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The Wrong Voice
I was in bed, scrolling through my phone. The room was dark except for the faint glow of the screen. It was past midnight, and I should’ve been asleep, but my mind wouldn’t shut off. There was this nagging feeling, like I’d forgotten something.
Without thinking, I opened my call log and tapped on my mom’s number. She always told me to call, no matter how late. “If you’re ever feeling off,” she’d say, “just call me.” So I did.
It rang twice before she answered.
“Hello?”
Her voice was soft, like she’d been sleeping. But there was something off. The way she said “hello” was too slow, almost deliberate, like she was trying to mimic how she usually sounded.
“Hey, Mom. Sorry, did I wake you?”
There was a long pause. Too long. Then she said, “No… you didn’t wake me, sweetheart.”
My stomach tightened. She sounded like her, but the way she said “sweetheart” made my skin crawl. The word stretched unnaturally, each syllable dripping with something I couldn’t place.
“Are you okay?” I asked, sitting up. My voice cracked a little.
“I’m fine,” she said, but her tone was wrong. It was flat, emotionless, like she was reading a script.
A chill ran down my spine. “Mom… is something wrong?”
The line crackled. I thought I heard her whisper something, but I couldn’t make it out.
“What did you say?” I asked, my voice louder now.
Silence.
“Mom?”
The call ended.
I stared at my phone, my heart pounding in my chest. The screen showed the call had lasted one minute and eleven seconds.
I didn’t hesitate—I called her again. This time, she picked up right away.
“Hey, honey,” she said, her voice warm and familiar. “What’s wrong? Why are you calling so late?”
My breath caught in my throat. “Mom… I just called you. A minute ago. You answered, but—” I stopped myself. How was I supposed to explain this without sounding insane?
She laughed softly. “Sweetheart, you didn’t call me. I’ve been asleep.”
“No, I did. You answered. We talked—well, kind of. It didn’t sound like you, though.”
“Maybe you dreamed it,” she said. But her voice carried a hint of unease now.
I shook my head, even though she couldn’t see me. “It wasn’t a dream.”
There was a pause. Then she said, “Honey, I swear I haven’t been on the phone tonight. Are you sure you’re okay?”
I wanted to believe her. I really did. But that voice… it wasn’t a dream.
“Yeah,” I lied. “I’m fine. Sorry for waking you.”
“It’s okay,” she said, her voice soft again. “Call me if you need me, okay? I love you.”
“Love you too.”
When the call ended, I sat there, staring at the screen. My hands were shaking, and the room felt colder than before.
I didn’t call her again that night. But I couldn’t shake the sound of that voice, the way it had dragged my name out like it was testing the word. It sounded like my mom, but it wasn’t her.
It couldn’t have been.
I couldn’t sleep after that. I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, listening to the faint hum of the streetlights outside. My phone sat on the nightstand, screen dark, but I kept glancing at it like it might light up on its own.
The sound of her voice—that voice—played in my head on a loop. Slow, stretched, too deliberate. It was wrong, but it wasn’t entirely foreign. That’s what scared me the most.
At some point, I must’ve dozed off, but when I woke up, the clock read 3:12 a.m. I hadn’t set an alarm. The silence in my room felt heavier than usual, like the air itself had thickened.
Then, the phone rang.
I jumped, heart slamming against my ribs. The screen glowed, illuminating the room just enough for me to see the caller ID: Mom.
My hand hovered over the phone, hesitating. I told myself it was nothing. Just a normal call. Maybe she couldn’t sleep either.
I answered, trying to steady my voice. “Hello?”
But all I heard was static.
“Mom?” I said again, louder this time.
A crackling noise came through, sharp and grating, like an old radio struggling to tune into a station. Then, faintly, I heard my name.
“Sweetheart…”
My skin prickled. It was the same voice as before. Slow. Drawn out. Mocking.
“Who is this?” I demanded, gripping the phone so tightly my knuckles ached.
The voice ignored me. “It’s so late… you should be sleeping.”
I froze. The way it spoke felt personal, like it knew me, like it had been watching me.
“What do you want?” My voice cracked.
The static grew louder, drowning out the voice for a moment. Then, clear as day, it said, “Come find me.”
I hung up, throwing the phone onto the bed like it had burned me. My breathing was shallow, my chest tight.
For a while, I just sat there, staring at the phone, waiting for it to ring again. It didn’t.
Instead, there was a sound from outside my room. A faint creak, like someone had stepped on the floorboard in the hallway.
I told myself it was nothing. Just the old apartment settling. But then I heard it again, closer this time.
“Hello?” I called out, my voice shaky.
No answer.
I grabbed my phone and turned on the flashlight, the beam cutting through the darkness. Slowly, I got out of bed and crept toward the door.
The hallway was empty. Nothing but shadows. But the air felt colder out here, like something unseen was lurking just beyond the reach of the light.
Then I saw it.
My mom’s voice wasn’t the only thing that had been wrong. There, at the end of the hallway, was my reflection in the hallway mirror. But it wasn’t moving like me.
It was standing still, staring at me with wide, empty eyes. And then it smiled.
I froze, unable to look away. The reflection’s smile was wrong, stretched too wide, teeth gleaming in the dim light from my phone’s flashlight. My legs felt heavy, but I forced myself to take a step closer, each movement slow and hesitant.
The air in the hallway felt different now—denser, like walking through water. My breath came in shallow gasps, and my grip on the phone tightened, the light trembling as I moved.
“Who… who are you?” My voice barely rose above a whisper.
The reflection didn’t respond. It just stood there, grinning at me with a mockery of my own face. My hand twitched, the one holding the phone, and I realized it wasn’t even trying to mimic my movements anymore.
I stepped closer. The closer I got, the more I noticed little things about it—subtle differences. Its eyes were darker, almost black, and the skin around them seemed sunken, like it hadn’t slept in days.
And then it moved.
Not like a person, though. It jerked, its head tilting unnaturally to one side as its grin widened even further. My stomach churned.
“Stop it,” I said, my voice louder now. “You’re not real.”
It cocked its head, as if considering me. Then, it raised its hand. My hand. But instead of mimicking the way I held the phone, it pointed directly at me.
The hallway light flickered. My heart pounded so loudly I could barely hear myself think.
“I said, stop it!” I screamed this time, and my voice echoed down the hallway.
The reflection’s lips moved, forming words I couldn’t hear. It mouthed something, slow and deliberate, its dark eyes locked onto mine. I couldn’t understand it, but whatever it was saying made my skin crawl.
My phone buzzed in my hand, startling me so badly that I nearly dropped it. I glanced down—another call. Mom.
I hesitated, my thumb hovering over the screen. The reflection didn’t move, but its grin faltered for just a moment, like it knew what I was about to do.
I answered. “Hello?”
This time, her voice was clear. “Honey, are you okay? You sound out of breath.”
Relief washed over me, but it was quickly replaced by confusion. “Mom? Where are you?”
“I’m at home, sweetheart. It’s late—why are you calling so much?” Her tone was calm, gentle, but something about it felt… off.
I glanced back at the mirror. The reflection wasn’t there anymore. The hallway was empty, just my own flashlight beam shaking against the walls.
“Mom, I didn’t—” My voice faltered. “You called me.”
There was a long pause on the other end of the line. “No, I didn’t,” she said slowly. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
My throat tightened. I could still feel that dense, oppressive air around me, even though the hallway looked normal again.
“Yeah, I… I’m fine,” I lied.
“Okay. Get some rest, alright? You sound like you’ve had a long day.”
“Sure,” I said quickly. “Goodnight.”
I hung up before she could say anything else and stared at the mirror again. The glass was empty, just a reflection of the dim hallway. I took a step closer, the floor creaking beneath my bare feet.
I reached out, my hand trembling as I touched the surface. It was cold, much colder than it should’ve been.
And then, faintly, I heard it—her voice. But it wasn’t coming from the phone this time.
It was coming from behind the mirror.
The voice whispered my name, soft and low, like the way you might hum a lullaby. It wasn’t my mother’s voice anymore—not really. It had the same tone, the same rhythm, but it felt hollow, like someone was trying too hard to mimic her.
My hand shot back from the mirror, and I stumbled a few steps away, my back hitting the wall. The phone in my hand buzzed again, and I almost dropped it. Mom, the screen said.
I didn’t answer this time. I couldn’t. My thumb hovered over the screen as her voice whispered again, this time clearer.
“Why won’t you answer me, sweetheart?” The words slithered out from the mirror like they were alive, crawling into my ears and wrapping around my chest. “You always call me, don’t you? Don’t you want to hear my voice?”
I shook my head, squeezing my eyes shut. “You’re not real,” I muttered, more to myself than to the thing behind the glass. “This isn’t real.”
The air seemed heavier now, pressing against my chest like a weight. When I opened my eyes, the reflection was back. Only this time, it wasn’t just standing there.
It was closer.
Its face was inches from the surface of the mirror, but it wasn’t my face anymore. The skin was pale, stretched tight over sharp cheekbones. Its eyes were sunken, black pits that seemed to drink in the light from my phone.
And it was still smiling.
I didn’t move. I couldn’t. My legs felt like they were locked in place, my breath coming in short, shallow gasps.
“You don’t look happy to see me,” it said, its voice echoing faintly, like it was speaking from the bottom of a well.
It tilted its head, studying me. Its smile grew wider, impossibly wide, splitting its face in half.
“I’ve been waiting,” it whispered. “So long. For you.”
My stomach twisted, and I forced myself to look away. My phone buzzed again, the sound jarring in the oppressive silence.
Mom.
This time, I answered. “Mom?”
Her voice was frantic. “Honey, are you okay? You’re scaring me.”
“I…” My voice cracked. I glanced back at the mirror. The thing inside it was still watching me, its black eyes gleaming with something that looked like hunger. “Mom, where are you?”
“I told you, I’m at home. Are you sure you’re okay? You’re not making any sense.”
“Stay there,” I said quickly. “Don’t—don’t leave the house.”
“What’s going on?” she asked, her voice rising. “You’re scaring me, sweetheart.”
I didn’t answer. My eyes were locked on the mirror as the thing inside it reached out, its hand pressing against the glass. The surface rippled like water, and my stomach dropped.
“You shouldn’t have answered,” it said, its voice dripping with malice. “You opened the door.”
The glass cracked under its hand, thin fractures spreading like spiderwebs. I took a step back, my heart hammering in my chest.
“Mom,” I said into the phone, my voice shaking. “If anything happens—if I don’t call you back—just stay where you are, okay? Don’t come here.”
“What are you talking about?” she demanded. “What’s happening?”
The mirror shattered.
I screamed, dropping the phone as shards of glass flew in every direction. But there was no sound of them hitting the floor, no clatter or crash.
When I looked back, the hallway was empty. The mirror was gone.
But the voice wasn’t.
It was behind me now.
The voice came from just behind my ear, soft and low.
“Sweetheart,” it whispered, drawing the word out like it enjoyed tasting every syllable.
I spun around, heart pounding so hard it felt like it might burst. There was nothing there. The hallway stretched out in front of me, the dim light from the single bulb overhead flickering like it couldn’t decide whether to stay on or go out.
I fumbled for my phone, which lay face down on the floor where I’d dropped it. My fingers trembled as I picked it up, pressing it to my ear.
“Mom?” I croaked.
There was no response. Just static.
“Mom, please,” I said, my voice breaking. “Say something.”
The static shifted, crackling like someone was breathing into the phone. Then came a laugh—a soft, low chuckle that didn’t belong to her.
“You really thought she could help you?” the voice asked. It sounded closer now, more distinct. It wasn’t coming from the phone anymore.
I turned slowly, every nerve in my body screaming at me to run, but my legs wouldn’t obey. The air behind me felt colder, heavier, like the space itself was being swallowed up by something unseen.
The hallway seemed longer than it had before, stretching into darkness that didn’t belong in my apartment. At the end of it, a figure stood, barely visible in the flickering light.
It wasn’t me, but it was.
It had my face, my posture, even the way I held my arms close to my body when I was scared. But its eyes were wrong. They were too wide, too dark, and they didn’t blink.
