Bewildered, I went to the sink, leaned toward the mirror, searched the reflection for the concrete walls and the single hanging light for the dungeon or abattoir, or whatever the place had been but saw only the clean, bright shower room.

I have never liked looking at myself in a mirror. I don’t know why exactly. I’m not movie-star handsome, but I’m not the Creature from the Black Lagoon, either. I’m pretty much a face in the crowd, which is a blessing when, like me, you have a reason not to draw attention to yourself. There’s just something unsettling about studying your reflection. It’s not a matter of being dissatisfied with your face or of being embarrassed by your vanity. Maybe it’s that when you gaze into your own eyes, you don’t see what you wish to see or glimpse something that you wish weren’t there.

At least my face was not splashed with blood, and my eyes were not dead-flat yet fevered like those of a zombie.

I didn’t try to puzzle through how such a thing could be. The world is filled with mysteries; and I have learned that every mystery will either explain itself or it won’t. I can’t force Nature to draw back her curtains and reveal the hidden machinery that constitutes the true workings of the world.

Excerpt from Deeply Odd by Dean Koontz

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