my fingers traced down its cracked screen as I approached the power button. Nothing. I lazily rolled towards the lip of the double bed and peered over its excessively padded edges, it was then I realised that I had plugged the charger in but not turned the power on at the socket. What a ridiculous design.

It was no use in scorning the house, the switch snapped with satisfying resistance befitting of a newly fitted appliance and the obscured symbol of an empty battery appeared, fractured by the numerous grooves and splits in the damaged screen. It would take at least ten minutes to retain enough charge to use, so I stretched out my sore legs and stood up to explore. Tip-toeing around I avoided particularly loose floorboards as to not wake the entire house, this also ruled out exploring the weathered mahogany chest of draws that loomed at the foot of the bed, as no doubt sliding out even the smallest drawer would sound like scraping a chair throughout every room of the house, even the cellar.

Inviting me over was a large curved piece of furniture draped in a patched woollen blanket. The shawl was heavy to drag off, and moving it produced the unfortunate smell of wet sheep that now clung to my bedclothes. I piled the material onto a disused armchair. I wasn’t the only one surprised by the weight, as the legs of the chair braced and creaked in complaint. Turning back the oval design was revealed to be a dressing table, it had been meticulously cleaned and polished since its installation. It was clearly a part of a set with the slick and brooding mahogany matching that of the dresser, but whilst the storage had been left to the elements this piece had been restored and protected.

Exposed in the polished mirror I crouched to inspect my tired frame. It appeared more of a portal than a reflection, there was no hint of dust nor imperfection in its surface. If I reached out my hand I could fall through into the other room, that was as long as the me on the other side didn’t try the same thing and force us to bump heads. I sat on the hard circular stool that serviced the table admiring the most accurate reflection, with the moonlight on my left side of my face exposing the rash that ravaged my pale cheek. It looked particularly tender on the other me.

With no desire to practice cosmetics at such an early hour, I grinned and held up a fist. “Best of three?” I whispered to myself. “Rock, paper, scissors, go!”

I flashed paper, and my adversary did the same. “Ah, that’s a confident move. Most people go for scissors on the first round, but you thought I would play rock to counter that? I’m not playing a novice, I see…” She mused back at me, with me parroting along to her line.

The second round ended in a similar draw, with both of us flashing scissors and eying each other suspiciously through the ornate carvings of the furniture’s frame. “This one’s for all the marbles…” We agreed. “Rock, paper, scissors, go!”

I… lost? Wait a minute, how did I lose? My rock was clearly facing off against paper, but both of our horrified expressions seemed to match in the mirror. “H-How?” We both hissed. “Rock, paper, scissors, go!”

Again?! My scissors blunted by the slender fist pressed up against the cold surface, we both recoiled back to slump against the bed. Clambering over the thick winter covers, we dragged our phones back to the mirror to document this suspicious activity. I thumbed the lock button, but only met with the sad floating icon that reminded me I forgot to charge the device. Looking up in the mirror however, my reflection’s phone had lit up perfectly to contour her chin from below with clinically white light.

Holding up the screens to face each other, her phone was immaculate. It could have come straight off the production line, whereas mine had been dropped and crushed enough times to write it off. Navigating from the mirror, I helped myself to swipe and open up the camera app, then begin recording. Setting our phones down next to us, we re-ignited the game.

“Rock, paper, scissors, go!” Draw, a pair of rocks. “Rock, paper, scissors, go!” Draw, two sheets of paper. We decided to forgo the introduction, throwing hand after hand at each other and perfectly matching. Even the lingering three fingers when holding scissors had the same curl of the little finger up and to the palm. Frustrated our brows knit and our faces began to flush. Rocks, Scissors, Scissors, Scissors, Rocks, Papers, we drew time and time again.

Until… “Haha!” I shouted, “You win!” I conceded, crumpling my scissors towards me. “You lose!” She shouted, tapping the tips of my fingers with her fist.