“Why are you running?” it asked, its voice layered with mine and something deeper, more guttural. “You called me, remember?”
I couldn’t move. My back pressed against the wall as it started walking toward me, each step deliberate, as if it wanted me to feel every second of its approach.
“I’ve been waiting,” it said. Its mouth didn’t move when it spoke, but the words were clear. “Do you know how long I’ve been waiting?”
It stopped a few feet away, tilting its head to the side in a mockery of curiosity. Its grin stretched impossibly wide, splitting its face in a way that didn’t seem possible.
“Who are you?” I whispered, my voice barely audible.
It laughed again, the sound echoing around me. “You know who I am,” it said. “You’ve always known. You just didn’t want to admit it.”
“I don’t—”
It moved faster than I could react, closing the distance between us in a single, jerky motion. Its face was inches from mine now, and I could feel the cold radiating off its skin.
“You let me in,” it whispered. “When you picked up the phone. When you answered her voice.”
I shook my head, tears streaming down my face. “No,” I said, my voice breaking. “I didn’t mean to.”
“Doesn’t matter,” it said, grinning wider. “You’re mine now.”
The flickering light above us went out completely, plunging the hallway into darkness. My phone screen was the only source of light, casting a faint glow on the thing’s face.
And then it reached for me.
I stumbled backward, but there was nowhere to go. The wall behind me was unyielding, cold as ice. My breath came in shallow gasps, each one clouding the air in front of me as if the temperature had dropped ten degrees in an instant.
Its hand—my hand—reached out, pale and unnatural in the dim light of my phone screen. I tried to scream, but no sound came out. My voice, the one thing I could rely on, felt stolen.
“You won’t feel a thing,” it said. Its grin stretched wider than ever, splitting its face so grotesquely it hardly looked human anymore. “You’ll just… fade.”
I slammed my fist against the wall behind me, desperate for a way out. My eyes darted to the hallway, but it was different now—endless and dark, stretching into nothingness. My apartment, my sanctuary, was gone.
“Please,” I whispered, barely able to form the word.
It tilted its head, almost as if considering my plea. Then, in a voice that was half-mocking, half-genuine, it said, “You don’t even know what you’re begging for.”
The shadows around us thickened, rising like smoke, curling around my legs. They weren’t just darkness; they felt alive, cold and sticky as they climbed higher, wrapping around my waist and pulling me forward.
“No!” I screamed, finally finding my voice. I clawed at the wall, at the floor, but there was nothing to hold onto.
“You called me,” it said again, stepping closer. Its face loomed over mine, blocking out everything else. “You answered. That’s all it takes.”
I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to block it out, trying to will it all away. But its voice was inside me now, echoing in my head.
“I’ve been waiting for so long,” it whispered. “And now, you’ll wait too.”
I don’t know what happened next. The world shifted, like the ground beneath me disappeared. For a moment, there was only silence—deep, oppressive silence—and then the sensation of falling.
When I opened my eyes, I was no longer in my apartment.
I was in the hallway, but it wasn’t mine. It stretched endlessly in both directions, lined with doors that didn’t belong to me, didn’t belong anywhere. The air was thick and still, the kind of quiet that made my ears ring.
And then I saw it.
It was me. Or at least, it looked like me. It stood at the far end of the hallway, staring back at me with those wide, dark eyes. It didn’t smile this time. It just watched.
I tried to move, but my feet wouldn’t obey. I tried to scream, but no sound came out. I was trapped.
And then, slowly, it turned and began to walk away.
I don’t know how long I stood there, watching it disappear into the endless stretch of doors and shadows. Minutes? Hours? Time didn’t feel real anymore.
Eventually, I heard something—a faint sound, distant but growing louder.
It was a phone ringing.
I looked down, and there it was, glowing faintly in the dim light of the hallway floor. My phone.
It was vibrating, buzzing insistently, as if demanding I answer.
The screen lit up, showing a name I didn’t recognize. But as the ringing continued, the name changed, morphing letter by letter.
Until it read: Mom.
I didn’t want to pick it up. Every part of me screamed not to. But my hand moved on its own, reaching for the phone, fingers brushing against the cold glass.
I lifted it to my ear, heart hammering in my chest.
“Hello?” I whispered.
And then, in a voice that sounded just like mine, I heard:
“Sweetheart, I’ve been waiting for you.”
The call disconnected.
And the hallway went dark.
Without thinking, I opened my call log and tapped on my mom’s number. She always told me to call, no matter how late. “If you’re ever feeling off,” she’d say, “just call me.” So I did.
It rang twice before she answered.
“Hello?”
Her voice was soft, like she’d been sleeping. But there was something off. The way she said “hello” was too slow, almost deliberate, like she was trying to mimic how she usually sounded.
“Hey, Mom. Sorry, did I wake you?”
There was a long pause. Too long. Then she said, “No… you didn’t wake me, sweetheart.”
My stomach tightened. She sounded like her, but the way she said “sweetheart” made my skin crawl. The word stretched unnaturally, each syllable dripping with something I couldn’t place.
“Are you okay?” I asked, sitting up. My voice cracked a little.
“I’m fine,” she said, but her tone was wrong. It was flat, emotionless, like she was reading a script.
A chill ran down my spine. “Mom… is something wrong?”
The line crackled. I thought I heard her whisper something, but I couldn’t make it out.
“What did you say?” I asked, my voice louder now.
Silence.
“Mom?”
The call ended.
I stared at my phone, my heart pounding in my chest. The screen showed the call had lasted one minute and eleven seconds.
I didn’t hesitate—I called her again. This time, she picked up right away.
“Hey, honey,” she said, her voice warm and familiar. “What’s wrong? Why are you calling so late?”
My breath caught in my throat. “Mom… I just called you. A minute ago. You answered, but—” I stopped myself. How was I supposed to explain this without sounding insane?
She laughed softly. “Sweetheart, you didn’t call me. I’ve been asleep.”
“No, I did. You answered. We talked—well, kind of. It didn’t sound like you, though.”
“Maybe you dreamed it,” she said. But her voice carried a hint of unease now.
I shook my head, even though she couldn’t see me. “It wasn’t a dream.”
There was a pause. Then she said, “Honey, I swear I haven’t been on the phone tonight. Are you sure you’re okay?”
I wanted to believe her. I really did. But that voice… it wasn’t a dream.
“Yeah,” I lied. “I’m fine. Sorry for waking you.”
“It’s okay,” she said, her voice soft again. “Call me if you need me, okay? I love you.”
“Love you too.”
When the call ended, I sat there, staring at the screen. My hands were shaking, and the room felt colder than before.
I didn’t call her again that night. But I couldn’t shake the sound of that voice, the way it had dragged my name out like it was testing the word. It sounded like my mom, but it wasn’t her.
It couldn’t have been.
I couldn’t sleep after that. I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, listening to the faint hum of the streetlights outside. My phone sat on the nightstand, screen dark, but I kept glancing at it like it might light up on its own.
The sound of her voice—that voice—played in my head on a loop. Slow, stretched, too deliberate. It was wrong, but it wasn’t entirely foreign. That’s what scared me the most.
At some point, I must’ve dozed off, but when I woke up, the clock read 3:12 a.m. I hadn’t set an alarm. The silence in my room felt heavier than usual, like the air itself had thickened.
Then, the phone rang.
I jumped, heart slamming against my ribs. The screen glowed, illuminating the room just enough for me to see the caller ID: Mom.
My hand hovered over the phone, hesitating. I told myself it was nothing. Just a normal call. Maybe she couldn’t sleep either.
I answered, trying to steady my voice. “Hello?”
But all I heard was static.
“Mom?” I said again, louder this time.
A crackling noise came through, sharp and grating, like an old radio struggling to tune into a station. Then, faintly, I heard my name.
“Sweetheart…”
My skin prickled. It was the same voice as before. Slow. Drawn out. Mocking.
“Who is this?” I demanded, gripping the phone so tightly my knuckles ached.
The voice ignored me. “It’s so late… you should be sleeping.”
I froze. The way it spoke felt personal, like it knew me, like it had been watching me.
“What do you want?” My voice cracked.
The static grew louder, drowning out the voice for a moment. Then, clear as day, it said, “Come find me.”
I hung up, throwing the phone onto the bed like it had burned me. My breathing was shallow, my chest tight.
For a while, I just sat there, staring at the phone, waiting for it to ring again. It didn’t.
Instead, there was a sound from outside my room. A faint creak, like someone had stepped on the floorboard in the hallway.
I told myself it was nothing. Just the old apartment settling. But then I heard it again, closer this time.
“Hello?” I called out, my voice shaky.
No answer.
I grabbed my phone and turned on the flashlight, the beam cutting through the darkness. Slowly, I got out of bed and crept toward the door.
The hallway was empty. Nothing but shadows. But the air felt colder out here, like something unseen was lurking just beyond the reach of the light.
Then I saw it.
My mom’s voice wasn’t the only thing that had been wrong. There, at the end of the hallway, was my reflection in the hallway mirror. But it wasn’t moving like me.
It was standing still, staring at me with wide, empty eyes. And then it smiled.
I froze, unable to look away. The reflection’s smile was wrong, stretched too wide, teeth gleaming in the dim light from my phone’s flashlight. My legs felt heavy, but I forced myself to take a step closer, each movement slow and hesitant.
The air in the hallway felt different now—denser, like walking through water. My breath came in shallow gasps, and my grip on the phone tightened, the light trembling as I moved.
“Who… who are you?” My voice barely rose above a whisper.
The reflection didn’t respond. It just stood there, grinning at me with a mockery of my own face. My hand twitched, the one holding the phone, and I realized it wasn’t even trying to mimic my movements anymore.
I stepped closer. The closer I got, the more I noticed little things about it—subtle differences. Its eyes were darker, almost black, and the skin around them seemed sunken, like it hadn’t slept in days.
And then it moved.
Not like a person, though. It jerked, its head tilting unnaturally to one side as its grin widened even further. My stomach churned.
“Stop it,” I said, my voice louder now. “You’re not real.”
It cocked its head, as if considering me. Then, it raised its hand. My hand. But instead of mimicking the way I held the phone, it pointed directly at me.
The hallway light flickered. My heart pounded so loudly I could barely hear myself think.
“I said, stop it!” I screamed this time, and my voice echoed down the hallway.
The reflection’s lips moved, forming words I couldn’t hear. It mouthed something, slow and deliberate, its dark eyes locked onto mine. I couldn’t understand it, but whatever it was saying made my skin crawl.
My phone buzzed in my hand, startling me so badly that I nearly dropped it. I glanced down—another call. Mom.
I hesitated, my thumb hovering over the screen. The reflection didn’t move, but its grin faltered for just a moment, like it knew what I was about to do.
I answered. “Hello?”
This time, her voice was clear. “Honey, are you okay? You sound out of breath.”
Relief washed over me, but it was quickly replaced by confusion. “Mom? Where are you?”
“I’m at home, sweetheart. It’s late—why are you calling so much?” Her tone was calm, gentle, but something about it felt… off.
I glanced back at the mirror. The reflection wasn’t there anymore. The hallway was empty, just my own flashlight beam shaking against the walls.
“Mom, I didn’t—” My voice faltered. “You called me.”
There was a long pause on the other end of the line. “No, I didn’t,” she said slowly. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
My throat tightened. I could still feel that dense, oppressive air around me, even though the hallway looked normal again.
“Yeah, I… I’m fine,” I lied.
“Okay. Get some rest, alright? You sound like you’ve had a long day.”
“Sure,” I said quickly. “Goodnight.”
I hung up before she could say anything else and stared at the mirror again. The glass was empty, just a reflection of the dim hallway. I took a step closer, the floor creaking beneath my bare feet.
I reached out, my hand trembling as I touched the surface. It was cold, much colder than it should’ve been.
And then, faintly, I heard it—her voice. But it wasn’t coming from the phone this time.
It was coming from behind the mirror.
The voice whispered my name, soft and low, like the way you might hum a lullaby. It wasn’t my mother’s voice anymore—not really. It had the same tone, the same rhythm, but it felt hollow, like someone was trying too hard to mimic her.
