He walked into the house; it looked huge from where he stood. His mother had a knack for interior design. She went through phases. Currently, she was obsessed with mirrors; they made the rooms look larger. He dropped his bag and scanned the living room. From the bottom of the staircase, the mirror in front of him reflected the image in the one behind him, creating a weird paradox of never-ending bodies; he moved his arm and an infinite chain of arms moved. A chill shot down his spine – this was not his mother’s best phase. He turned away from the expansive illusion and scampered upstairs. “Here boy!” he yelled into the depths of his house. His dog was usually waiting for him when he came home. Maybe the mirrors scare him too. He walked down the long hallway, glancing at himself in each of the endless sheets of glass. He heard whimpering coming from the bathroom. As he opened the door, he prayed this room hadn't been redecorated. One mirror above the sink, Thank God. He pulled back the shower curtain. Why the hell would she put a mirror there? He looked into the reflection of reflections. A chill swept over the room. Goosebumps covered his skin. Before him were an infinite number of eyes, all his own, blinking back at him. Every body before him bent down into the tub and pulled up a matted dog. He stood there, staring at himself, whimpering.