My hand shot back from the mirror, and I stumbled a few steps away, my back hitting the wall. The phone in my hand buzzed again, and I almost dropped it. Mom, the screen said.
I didn’t answer this time. I couldn’t. My thumb hovered over the screen as her voice whispered again, this time clearer.
“Why won’t you answer me, sweetheart?” The words slithered out from the mirror like they were alive, crawling into my ears and wrapping around my chest. “You always call me, don’t you? Don’t you want to hear my voice?”
I shook my head, squeezing my eyes shut. “You’re not real,” I muttered, more to myself than to the thing behind the glass. “This isn’t real.”
The air seemed heavier now, pressing against my chest like a weight. When I opened my eyes, the reflection was back. Only this time, it wasn’t just standing there.
It was closer.
Its face was inches from the surface of the mirror, but it wasn’t my face anymore. The skin was pale, stretched tight over sharp cheekbones. Its eyes were sunken, black pits that seemed to drink in the light from my phone.
And it was still smiling.
I didn’t move. I couldn’t. My legs felt like they were locked in place, my breath coming in short, shallow gasps.
“You don’t look happy to see me,” it said, its voice echoing faintly, like it was speaking from the bottom of a well.
It tilted its head, studying me. Its smile grew wider, impossibly wide, splitting its face in half.
“I’ve been waiting,” it whispered. “So long. For you.”
My stomach twisted, and I forced myself to look away. My phone buzzed again, the sound jarring in the oppressive silence.
Mom.
This time, I answered. “Mom?”
Her voice was frantic. “Honey, are you okay? You’re scaring me.”
“I…” My voice cracked. I glanced back at the mirror. The thing inside it was still watching me, its black eyes gleaming with something that looked like hunger. “Mom, where are you?”
“I told you, I’m at home. Are you sure you’re okay? You’re not making any sense.”
“Stay there,” I said quickly. “Don’t—don’t leave the house.”
“What’s going on?” she asked, her voice rising. “You’re scaring me, sweetheart.”
I didn’t answer. My eyes were locked on the mirror as the thing inside it reached out, its hand pressing against the glass. The surface rippled like water, and my stomach dropped.
“You shouldn’t have answered,” it said, its voice dripping with malice. “You opened the door.”
The glass cracked under its hand, thin fractures spreading like spiderwebs. I took a step back, my heart hammering in my chest.
“Mom,” I said into the phone, my voice shaking. “If anything happens—if I don’t call you back—just stay where you are, okay? Don’t come here.”
“What are you talking about?” she demanded. “What’s happening?”
The mirror shattered.
I screamed, dropping the phone as shards of glass flew in every direction. But there was no sound of them hitting the floor, no clatter or crash.
When I looked back, the hallway was empty. The mirror was gone.
But the voice wasn’t.
It was behind me now.
The voice came from just behind my ear, soft and low.
“Sweetheart,” it whispered, drawing the word out like it enjoyed tasting every syllable.
I spun around, heart pounding so hard it felt like it might burst. There was nothing there. The hallway stretched out in front of me, the dim light from the single bulb overhead flickering like it couldn’t decide whether to stay on or go out.
I fumbled for my phone, which lay face down on the floor where I’d dropped it. My fingers trembled as I picked it up, pressing it to my ear.
“Mom?” I croaked.
There was no response. Just static.
“Mom, please,” I said, my voice breaking. “Say something.”
The static shifted, crackling like someone was breathing into the phone. Then came a laugh—a soft, low chuckle that didn’t belong to her.
“You really thought she could help you?” the voice asked. It sounded closer now, more distinct. It wasn’t coming from the phone anymore.
I turned slowly, every nerve in my body screaming at me to run, but my legs wouldn’t obey. The air behind me felt colder, heavier, like the space itself was being swallowed up by something unseen.
The hallway seemed longer than it had before, stretching into darkness that didn’t belong in my apartment. At the end of it, a figure stood, barely visible in the flickering light.
It wasn’t me, but it was.
It had my face, my posture, even the way I held my arms close to my body when I was scared. But its eyes were wrong. They were too wide, too dark, and they didn’t blink.
“Why are you running?” it asked, its voice layered with mine and something deeper, more guttural. “You called me, remember?”
I couldn’t move. My back pressed against the wall as it started walking toward me, each step deliberate, as if it wanted me to feel every second of its approach.
“I’ve been waiting,” it said. Its mouth didn’t move when it spoke, but the words were clear. “Do you know how long I’ve been waiting?”
It stopped a few feet away, tilting its head to the side in a mockery of curiosity. Its grin stretched impossibly wide, splitting its face in a way that didn’t seem possible.
“Who are you?” I whispered, my voice barely audible.
It laughed again, the sound echoing around me. “You know who I am,” it said. “You’ve always known. You just didn’t want to admit it.”
“I don’t—”
It moved faster than I could react, closing the distance between us in a single, jerky motion. Its face was inches from mine now, and I could feel the cold radiating off its skin.
“You let me in,” it whispered. “When you picked up the phone. When you answered her voice.”
I shook my head, tears streaming down my face. “No,” I said, my voice breaking. “I didn’t mean to.”
“Doesn’t matter,” it said, grinning wider. “You’re mine now.”
The flickering light above us went out completely, plunging the hallway into darkness. My phone screen was the only source of light, casting a faint glow on the thing’s face.
And then it reached for me.
I stumbled backward, but there was nowhere to go. The wall behind me was unyielding, cold as ice. My breath came in shallow gasps, each one clouding the air in front of me as if the temperature had dropped ten degrees in an instant.
Its hand—my hand—reached out, pale and unnatural in the dim light of my phone screen. I tried to scream, but no sound came out. My voice, the one thing I could rely on, felt stolen.
“You won’t feel a thing,” it said. Its grin stretched wider than ever, splitting its face so grotesquely it hardly looked human anymore. “You’ll just… fade.”
I slammed my fist against the wall behind me, desperate for a way out. My eyes darted to the hallway, but it was different now—endless and dark, stretching into nothingness. My apartment, my sanctuary, was gone.
“Please,” I whispered, barely able to form the word.
It tilted its head, almost as if considering my plea. Then, in a voice that was half-mocking, half-genuine, it said, “You don’t even know what you’re begging for.”
The shadows around us thickened, rising like smoke, curling around my legs. They weren’t just darkness; they felt alive, cold and sticky as they climbed higher, wrapping around my waist and pulling me forward.
“No!” I screamed, finally finding my voice. I clawed at the wall, at the floor, but there was nothing to hold onto.
“You called me,” it said again, stepping closer. Its face loomed over mine, blocking out everything else. “You answered. That’s all it takes.”
I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to block it out, trying to will it all away. But its voice was inside me now, echoing in my head.
“I’ve been waiting for so long,” it whispered. “And now, you’ll wait too.”
I don’t know what happened next. The world shifted, like the ground beneath me disappeared. For a moment, there was only silence—deep, oppressive silence—and then the sensation of falling.
When I opened my eyes, I was no longer in my apartment.
I was in the hallway, but it wasn’t mine. It stretched endlessly in both directions, lined with doors that didn’t belong to me, didn’t belong anywhere. The air was thick and still, the kind of quiet that made my ears ring.
And then I saw it.
It was me. Or at least, it looked like me. It stood at the far end of the hallway, staring back at me with those wide, dark eyes. It didn’t smile this time. It just watched.
I tried to move, but my feet wouldn’t obey. I tried to scream, but no sound came out. I was trapped.
And then, slowly, it turned and began to walk away.
I don’t know how long I stood there, watching it disappear into the endless stretch of doors and shadows. Minutes? Hours? Time didn’t feel real anymore.
Eventually, I heard something—a faint sound, distant but growing louder.
It was a phone ringing.
I looked down, and there it was, glowing faintly in the dim light of the hallway floor. My phone.
It was vibrating, buzzing insistently, as if demanding I answer.
The screen lit up, showing a name I didn’t recognize. But as the ringing continued, the name changed, morphing letter by letter.
Until it read: Mom.
I didn’t want to pick it up. Every part of me screamed not to. But my hand moved on its own, reaching for the phone, fingers brushing against the cold glass.
I lifted it to my ear, heart hammering in my chest.
“Hello?” I whispered.
And then, in a voice that sounded just like mine, I heard:
“Sweetheart, I’ve been waiting for you.”
The call disconnected.
And the hallway went dark.
The Watcher's Signal
PROLOGUE
Elias Rourke wrote in his journal as a storm battered the island. Lightning lit up the cliffs, and waves pounded the rocks below the lighthouse. He’d seen storms before, but this one felt wrong. The air was heavy, and the wind carried sounds that didn’t belong—low whispers just at the edge of hearing.
The light wasn’t working properly. He’d disconnected the machinery earlier, but it still flashed, throwing erratic beams into the night. Rourke noted this in his journal, trying to stay logical. But things were happening that logic couldn’t explain.
His dreams had changed. Each night, he saw his wife—long dead—waiting for him in places they’d never been together. In these dreams, shadows stood behind her, watching him. He woke up drenched in sweat, the whispers from the wind still in his ears.
The journal entries became frantic. He wrote about ships appearing on the horizon. They didn’t move like real ships. Some were broken, with torn sails. Others vanished as quickly as they came. He smashed the lighthouse lens in desperation. By morning, it was whole again.
In his final entry, Rourke wrote: "I tried to leave. The boat brought me back. I broke the light. It rebuilt itself. This place takes what you can’t bear to lose. If you see the light, turn away. Don’t let it see you."
The pages ended there. Outside, the lighthouse stood silent, its beam slicing through the dark, as if waiting for something new.
CHAPTER 1
The email was short. It came from someone named David Rhodes. I didn’t know him, but his message intrigued me.
Dr. Kane,
I’m writing to invite you to join a field study on a phenomenon we believe is connected to unexplained energy anomalies. The site is an abandoned lighthouse on an uninhabited island. I’ve read your work and believe your expertise is vital. If you’re interested, we can meet to discuss the details.
Best,
David Rhodes
I read it twice, then a third time. It wasn’t unusual for people to contact me about strange phenomena. Most of the time, their claims didn’t hold up. They’d seen something they couldn’t explain and assumed it was groundbreaking. But something about this felt different. The lighthouse’s location wasn’t listed, and the tone was straightforward. No fluff. Just enough to get my attention.
I replied the same day.
We met at a small coffee shop near the coast. David was younger than I expected, maybe mid-thirties, with a weathered look that came from too much time outdoors. He had a thick folder with him.
“Thank you for meeting me,” he said, sliding the folder across the table.
Inside were old photos of the lighthouse. Most were grainy, but a few were clear. The light beam looked strange in some of them, as if it wasn’t just illuminating the night but cutting through it.
“These are from the 1940s,” David said. “The lighthouse was decommissioned in 1937, but locals kept seeing the light. They say it’s never fully gone out.”
I studied the photos. One showed a shipwreck near the island, the hull cracked open like an egg. Another was a journal entry—the handwriting messy, the words desperate.
“Do you believe in ghosts?” David asked suddenly.
“No,” I said. “But I believe in unexplained energy fields."
He nodded, like that was the answer he’d expected.
“There’s something about this place,” he said. “I’ve been researching it for years. People see things when they get close. Ships go off course. Instruments fail. It’s like the lighthouse messes with reality itself.”
“And you think it’s connected to an energy anomaly?” I asked.
David shrugged. “I think it’s dangerous. But you’re the expert. That’s why I need you.”
We set out a week later. The team consisted of four people: me, David, a survivalist named Tom Halstead, and Angela Vega, who seemed more interested in filming everything than in the lighthouse itself.
We all gathered at Cloudy's Pub, a local pub off the shoreline from the lighthouse. The pub smelled of salt and damp wood. A soft hum of voices filled the air as locals shared stories over pints. I sat at a corner table, running my finger along the edge of a weathered map. My eyes flicked to the lighthouse’s mark on the map—a small black X surrounded by nothing but open sea and coastlines.
David Rhodes was the first to arrive. He approached the table with a leather-bound notebook tucked under his arm. His clothes were neat, though his glasses perched crookedly on his nose. He set the notebook down with care, like it contained something fragile.
“Dr. Kane, pleasure to meet you again,” he said, his voice measured and calm. “This lighthouse, it’s an enigma. Did you know that over thirty ships disappeared in its vicinity in the late 1800s?”
I nodded. “I read some of the records. But I’m more interested in the energy readings. The patterns are… unusual.”
He adjusted his glasses. “Unusual doesn’t begin to cover it. This place has a history that defies logic.”
Before I could reply, Angela Vega burst through the door. She wore a bright yellow jacket that seemed out of place in the dim pub. A camera hung around her neck, and her phone was already in her hand.
“Hey, are you Dr. Kane?” she asked, her tone light and eager. She pulled out a chair and sat before I could answer. “This is going to be epic. The lighthouse looks so creepy from the shore. My followers are going to love this.”
David frowned. “This isn’t a sightseeing trip, Miss Vega. We’re here to investigate.”
“Exactly,” she said, grinning. “And I’m here to document it. People eat this stuff up.”
Tom Halstead arrived last. He moved with purpose, his heavy boots scuffing against the floor. A backpack sagged on his shoulders, packed full of gear. He scanned the room before settling into the seat next to Angela. He looked at each of us in turn, his expression unreadable.
“So,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “Who’s actually in charge here?”
I cleared my throat. “I organized the trip. But we’re a team. Everyone’s input matters.”
Tom raised an eyebrow. “Sure. Just don’t expect me to buy into ghost stories.”
“It’s not about ghosts,” I said, keeping my voice steady. “There’s an unexplained energy signature coming from the lighthouse. That’s why we’re here.”
Angela smirked. “Energy, ghosts, shipwrecks. Whatever it is, it’s going to make a great story.”
David opened his notebook. “The lighthouse has been abandoned for decades. But there are accounts of strange lights and sounds, even as far back as the 19th century.”
“Accounts from drunk sailors,” Tom muttered.
“Not all of them,” David countered. “Some were experienced navigators. They reported seeing lights when the tower was dark, or hearing the sound of a foghorn when there was no mist.”
Tom leaned forward. “And what do you think? That the place is cursed?”
David hesitated, then shook his head. “I think there’s something there we don’t understand.”
I looked at the map again, tracing the coastline with my finger. “Whatever it is, we’ll find out. But we need to be prepared. The island’s isolated, and the weather can turn fast.”
Tom nodded. “I’ve got the gear we’ll need. But if anyone’s having second thoughts, now’s the time to speak up.”
Nobody said anything. The silence hung heavy, charged with a mix of excitement and unease.
“Alright then,” I said. “We leave at first light.”
The boat ride to the island was unnerving. The water grew unnaturally still as we approached. The air felt heavier, like it carried more than just moisture. Angela pointed her camera at the horizon and frowned.
“That’s weird,” she said. “The lens is picking up… static? I’ve never seen that before.”
I looked out at the lighthouse. It seemed to loom over the island, taller than it had any right to be. The beam was faint, but it moved steadily, cutting across the dark water.
“It’s not running on any power source I know of,” I said.
“It’s been like that for decades,” David said. “No one’s been able to explain it.”
CHAPTER 2
The boat rocked gently as the engine hummed. The mainland had already disappeared behind us, swallowed by the horizon. Tom sat at the helm, hands steady on the wheel, his face locked in concentration. Angela stood at the bow, her camera angled at the endless stretch of water. She was narrating for her audience, but the wind swallowed her voice.
David was beside me, flipping through his leather-bound journal. Every so often, he jotted a note or tapped the page as though solving some puzzle only he could see.
I tried to focus on the instruments in my lap. The portable electromagnetic field reader had been calibrated that morning, but the numbers didn’t make sense. The readings spiked and dropped, like a signal trying to break through static.
“It’s acting up again,” I muttered.
David glanced over. “What does it mean?”
“Nothing good,” I said. “Or maybe everything good, depending on your perspective.”
The sea stretched smooth and still, unnaturally calm. Tom leaned back and called out, “This is eerie. Where’s the chop?”
I nodded. He was right. Even with perfect weather, the ocean should have shown some resistance. A wave, a ripple, something.
Angela turned, camera in hand. “What are you two whispering about? Don’t keep the mystery to yourselves.”
“Just noticing the water,” I said.
“It’s dead calm,” Tom added, without looking away from the horizon.
“That’s perfect for filming,” Angela said, smiling. “My viewers are going to love this.” She lifted her camera again, but a frown crossed her face as she watched the playback.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“There’s... I don’t know. It’s glitchy.” She tilted the screen toward me.
The footage looked normal at first. Clear skies, smooth water, the faint outline of Tom steering the boat. But then came a flash—quick, almost imperceptible. I asked her to rewind it.
The flash came again. This time, I caught it. A shadow, tall and thin, swept across the frame. It was gone before I could make sense of it.
“Could be an issue with your camera,” I suggested.
She shook her head. “This camera doesn’t glitch.”
Tom cut the engine. “You guys seeing this?”
Ahead of us, the lighthouse emerged. Its silhouette was sharp against the pale sky. From a distance, it looked no different than the pictures I’d studied. But as we drew closer, it seemed to grow. Not just taller—larger in every way. The proportions felt wrong, like the tower was leaning toward us.
“That thing’s huge,” David said.
“It wasn’t that big in the photos,” Angela added.
I checked my compass. The needle spun wildly, refusing to settle. The GPS on my tablet displayed nothing but error codes.
Tom noticed my reaction. “What’s going on with your tech?”
“Same thing as before,” I said. “It’s like everything’s being scrambled.”
The lighthouse flickered. Its beam swept across the sea, even though it hadn’t been operational in decades. The light didn’t seem natural. It pulsed in uneven intervals, dimming and brightening as though alive.
We reached the beach a few minutes later. Rusted metal jutted out of the sand—pieces of old shipwrecks. Bones lay scattered among the wreckage, their surfaces almost polished. Too clean.
Angela stepped off the boat first, camera already rolling. “This place is amazing,” she said, her excitement masking any unease.
Tom followed, shouldering a pack of gear. “This is a bad idea,” he muttered.
David knelt to examine a bone. “Human,” he said.
I stepped onto the sand last, my gaze fixed on the lighthouse. The pulsing light was slower now, deliberate. Each flash seemed to carry weight, like a signal I couldn’t decode.
Tom looked at me. “You okay?”
“Fine,” I said, though I wasn’t sure if I believed it.
I picked up a small piece of glass and realized it was part of a lens, like the kind used in old lighthouses. It was warm to the touch.
Something about the island felt wrong. And I had a feeling it wasn’t going to get better.
“This isn’t normal,” I said, mostly to myself.
David looked at me. “That’s why we’re here.”
CHAPTER 3
The lighthouse door creaked as Tom pushed it open. A stale, damp smell hit us immediately. The air inside was colder, heavy like it carried its own weight. I stepped in behind him, my flashlight cutting through the dark.
The space felt abandoned, yet untouched. Thick layers of dust coated the floor, but the air itself buzzed faintly. It reminded me of the charge you feel before a storm.
“Don’t split up,” Tom said, his voice low.
“No one’s splitting up,” I replied.
Angela was already filming, her camera light bouncing off the walls. “This is so creepy,” she whispered. “It’s perfect.”
David lingered near the entrance, staring at the walls. “Look at these,” he said, pointing to strange carvings.
I moved closer. The symbols were etched deep into the stone. They looked like constellations, but the patterns didn’t match anything I recognized. Beside them were diagrams—circles within circles, intersecting lines, and jagged shapes that seemed to radiate outward.
“What do you think they mean?” David asked.
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “But whoever made these was trying to communicate something.”
Angela’s camera beeped as she zoomed in on the carvings. “Maybe your followers can figure it out,” Tom muttered.
“I’m documenting history,” she shot back, unfazed.
Something glinted in the corner of the room. I walked toward it and found an old leather-bound book on a rusted table. The cover was worn, the edges frayed, but the name “Elias Rourke” was faintly visible.
“His journal,” I said, holding it up.
David’s eyes lit up. “That’s priceless,” he said, reaching for it.
I handed it over, and he carefully flipped through the pages. The handwriting was messy, the ink faded, but the words were legible.
“‘The light behaves as if it’s alive,’” David read aloud. “‘It calls to us, but its whispers grow louder each night.’”
Angela turned to him, lowering her camera. “Whispers? Like voices?”
“I guess so,” he said, frowning.
As if on cue, a faint sound drifted through the room. It wasn’t the wind, and it wasn’t us. It was low, fragmented, almost like a conversation just out of earshot.
“Did you hear that?” Angela asked, her voice tight.
“Yeah,” Tom said, gripping his flashlight like a weapon.
“It’s probably the wind moving through cracks,” I said, though I didn’t believe it.
Angela stepped further into the room, her camera catching something on the wall. “Wait. Look at this.”
We gathered around an old photograph hanging crookedly on the stone. The edges were yellowed, the image slightly blurred. It showed a group of men in heavy coats, standing in front of the lighthouse. Elias Rourke was in the center, his face stern and weathered.
But it wasn’t just them.
Behind the men were faint shapes, like figures caught in motion. I leaned in, squinting. My heart skipped.
The shapes were us.
Angela with her camera, David holding his journal, Tom gripping his gear, and me staring at the photo. We were all there, faint but unmistakable.
“That’s not possible,” I said.
Angela stepped back, her camera shaking. “This is insane.”
Tom grabbed the photo off the wall and stared at it. “It’s a trick,” he said, but his voice wasn’t convincing.
David flipped through the journal again, faster this time. “He wrote about time being different here. He thought the light affected it.”
“Great,” Tom said. “Now we’re part of some lighthouse ghost story?”
The whispers grew louder.
“Let’s keep moving,” I said. I didn’t have answers, but standing still wasn’t going to help.
As we climbed the stairs, I couldn’t shake the feeling that the light wasn’t just drawing us in—it had been waiting for us.
CHAPTER 4
Night fell quickly. The temperature dropped, and the silence around the lighthouse deepened. I stayed near the control panel, examining the equipment. It was outdated but strangely intact, as if someone had been maintaining it.
Angela had her camera out, filming the light’s lens. Tom stood by the window, watching the sea. David flipped through Elias’s journal, mumbling notes to himself.
Then, it happened.
The lens flared to life without warning. Its beam cut through the room, illuminating everything in an eerie, shifting glow. The light felt alive, like it was searching.
“What the hell?” Tom said, shielding his eyes.
“I didn’t touch anything,” I said quickly.
Angela pointed her camera at the lens. “It’s... beautiful,” she said. Her voice was distant, almost hypnotized.
The room began to hum. Not loudly, but enough to rattle my chest. The air felt heavy again, like earlier. But this time, it was worse.
And then the visions began.
I was in a lecture hall. It was my old university, but something was off. The walls were too smooth, the light too dim. My students sat in neat rows, staring at me. Their faces were blurred, indistinct.
I opened my mouth to speak, but the floor started to flood. Water rushed in from nowhere, rising fast. I tried to move, but my feet wouldn’t budge.
Through the glass of the lecture hall door, I saw myself. Not this version of me, but another. She stared back, her expression unreadable. Then she whispered, “It’s already too late.”
The water rose past my knees. I gasped for air—
And then I was back in the lighthouse. My breath came in short, shallow bursts.
David sat on the floor, pale and shaking. “I was on a ship,” he said, staring at his hands. “It was sinking. I was dressed like... like someone from the 1800s.” He looked at us, desperate. “It felt real.”
Angela lowered her camera. Her face was blank, but her hands trembled. “I was filming,” she said quietly. “Here, in this room. But my reflection... it was smiling.” She met my eyes. “I wasn’t.”
Tom stayed silent for a long moment. Finally, he muttered, “I was in a war. But it wasn’t like before. I wasn’t fighting. I was... the one being hunted.”
The light continued to glow, casting shifting shadows across the room.
“This is... some kind of energy anomaly,” I said, though I barely believed my own words. “The light—it’s triggering something in our brains.”
“No,” Angela said, her voice sharp. “This isn’t just in our heads. This is something else.”
The light flared again, brighter this time. The whispers from earlier returned, but now they were louder, clearer. They came from everywhere and nowhere.
“We have to turn it off,” Tom said, stepping toward the lens.
“Don’t touch it!” I snapped. I didn’t know what it would do, but I wasn’t ready to find out.
David stood, clutching Elias’s journal. “He wrote about this,” he said, flipping to a page near the end. “‘The light sees us. It shows us what we can’t hide.’”
The words sent a chill through me.
“What does that even mean?” Angela asked, her voice shaking.
“I don’t know,” David said.
The beam shifted, its glow sweeping over the walls. For a brief moment, the carvings lit up, their patterns glowing faintly. Then the light dimmed, and the hum stopped.
The room fell silent again.
No one moved.
Finally, Angela whispered, “What just happened?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “But this isn’t over.”
CHAPTER 5
We decided to leave. The air in the lighthouse felt heavier with every passing minute. Something was wrong.
“Let’s get out of here,” Tom said, his voice firm. Angela and David nodded. I didn’t argue.
We headed toward the stairs, but they didn’t lead to the door. We climbed down, but when we reached the bottom, we were back where we started—on the same floor.
“That doesn’t make sense,” Angela said, clutching her camera.
“Try again,” Tom said.
We climbed down again, this time faster. The steps seemed endless. When we stopped, the same room waited for us.
“This isn’t possible,” I said. I leaned against the wall, catching my breath. “The stairs are looping.”
“Maybe we missed a turn,” David said, though he didn’t sound convinced.
“We didn’t,” I replied.
We tried other routes. A hallway appeared where there shouldn’t have been one, leading to a room that felt out of place. It was filled with strange objects: a Victorian dress draped over a chair, rusted swords mounted on the walls, and a tablet glowing faintly on a table.
“What is this?” Angela asked, picking up the tablet. It didn’t turn on.
“These things don’t belong here,” I said, running my fingers over the dress. It felt real. The sword was rusted, but sharp. The mix of objects made no sense—different eras, different places, all together in one room.
“Is this part of the lighthouse?” David asked.
“It can’t be,” I said. “This room shouldn’t exist.”
As we left the room, the shadows started moving. At first, they stayed in the corners, flickering like candlelight. But with each pass of the light beam, they grew bolder. I saw one stretch toward Angela, almost touching her before retreating.
“Did you see that?” I asked.
“See what?” Angela said, glancing around.
“The shadows. They’re moving,” I said.
Tom stepped forward, scanning the room. “You’re imagining things.”
“I’m not,” I said. But I couldn’t prove it.
David flipped through Elias’s journal, muttering to himself. Finally, he stopped. “Listen to this,” he said. “‘The light bends the boundaries. Past, present, and future bleed together. The shadows are what’s left behind.’”
“What does that mean?” Angela asked.
“It means the lens is doing this,” I said. “It’s creating a distortion—a kind of energy bridge between timelines.”
David shook his head. “Or it’s something else. Something supernatural. Sailors used to talk about soul-stealing lighthouses. What if this is one of them?”
“That’s ridiculous,” I said. “This is energy, not magic.”
“Can you prove that?” David shot back.
“I don’t need to,” I said. “The evidence is here. The light, the objects, the way space is warping—this is a physical phenomenon.”
“And the shadows? The visions? What’s your explanation for those?” he asked.
“I don’t know yet,” I admitted.
The argument was cut short by a loud creak. The beam of light swept over us, and the shadows surged forward. This time, everyone saw them.
“Run!” Tom shouted.
We bolted, taking another staircase. It didn’t matter where it led—anywhere was better than staying. But when we stopped, we were back where we started.
The lighthouse wasn’t letting us go.
CHAPTER 6
The stairs creaked under our weight as we climbed. The air grew colder the closer we got seemingly to the top once again. No one spoke. I could feel the tension in every step.
When we reached the chamber, the lens was there, as if waiting for us. It sat in the center of the room, glowing with a light that didn’t seem natural. The glow pulsed, faint at first, then stronger, like a heartbeat.
I stepped closer. The lens wasn’t just glass. It was crystalline, with sharp edges that caught the light and scattered it in strange patterns. Etched into its surface were symbols I didn’t recognize. They looked like writing, but not in any language I’d ever seen.
“This isn’t man-made,” I said. My voice was steady, but my mind raced.
“What do you mean?” Angela asked.
“Look at it,” I said, gesturing to the carvings. “No tool could make these cuts. And the way it glows—it’s not reflecting light. It’s generating it.”
David knelt by the walls. “There’s more,” he said.
We joined him. The walls were covered in carvings, just like the lens. Some showed ships crashing into rocks, their sails torn by the wind. Others showed figures in the water, their arms reaching out, their faces frozen in terror.
“This must’ve taken years to carve,” Angela said, tracing the lines with her fingers.
“Not if the same people who made the lens made these,” I said.
David pointed to one carving. It showed figures walking toward the lens. Their bodies became less distinct as they moved closer, until they were nothing but light.
“They’re... dissolving,” Angela said.
“They’re not dissolving,” David said. “They’re being taken.”
“Taken where?” Tom asked.
David didn’t answer.
I couldn’t look away from the image. My mind tried to make sense of it. If the lens was a receiver, like a radio picking up a signal, what was it receiving? And why did it need people?
“This isn’t supernatural,” I said, more to myself than anyone else. “It’s energy. Interdimensional energy, maybe. The carvings are just someone’s way of explaining what they saw.”
David turned to me. “Or it’s exactly what it looks like. A lighthouse that takes souls.”
“That’s not possible,” I said.
“Neither is this,” he shot back, gesturing at the lens.
The room fell silent. The light from the lens pulsed again, brighter this time. Shadows flickered along the walls, but none of us moved.
“This thing is ancient,” I said finally. “Older than the lighthouse. Maybe older than us. We have to figure out what it’s doing before it decides to do it to us.”
No one argued.
CHAPTER 7
The whispers were louder now, like a hundred voices speaking at once, their words twisting together until they became impossible to understand. Each breath I took felt heavier, like the air itself had weight.
Angela’s camera beeped, breaking the silence. She was staring at the screen, her face pale.
“What is it?” I asked.
“It’s... us,” she said. Her hands shook as she turned the screen toward me.
I leaned closer. The footage showed the room we were standing in, but it wasn’t the same. Tom was sprawled on the floor, blood pooling beneath him. Angela was slumped against a wall, her camera smashed at her feet. David was screaming, though I couldn’t hear what. And then there was me—frozen in place, staring at something out of frame.
“That’s not real,” I said.
“It hasn’t happened yet,” Angela whispered.
Tom moved toward the nearest window. “That’s it. We’re getting out of here.”
“Wait—” I started, but he ignored me.
He grabbed a chair and swung it at the glass. The sound of the impact echoed through the room. The glass cracked, spiderwebbing out from the point of contact, but before the shards could fall, they began to knit themselves back together.
Tom swung again. The same thing happened.
“It’s not letting us leave,” he said, turning to me. His voice was sharp, filled with blame. “You brought us here.”
“I didn’t know this would happen,” I said.
“You’re the scientist,” he snapped. “You should’ve known.”
“Arguing won’t help,” David said. He was crouched by the wall again, running his fingers over the carvings. “We need to figure out what this place is.”
“It’s a death trap,” Tom said.
“It’s more than that,” David said. He sounded calm, almost too calm. “These carvings—they’re not just stories. They’re instructions. Warnings.”
“For what?” Angela asked.
David didn’t answer. He kept tracing the symbols, muttering under his breath.
“David,” I said, stepping closer. “What do you see?”
“It’s all connected,” he said. “The lens, the carvings, the whispers. It’s feeding off us—our fears, our regrets. That’s how it works.”
“How do we stop it?” I asked.
He didn’t respond.
The light from the lens pulsed again, brighter this time. The shadows in the corners of the room stretched and shifted, creeping toward us. I felt a chill run down my spine.
“We’re running out of time,” I said.
Tom turned back to the window, his frustration boiling over. Angela stayed by the camera, her hands still trembling. And David... he wouldn’t stop staring at the wall.
The whispers grew louder. They weren’t just noise anymore. They were words, clear and deliberate.
“Stay,” they said.
I swallowed hard. My chest felt tight, like the room was closing in. I didn’t know if it was the lighthouse or something else, but the voice was right.
We couldn’t leave—not yet.
CHAPTER 8
The lens loomed above us, glowing with a pulse that made the air around it hum. Its crystalline surface shimmered, the alien symbols etched into it alive with energy. My breath hitched as I studied it. It wasn’t just a piece of technology; it was a living thing.
“We overload the backup generator,” I said, keeping my voice steady. “If we push it beyond its limit, the energy surge should destroy the lens.”
Angela gripped her camera tightly. “We have to document this. People need to know what happened here.”
Tom scoffed, pacing near the doorway. “If we don’t make it out, what difference does it make?” His face was pale, his usual bravado cracked.
“We’ll make it,” I said, though I wasn’t sure I believed it.
David was silent, staring at the carvings on the wall again. He hadn’t said much since we climbed back up.
“We need to move,” I urged. “The lighthouse won’t let this be easy.”
As if on cue, the room began to shift. The floor beneath us rippled like water. The staircases spiraled in impossible directions, folding back on themselves. I grabbed the edge of a table to steady myself.
“It’s trying to stop us,” Angela said, her voice trembling.
Tom laughed bitterly. “Yeah, no kidding.”
We moved cautiously, navigating the warped geometry of the lighthouse. The whispers were back, louder than before. They weren’t distant murmurs anymore—they were screams. Voices filled with anger, pain, and desperation.
“Do you hear that?” Angela asked.
“I hear it,” I said, trying to block it out.
We reached the generator room after what felt like hours, though my watch told me it had been only minutes. The walls here were slick with condensation, the air heavy with the scent of burnt metal.
I opened the panel and started rewiring the controls. My hands shook, but I forced myself to focus.
“Is it going to work?” Tom asked, standing guard by the door.
“It has to,” I said.
Angela set up her camera, pointing it at the generator and then back at me. “This is the truth,” she muttered to herself. “People need to see.”
David stepped forward, his face shadowed. “Wait.”
“What?” I asked without looking up.
“The carvings,” he said. “They’re warnings. Destroying the lens might not end this. It might make things worse.”
I paused, my fingers hovering over the wires. “Worse how?”
“I don’t know,” he admitted.
“We don’t have another option,” I said firmly. “We can’t leave it intact.”
Before he could respond, the door slammed shut. The temperature in the room dropped, and my breath turned to mist.
“They’re here,” Angela whispered.
The shadows in the corners of the room stretched and shifted. Figures emerged, stepping into the dim light. They were us—or versions of us.
I saw myself first. The doppelgänger’s eyes were hollow, its movements jerky and unnatural. It smiled, but it wasn’t a human expression.
“They’re not real,” I said, though my voice wavered.
Tom’s double lunged at him, forcing him to the ground. Angela screamed, backing into the wall as her copy advanced on her, its hands reaching for her throat.
“Keep them away from me!” Tom yelled.
I grabbed a wrench from the floor and swung it at the doppelgänger approaching me. It shattered like glass, its fragments dissolving into mist.
“Focus!” I shouted. “We have to finish this!”
David tackled his double, pinning it to the ground. Angela’s camera clattered to the floor as she kicked her doppelgänger away.
I turned back to the generator, forcing myself to block out the chaos. My fingers moved quickly, connecting wires and flipping switches. The hum of the machine grew louder, the lights in the room flickering.
“Now!” I yelled.
The generator surged. Sparks flew, and the room was bathed in a blinding white light. The lens above us cracked, a deafening sound like thunder echoing through the lighthouse.
The screams reached a crescendo and then stopped.
When the light faded, the room was silent. The lens was shattered, its pieces scattered across the floor.
“We did it,” I whispered.
Angela picked up her camera, her hands trembling. Tom leaned against the wall, breathing heavily. David stared at the shattered remains of the lens, his face unreadable.
But something didn’t feel right. The air was too still, too quiet. The lighthouse wasn’t done with us yet.
CHAPTER 9
The generator was ready, humming with unstable energy. I crouched beside it, my hands trembling as I adjusted the last connection. Angela hovered near me, her camera forgotten for once.
“We’re almost there,” I said, trying to steady my voice.
The lighthouse groaned around us. It wasn’t just a sound—it was a feeling, a pressure in my chest, like the place itself was alive and furious.
“We don’t have time,” Tom said sharply. He stood by the doorway with David, their eyes fixed on the hallway outside.
It was coming.
The shadows at the edge of the light twisted and stretched, forming something too large to be real. It wasn’t a shape I could describe. It moved in ways that defied logic, a mass of writhing blackness. The whispers we’d heard earlier had become guttural screams.
Tom gripped a rusted pipe he’d picked up earlier. “Get that thing running,” he barked.
I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. My fingers fumbled with the wires, trying to work faster.
The entity surged forward, spilling into the room like ink in water. The temperature plummeted, and I could feel it in my bones—an unnatural cold that sapped my strength.
David stepped in front of it, his body tense. “Go!” he shouted at me.
“David—” I started, but he cut me off.
“Just finish it!”
He charged at the thing with a broken chair leg, swinging wildly. It swallowed him whole. One moment he was there, and then he wasn’t.
“No!” Angela screamed.
Tom didn’t hesitate. He grabbed the remnants of a chair and hurled them at the entity. “Over here!” he yelled, drawing its attention.
The thing paused, as if it was considering him. Then it moved toward him, faster than I thought possible.
“Get it done, Kane!” he shouted, his voice strained as he swung the pipe.
I forced myself to turn back to the generator. My vision blurred, but I kept working. The hum grew louder, shaking the floor beneath us.
“Angela,” I said, my voice tight. “Help me with the switch.”
She dropped to her knees beside me, her hands trembling as she reached for the lever.
“I don’t know if this will work,” I admitted.
“It has to,” she whispered.
Behind us, Tom screamed.
I didn’t look.
“On three,” I said. “One, two—”
We pulled the lever together.
The generator roared to life, and the room filled with blinding light. The lens above us cracked, a jagged line splitting it in two.
The entity let out a sound I can only describe as a howl, deep and resonant. The pressure in the air lifted for a moment, then came crashing back.
The lens shattered completely. The explosion threw us to the ground. Shards of glass rained down, glittering like frozen stars.
The light swallowed everything.
I don’t remember hitting the floor. All I remember is the silence that followed.
And the darkness.
CHAPTER 10
I woke up on cold sand. The sound of waves breaking on the shore was rhythmic and calm, but it felt wrong, as if it didn’t belong. My head pounded.
The sky above me was unfamiliar. The stars were all wrong—constellations I couldn’t name. They shimmered faintly, too bright and too close. I sat up slowly, my limbs heavy and unsteady.
There was someone else nearby, curled up in the sand. Angela was her name. How did I know? A camera was slung over her shoulder, its lens cracked. She stirred and opened her eyes, blinking in confusion.
“Where…?” she whispered.
I didn’t know.
“Are you okay?” I asked. My voice sounded strange to me, hollow.
She nodded, but her eyes darted around, searching for answers. “Do you remember anything?”
I froze. Do I remember? The question should have been simple, but it wasn’t. My name came to me like a faint echo. Lenora Kane. That was all I had. Everything else was a blank space, heavy and suffocating.
“I don’t,” I admitted.
Angela checked her camera, her hands shaking. She hit a few buttons, then held it up to show me. Static filled the screen, buzzing and crackling. The sound made my teeth ache. Occasionally, an image broke through—Angela’s face, her eyes wide and filled with terror, her mouth forming words I couldn’t hear.
She dropped the camera in the sand and backed away from it, her breath shallow. “What is this? What happened to us?”
I didn’t answer. I couldn’t.
We sat there in silence for what felt like hours. The mainland stretched out behind us, but it didn’t feel real. The buildings looked normal, but there was something off about them, like they belonged to another world.
Angela stood first. “We need to figure out where we are.”
I nodded and followed her. My legs felt like lead. Every step was an effort.
The whispers started that night.
At first, I thought they were the wind moving through the empty rooms of the motel where we’d found shelter. But they had a rhythm, a cadence, almost like language. They came when I was alone.
I didn’t tell Angela.
One night, I stepped outside to look at the sky again. I couldn’t stop staring at the stars. They seemed alive, pulsing faintly, like they were watching me.
I found myself whispering back.
Angela caught me once.
“Who are you talking to?” she asked. Her voice was tight.
I turned to her, but I didn’t have an answer.
She didn’t press me, but I saw the fear in her eyes.
We never recovered our memories. Fragments came back sometimes—a flash of emotion, a sound, a scent—but they didn’t fit together. They were pieces of a puzzle with no edges, just floating in a void.
Angela’s camera stayed broken. She never touched it again.
Months passed, maybe longer. Time felt meaningless. I tried to focus on the present, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that something had been taken from me.
One evening, I saw a newspaper in a shop window. The headline caught my attention: Unexplained Beacon Draws Sailors to Island.
There was a photo of the lighthouse. Its light was faint, barely more than a flicker, but it was there.
I stared at the image until Angela pulled me away. “It doesn’t matter,” she said, her voice firm but trembling.
But it did matter.
Somewhere, on that island, it was still waiting.
The whispers grew louder that night.
Elias Rourke wrote in his journal as a storm battered the island. Lightning lit up the cliffs, and waves pounded the rocks below the lighthouse. He’d seen storms before, but this one felt wrong. The air was heavy, and the wind carried sounds that didn’t belong—low whispers just at the edge of hearing.
The light wasn’t working properly. He’d disconnected the machinery earlier, but it still flashed, throwing erratic beams into the night. Rourke noted this in his journal, trying to stay logical. But things were happening that logic couldn’t explain.
His dreams had changed. Each night, he saw his wife—long dead—waiting for him in places they’d never been together. In these dreams, shadows stood behind her, watching him. He woke up drenched in sweat, the whispers from the wind still in his ears.
The journal entries became frantic. He wrote about ships appearing on the horizon. They didn’t move like real ships. Some were broken, with torn sails. Others vanished as quickly as they came. He smashed the lighthouse lens in desperation. By morning, it was whole again.
In his final entry, Rourke wrote: "I tried to leave. The boat brought me back. I broke the light. It rebuilt itself. This place takes what you can’t bear to lose. If you see the light, turn away. Don’t let it see you."
The pages ended there. Outside, the lighthouse stood silent, its beam slicing through the dark, as if waiting for something new.
CHAPTER 1
The email was short. It came from someone named David Rhodes. I didn’t know him, but his message intrigued me.
Dr. Kane,
I’m writing to invite you to join a field study on a phenomenon we believe is connected to unexplained energy anomalies. The site is an abandoned lighthouse on an uninhabited island. I’ve read your work and believe your expertise is vital. If you’re interested, we can meet to discuss the details.
Best,
David Rhodes
I read it twice, then a third time. It wasn’t unusual for people to contact me about strange phenomena. Most of the time, their claims didn’t hold up. They’d seen something they couldn’t explain and assumed it was groundbreaking. But something about this felt different. The lighthouse’s location wasn’t listed, and the tone was straightforward. No fluff. Just enough to get my attention.
I replied the same day.
We met at a small coffee shop near the coast. David was younger than I expected, maybe mid-thirties, with a weathered look that came from too much time outdoors. He had a thick folder with him.
“Thank you for meeting me,” he said, sliding the folder across the table.
Inside were old photos of the lighthouse. Most were grainy, but a few were clear. The light beam looked strange in some of them, as if it wasn’t just illuminating the night but cutting through it.
“These are from the 1940s,” David said. “The lighthouse was decommissioned in 1937, but locals kept seeing the light. They say it’s never fully gone out.”
I studied the photos. One showed a shipwreck near the island, the hull cracked open like an egg. Another was a journal entry—the handwriting messy, the words desperate.
“Do you believe in ghosts?” David asked suddenly.
“No,” I said. “But I believe in unexplained energy fields."
He nodded, like that was the answer he’d expected.
“There’s something about this place,” he said. “I’ve been researching it for years. People see things when they get close. Ships go off course. Instruments fail. It’s like the lighthouse messes with reality itself.”
“And you think it’s connected to an energy anomaly?” I asked.
David shrugged. “I think it’s dangerous. But you’re the expert. That’s why I need you.”
We set out a week later. The team consisted of four people: me, David, a survivalist named Tom Halstead, and Angela Vega, who seemed more interested in filming everything than in the lighthouse itself.
We all gathered at Cloudy's Pub, a local pub off the shoreline from the lighthouse. The pub smelled of salt and damp wood. A soft hum of voices filled the air as locals shared stories over pints. I sat at a corner table, running my finger along the edge of a weathered map. My eyes flicked to the lighthouse’s mark on the map—a small black X surrounded by nothing but open sea and coastlines.
David Rhodes was the first to arrive. He approached the table with a leather-bound notebook tucked under his arm. His clothes were neat, though his glasses perched crookedly on his nose. He set the notebook down with care, like it contained something fragile.
“Dr. Kane, pleasure to meet you again,” he said, his voice measured and calm. “This lighthouse, it’s an enigma. Did you know that over thirty ships disappeared in its vicinity in the late 1800s?”
I nodded. “I read some of the records. But I’m more interested in the energy readings. The patterns are… unusual.”
He adjusted his glasses. “Unusual doesn’t begin to cover it. This place has a history that defies logic.”
Before I could reply, Angela Vega burst through the door. She wore a bright yellow jacket that seemed out of place in the dim pub. A camera hung around her neck, and her phone was already in her hand.
“Hey, are you Dr. Kane?” she asked, her tone light and eager. She pulled out a chair and sat before I could answer. “This is going to be epic. The lighthouse looks so creepy from the shore. My followers are going to love this.”
David frowned. “This isn’t a sightseeing trip, Miss Vega. We’re here to investigate.”
“Exactly,” she said, grinning. “And I’m here to document it. People eat this stuff up.”
Tom Halstead arrived last. He moved with purpose, his heavy boots scuffing against the floor. A backpack sagged on his shoulders, packed full of gear. He scanned the room before settling into the seat next to Angela. He looked at each of us in turn, his expression unreadable.
“So,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “Who’s actually in charge here?”
I cleared my throat. “I organized the trip. But we’re a team. Everyone’s input matters.”
Tom raised an eyebrow. “Sure. Just don’t expect me to buy into ghost stories.”
“It’s not about ghosts,” I said, keeping my voice steady. “There’s an unexplained energy signature coming from the lighthouse. That’s why we’re here.”
Angela smirked. “Energy, ghosts, shipwrecks. Whatever it is, it’s going to make a great story.”
David opened his notebook. “The lighthouse has been abandoned for decades. But there are accounts of strange lights and sounds, even as far back as the 19th century.”
“Accounts from drunk sailors,” Tom muttered.
“Not all of them,” David countered. “Some were experienced navigators. They reported seeing lights when the tower was dark, or hearing the sound of a foghorn when there was no mist.”
Tom leaned forward. “And what do you think? That the place is cursed?”
David hesitated, then shook his head. “I think there’s something there we don’t understand.”
I looked at the map again, tracing the coastline with my finger. “Whatever it is, we’ll find out. But we need to be prepared. The island’s isolated, and the weather can turn fast.”
Tom nodded. “I’ve got the gear we’ll need. But if anyone’s having second thoughts, now’s the time to speak up.”
Nobody said anything. The silence hung heavy, charged with a mix of excitement and unease.
“Alright then,” I said. “We leave at first light.”
The boat ride to the island was unnerving. The water grew unnaturally still as we approached. The air felt heavier, like it carried more than just moisture. Angela pointed her camera at the horizon and frowned.
“That’s weird,” she said. “The lens is picking up… static? I’ve never seen that before.”
I looked out at the lighthouse. It seemed to loom over the island, taller than it had any right to be. The beam was faint, but it moved steadily, cutting across the dark water.
“It’s not running on any power source I know of,” I said.
“It’s been like that for decades,” David said. “No one’s been able to explain it.”
CHAPTER 2
The boat rocked gently as the engine hummed. The mainland had already disappeared behind us, swallowed by the horizon. Tom sat at the helm, hands steady on the wheel, his face locked in concentration. Angela stood at the bow, her camera angled at the endless stretch of water. She was narrating for her audience, but the wind swallowed her voice.
David was beside me, flipping through his leather-bound journal. Every so often, he jotted a note or tapped the page as though solving some puzzle only he could see.
I tried to focus on the instruments in my lap. The portable electromagnetic field reader had been calibrated that morning, but the numbers didn’t make sense. The readings spiked and dropped, like a signal trying to break through static.
“It’s acting up again,” I muttered.
David glanced over. “What does it mean?”
“Nothing good,” I said. “Or maybe everything good, depending on your perspective.”
The sea stretched smooth and still, unnaturally calm. Tom leaned back and called out, “This is eerie. Where’s the chop?”
I nodded. He was right. Even with perfect weather, the ocean should have shown some resistance. A wave, a ripple, something.
Angela turned, camera in hand. “What are you two whispering about? Don’t keep the mystery to yourselves.”
“Just noticing the water,” I said.
“It’s dead calm,” Tom added, without looking away from the horizon.
“That’s perfect for filming,” Angela said, smiling. “My viewers are going to love this.” She lifted her camera again, but a frown crossed her face as she watched the playback.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“There’s... I don’t know. It’s glitchy.” She tilted the screen toward me.
The footage looked normal at first. Clear skies, smooth water, the faint outline of Tom steering the boat. But then came a flash—quick, almost imperceptible. I asked her to rewind it.
The flash came again. This time, I caught it. A shadow, tall and thin, swept across the frame. It was gone before I could make sense of it.
“Could be an issue with your camera,” I suggested.
She shook her head. “This camera doesn’t glitch.”
Tom cut the engine. “You guys seeing this?”
Ahead of us, the lighthouse emerged. Its silhouette was sharp against the pale sky. From a distance, it looked no different than the pictures I’d studied. But as we drew closer, it seemed to grow. Not just taller—larger in every way. The proportions felt wrong, like the tower was leaning toward us.
“That thing’s huge,” David said.
“It wasn’t that big in the photos,” Angela added.
I checked my compass. The needle spun wildly, refusing to settle. The GPS on my tablet displayed nothing but error codes.
Tom noticed my reaction. “What’s going on with your tech?”
“Same thing as before,” I said. “It’s like everything’s being scrambled.”
The lighthouse flickered. Its beam swept across the sea, even though it hadn’t been operational in decades. The light didn’t seem natural. It pulsed in uneven intervals, dimming and brightening as though alive.
We reached the beach a few minutes later. Rusted metal jutted out of the sand—pieces of old shipwrecks. Bones lay scattered among the wreckage, their surfaces almost polished. Too clean.
Angela stepped off the boat first, camera already rolling. “This place is amazing,” she said, her excitement masking any unease.
Tom followed, shouldering a pack of gear. “This is a bad idea,” he muttered.
David knelt to examine a bone. “Human,” he said.
I stepped onto the sand last, my gaze fixed on the lighthouse. The pulsing light was slower now, deliberate. Each flash seemed to carry weight, like a signal I couldn’t decode.
Tom looked at me. “You okay?”
“Fine,” I said, though I wasn’t sure if I believed it.
I picked up a small piece of glass and realized it was part of a lens, like the kind used in old lighthouses. It was warm to the touch.
Something about the island felt wrong. And I had a feeling it wasn’t going to get better.
“This isn’t normal,” I said, mostly to myself.
David looked at me. “That’s why we’re here.”
CHAPTER 3
The lighthouse door creaked as Tom pushed it open. A stale, damp smell hit us immediately. The air inside was colder, heavy like it carried its own weight. I stepped in behind him, my flashlight cutting through the dark.
The space felt abandoned, yet untouched. Thick layers of dust coated the floor, but the air itself buzzed faintly. It reminded me of the charge you feel before a storm.
“Don’t split up,” Tom said, his voice low.
“No one’s splitting up,” I replied.
Angela was already filming, her camera light bouncing off the walls. “This is so creepy,” she whispered. “It’s perfect.”
David lingered near the entrance, staring at the walls. “Look at these,” he said, pointing to strange carvings.
I moved closer. The symbols were etched deep into the stone. They looked like constellations, but the patterns didn’t match anything I recognized. Beside them were diagrams—circles within circles, intersecting lines, and jagged shapes that seemed to radiate outward.
“What do you think they mean?” David asked.
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “But whoever made these was trying to communicate something.”
Angela’s camera beeped as she zoomed in on the carvings. “Maybe your followers can figure it out,” Tom muttered.
“I’m documenting history,” she shot back, unfazed.
Something glinted in the corner of the room. I walked toward it and found an old leather-bound book on a rusted table. The cover was worn, the edges frayed, but the name “Elias Rourke” was faintly visible.
“His journal,” I said, holding it up.
David’s eyes lit up. “That’s priceless,” he said, reaching for it.
I handed it over, and he carefully flipped through the pages. The handwriting was messy, the ink faded, but the words were legible.
“‘The light behaves as if it’s alive,’” David read aloud. “‘It calls to us, but its whispers grow louder each night.’”
Angela turned to him, lowering her camera. “Whispers? Like voices?”
“I guess so,” he said, frowning.
As if on cue, a faint sound drifted through the room. It wasn’t the wind, and it wasn’t us. It was low, fragmented, almost like a conversation just out of earshot.
“Did you hear that?” Angela asked, her voice tight.
“Yeah,” Tom said, gripping his flashlight like a weapon.
“It’s probably the wind moving through cracks,” I said, though I didn’t believe it.
Angela stepped further into the room, her camera catching something on the wall. “Wait. Look at this.”
We gathered around an old photograph hanging crookedly on the stone. The edges were yellowed, the image slightly blurred. It showed a group of men in heavy coats, standing in front of the lighthouse. Elias Rourke was in the center, his face stern and weathered.
But it wasn’t just them.
Behind the men were faint shapes, like figures caught in motion. I leaned in, squinting. My heart skipped.
The shapes were us.
Angela with her camera, David holding his journal, Tom gripping his gear, and me staring at the photo. We were all there, faint but unmistakable.
“That’s not possible,” I said.
Angela stepped back, her camera shaking. “This is insane.”
Tom grabbed the photo off the wall and stared at it. “It’s a trick,” he said, but his voice wasn’t convincing.
David flipped through the journal again, faster this time. “He wrote about time being different here. He thought the light affected it.”
“Great,” Tom said. “Now we’re part of some lighthouse ghost story?”
The whispers grew louder.
“Let’s keep moving,” I said. I didn’t have answers, but standing still wasn’t going to help.
As we climbed the stairs, I couldn’t shake the feeling that the light wasn’t just drawing us in—it had been waiting for us.
CHAPTER 4
Night fell quickly. The temperature dropped, and the silence around the lighthouse deepened. I stayed near the control panel, examining the equipment. It was outdated but strangely intact, as if someone had been maintaining it.
Angela had her camera out, filming the light’s lens. Tom stood by the window, watching the sea. David flipped through Elias’s journal, mumbling notes to himself.
Then, it happened.
The lens flared to life without warning. Its beam cut through the room, illuminating everything in an eerie, shifting glow. The light felt alive, like it was searching.
“What the hell?” Tom said, shielding his eyes.
“I didn’t touch anything,” I said quickly.
Angela pointed her camera at the lens. “It’s... beautiful,” she said. Her voice was distant, almost hypnotized.
The room began to hum. Not loudly, but enough to rattle my chest. The air felt heavy again, like earlier. But this time, it was worse.
And then the visions began.
I was in a lecture hall. It was my old university, but something was off. The walls were too smooth, the light too dim. My students sat in neat rows, staring at me. Their faces were blurred, indistinct.
I opened my mouth to speak, but the floor started to flood. Water rushed in from nowhere, rising fast. I tried to move, but my feet wouldn’t budge.
Through the glass of the lecture hall door, I saw myself. Not this version of me, but another. She stared back, her expression unreadable. Then she whispered, “It’s already too late.”
The water rose past my knees. I gasped for air—
And then I was back in the lighthouse. My breath came in short, shallow bursts.
David sat on the floor, pale and shaking. “I was on a ship,” he said, staring at his hands. “It was sinking. I was dressed like... like someone from the 1800s.” He looked at us, desperate. “It felt real.”
Angela lowered her camera. Her face was blank, but her hands trembled. “I was filming,” she said quietly. “Here, in this room. But my reflection... it was smiling.” She met my eyes. “I wasn’t.”
Tom stayed silent for a long moment. Finally, he muttered, “I was in a war. But it wasn’t like before. I wasn’t fighting. I was... the one being hunted.”
The light continued to glow, casting shifting shadows across the room.
“This is... some kind of energy anomaly,” I said, though I barely believed my own words. “The light—it’s triggering something in our brains.”
“No,” Angela said, her voice sharp. “This isn’t just in our heads. This is something else.”
The light flared again, brighter this time. The whispers from earlier returned, but now they were louder, clearer. They came from everywhere and nowhere.
“We have to turn it off,” Tom said, stepping toward the lens.
“Don’t touch it!” I snapped. I didn’t know what it would do, but I wasn’t ready to find out.
David stood, clutching Elias’s journal. “He wrote about this,” he said, flipping to a page near the end. “‘The light sees us. It shows us what we can’t hide.’”
The words sent a chill through me.
“What does that even mean?” Angela asked, her voice shaking.
“I don’t know,” David said.
The beam shifted, its glow sweeping over the walls. For a brief moment, the carvings lit up, their patterns glowing faintly. Then the light dimmed, and the hum stopped.
The room fell silent again.
No one moved.
Finally, Angela whispered, “What just happened?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “But this isn’t over.”
CHAPTER 5
We decided to leave. The air in the lighthouse felt heavier with every passing minute. Something was wrong.
“Let’s get out of here,” Tom said, his voice firm. Angela and David nodded. I didn’t argue.
We headed toward the stairs, but they didn’t lead to the door. We climbed down, but when we reached the bottom, we were back where we started—on the same floor.
“That doesn’t make sense,” Angela said, clutching her camera.
“Try again,” Tom said.
We climbed down again, this time faster. The steps seemed endless. When we stopped, the same room waited for us.
“This isn’t possible,” I said. I leaned against the wall, catching my breath. “The stairs are looping.”
“Maybe we missed a turn,” David said, though he didn’t sound convinced.
“We didn’t,” I replied.
We tried other routes. A hallway appeared where there shouldn’t have been one, leading to a room that felt out of place. It was filled with strange objects: a Victorian dress draped over a chair, rusted swords mounted on the walls, and a tablet glowing faintly on a table.
“What is this?” Angela asked, picking up the tablet. It didn’t turn on.
“These things don’t belong here,” I said, running my fingers over the dress. It felt real. The sword was rusted, but sharp. The mix of objects made no sense—different eras, different places, all together in one room.
“Is this part of the lighthouse?” David asked.
“It can’t be,” I said. “This room shouldn’t exist.”
As we left the room, the shadows started moving. At first, they stayed in the corners, flickering like candlelight. But with each pass of the light beam, they grew bolder. I saw one stretch toward Angela, almost touching her before retreating.
“Did you see that?” I asked.
“See what?” Angela said, glancing around.
“The shadows. They’re moving,” I said.
Tom stepped forward, scanning the room. “You’re imagining things.”
“I’m not,” I said. But I couldn’t prove it.
David flipped through Elias’s journal, muttering to himself. Finally, he stopped. “Listen to this,” he said. “‘The light bends the boundaries. Past, present, and future bleed together. The shadows are what’s left behind.’”
“What does that mean?” Angela asked.
“It means the lens is doing this,” I said. “It’s creating a distortion—a kind of energy bridge between timelines.”
David shook his head. “Or it’s something else. Something supernatural. Sailors used to talk about soul-stealing lighthouses. What if this is one of them?”
“That’s ridiculous,” I said. “This is energy, not magic.”
“Can you prove that?” David shot back.
“I don’t need to,” I said. “The evidence is here. The light, the objects, the way space is warping—this is a physical phenomenon.”
“And the shadows? The visions? What’s your explanation for those?” he asked.
“I don’t know yet,” I admitted.
The argument was cut short by a loud creak. The beam of light swept over us, and the shadows surged forward. This time, everyone saw them.
“Run!” Tom shouted.
We bolted, taking another staircase. It didn’t matter where it led—anywhere was better than staying. But when we stopped, we were back where we started.
The lighthouse wasn’t letting us go.
CHAPTER 6
The stairs creaked under our weight as we climbed. The air grew colder the closer we got seemingly to the top once again. No one spoke. I could feel the tension in every step.
When we reached the chamber, the lens was there, as if waiting for us. It sat in the center of the room, glowing with a light that didn’t seem natural. The glow pulsed, faint at first, then stronger, like a heartbeat.
I stepped closer. The lens wasn’t just glass. It was crystalline, with sharp edges that caught the light and scattered it in strange patterns. Etched into its surface were symbols I didn’t recognize. They looked like writing, but not in any language I’d ever seen.
“This isn’t man-made,” I said. My voice was steady, but my mind raced.
“What do you mean?” Angela asked.
“Look at it,” I said, gesturing to the carvings. “No tool could make these cuts. And the way it glows—it’s not reflecting light. It’s generating it.”
David knelt by the walls. “There’s more,” he said.
We joined him. The walls were covered in carvings, just like the lens. Some showed ships crashing into rocks, their sails torn by the wind. Others showed figures in the water, their arms reaching out, their faces frozen in terror.
“This must’ve taken years to carve,” Angela said, tracing the lines with her fingers.
“Not if the same people who made the lens made these,” I said.
David pointed to one carving. It showed figures walking toward the lens. Their bodies became less distinct as they moved closer, until they were nothing but light.
“They’re... dissolving,” Angela said.
“They’re not dissolving,” David said. “They’re being taken.”
“Taken where?” Tom asked.
David didn’t answer.
I couldn’t look away from the image. My mind tried to make sense of it. If the lens was a receiver, like a radio picking up a signal, what was it receiving? And why did it need people?
“This isn’t supernatural,” I said, more to myself than anyone else. “It’s energy. Interdimensional energy, maybe. The carvings are just someone’s way of explaining what they saw.”
David turned to me. “Or it’s exactly what it looks like. A lighthouse that takes souls.”
“That’s not possible,” I said.
“Neither is this,” he shot back, gesturing at the lens.
The room fell silent. The light from the lens pulsed again, brighter this time. Shadows flickered along the walls, but none of us moved.
“This thing is ancient,” I said finally. “Older than the lighthouse. Maybe older than us. We have to figure out what it’s doing before it decides to do it to us.”
No one argued.
CHAPTER 7
The whispers were louder now, like a hundred voices speaking at once, their words twisting together until they became impossible to understand. Each breath I took felt heavier, like the air itself had weight.
Angela’s camera beeped, breaking the silence. She was staring at the screen, her face pale.
“What is it?” I asked.
“It’s... us,” she said. Her hands shook as she turned the screen toward me.
I leaned closer. The footage showed the room we were standing in, but it wasn’t the same. Tom was sprawled on the floor, blood pooling beneath him. Angela was slumped against a wall, her camera smashed at her feet. David was screaming, though I couldn’t hear what. And then there was me—frozen in place, staring at something out of frame.
“That’s not real,” I said.
“It hasn’t happened yet,” Angela whispered.
Tom moved toward the nearest window. “That’s it. We’re getting out of here.”
“Wait—” I started, but he ignored me.
He grabbed a chair and swung it at the glass. The sound of the impact echoed through the room. The glass cracked, spiderwebbing out from the point of contact, but before the shards could fall, they began to knit themselves back together.
Tom swung again. The same thing happened.
“It’s not letting us leave,” he said, turning to me. His voice was sharp, filled with blame. “You brought us here.”
“I didn’t know this would happen,” I said.
“You’re the scientist,” he snapped. “You should’ve known.”
“Arguing won’t help,” David said. He was crouched by the wall again, running his fingers over the carvings. “We need to figure out what this place is.”
“It’s a death trap,” Tom said.
“It’s more than that,” David said. He sounded calm, almost too calm. “These carvings—they’re not just stories. They’re instructions. Warnings.”
“For what?” Angela asked.
David didn’t answer. He kept tracing the symbols, muttering under his breath.
“David,” I said, stepping closer. “What do you see?”
“It’s all connected,” he said. “The lens, the carvings, the whispers. It’s feeding off us—our fears, our regrets. That’s how it works.”
“How do we stop it?” I asked.
He didn’t respond.
The light from the lens pulsed again, brighter this time. The shadows in the corners of the room stretched and shifted, creeping toward us. I felt a chill run down my spine.
“We’re running out of time,” I said.
Tom turned back to the window, his frustration boiling over. Angela stayed by the camera, her hands still trembling. And David... he wouldn’t stop staring at the wall.
The whispers grew louder. They weren’t just noise anymore. They were words, clear and deliberate.
“Stay,” they said.
I swallowed hard. My chest felt tight, like the room was closing in. I didn’t know if it was the lighthouse or something else, but the voice was right.
We couldn’t leave—not yet.
CHAPTER 8
The lens loomed above us, glowing with a pulse that made the air around it hum. Its crystalline surface shimmered, the alien symbols etched into it alive with energy. My breath hitched as I studied it. It wasn’t just a piece of technology; it was a living thing.
“We overload the backup generator,” I said, keeping my voice steady. “If we push it beyond its limit, the energy surge should destroy the lens.”
Angela gripped her camera tightly. “We have to document this. People need to know what happened here.”
Tom scoffed, pacing near the doorway. “If we don’t make it out, what difference does it make?” His face was pale, his usual bravado cracked.
“We’ll make it,” I said, though I wasn’t sure I believed it.
David was silent, staring at the carvings on the wall again. He hadn’t said much since we climbed back up.
“We need to move,” I urged. “The lighthouse won’t let this be easy.”
As if on cue, the room began to shift. The floor beneath us rippled like water. The staircases spiraled in impossible directions, folding back on themselves. I grabbed the edge of a table to steady myself.
“It’s trying to stop us,” Angela said, her voice trembling.
Tom laughed bitterly. “Yeah, no kidding.”
We moved cautiously, navigating the warped geometry of the lighthouse. The whispers were back, louder than before. They weren’t distant murmurs anymore—they were screams. Voices filled with anger, pain, and desperation.
“Do you hear that?” Angela asked.
“I hear it,” I said, trying to block it out.
We reached the generator room after what felt like hours, though my watch told me it had been only minutes. The walls here were slick with condensation, the air heavy with the scent of burnt metal.
I opened the panel and started rewiring the controls. My hands shook, but I forced myself to focus.
“Is it going to work?” Tom asked, standing guard by the door.
“It has to,” I said.
Angela set up her camera, pointing it at the generator and then back at me. “This is the truth,” she muttered to herself. “People need to see.”
David stepped forward, his face shadowed. “Wait.”
“What?” I asked without looking up.
“The carvings,” he said. “They’re warnings. Destroying the lens might not end this. It might make things worse.”
I paused, my fingers hovering over the wires. “Worse how?”
“I don’t know,” he admitted.
“We don’t have another option,” I said firmly. “We can’t leave it intact.”
Before he could respond, the door slammed shut. The temperature in the room dropped, and my breath turned to mist.
“They’re here,” Angela whispered.
The shadows in the corners of the room stretched and shifted. Figures emerged, stepping into the dim light. They were us—or versions of us.
I saw myself first. The doppelgänger’s eyes were hollow, its movements jerky and unnatural. It smiled, but it wasn’t a human expression.
“They’re not real,” I said, though my voice wavered.
Tom’s double lunged at him, forcing him to the ground. Angela screamed, backing into the wall as her copy advanced on her, its hands reaching for her throat.
“Keep them away from me!” Tom yelled.
I grabbed a wrench from the floor and swung it at the doppelgänger approaching me. It shattered like glass, its fragments dissolving into mist.
“Focus!” I shouted. “We have to finish this!”
David tackled his double, pinning it to the ground. Angela’s camera clattered to the floor as she kicked her doppelgänger away.
I turned back to the generator, forcing myself to block out the chaos. My fingers moved quickly, connecting wires and flipping switches. The hum of the machine grew louder, the lights in the room flickering.
“Now!” I yelled.
The generator surged. Sparks flew, and the room was bathed in a blinding white light. The lens above us cracked, a deafening sound like thunder echoing through the lighthouse.
The screams reached a crescendo and then stopped.
When the light faded, the room was silent. The lens was shattered, its pieces scattered across the floor.
“We did it,” I whispered.
Angela picked up her camera, her hands trembling. Tom leaned against the wall, breathing heavily. David stared at the shattered remains of the lens, his face unreadable.
But something didn’t feel right. The air was too still, too quiet. The lighthouse wasn’t done with us yet.
CHAPTER 9
The generator was ready, humming with unstable energy. I crouched beside it, my hands trembling as I adjusted the last connection. Angela hovered near me, her camera forgotten for once.
“We’re almost there,” I said, trying to steady my voice.
The lighthouse groaned around us. It wasn’t just a sound—it was a feeling, a pressure in my chest, like the place itself was alive and furious.
“We don’t have time,” Tom said sharply. He stood by the doorway with David, their eyes fixed on the hallway outside.
It was coming.
The shadows at the edge of the light twisted and stretched, forming something too large to be real. It wasn’t a shape I could describe. It moved in ways that defied logic, a mass of writhing blackness. The whispers we’d heard earlier had become guttural screams.
Tom gripped a rusted pipe he’d picked up earlier. “Get that thing running,” he barked.
I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. My fingers fumbled with the wires, trying to work faster.
The entity surged forward, spilling into the room like ink in water. The temperature plummeted, and I could feel it in my bones—an unnatural cold that sapped my strength.
David stepped in front of it, his body tense. “Go!” he shouted at me.
“David—” I started, but he cut me off.
“Just finish it!”
He charged at the thing with a broken chair leg, swinging wildly. It swallowed him whole. One moment he was there, and then he wasn’t.
“No!” Angela screamed.
Tom didn’t hesitate. He grabbed the remnants of a chair and hurled them at the entity. “Over here!” he yelled, drawing its attention.
The thing paused, as if it was considering him. Then it moved toward him, faster than I thought possible.
“Get it done, Kane!” he shouted, his voice strained as he swung the pipe.
I forced myself to turn back to the generator. My vision blurred, but I kept working. The hum grew louder, shaking the floor beneath us.
“Angela,” I said, my voice tight. “Help me with the switch.”
She dropped to her knees beside me, her hands trembling as she reached for the lever.
“I don’t know if this will work,” I admitted.
“It has to,” she whispered.
Behind us, Tom screamed.
I didn’t look.
“On three,” I said. “One, two—”
We pulled the lever together.
The generator roared to life, and the room filled with blinding light. The lens above us cracked, a jagged line splitting it in two.
The entity let out a sound I can only describe as a howl, deep and resonant. The pressure in the air lifted for a moment, then came crashing back.
The lens shattered completely. The explosion threw us to the ground. Shards of glass rained down, glittering like frozen stars.
The light swallowed everything.
I don’t remember hitting the floor. All I remember is the silence that followed.
And the darkness.
CHAPTER 10
I woke up on cold sand. The sound of waves breaking on the shore was rhythmic and calm, but it felt wrong, as if it didn’t belong. My head pounded.
The sky above me was unfamiliar. The stars were all wrong—constellations I couldn’t name. They shimmered faintly, too bright and too close. I sat up slowly, my limbs heavy and unsteady.
There was someone else nearby, curled up in the sand. Angela was her name. How did I know? A camera was slung over her shoulder, its lens cracked. She stirred and opened her eyes, blinking in confusion.
“Where…?” she whispered.
I didn’t know.
“Are you okay?” I asked. My voice sounded strange to me, hollow.
She nodded, but her eyes darted around, searching for answers. “Do you remember anything?”
I froze. Do I remember? The question should have been simple, but it wasn’t. My name came to me like a faint echo. Lenora Kane. That was all I had. Everything else was a blank space, heavy and suffocating.
“I don’t,” I admitted.
Angela checked her camera, her hands shaking. She hit a few buttons, then held it up to show me. Static filled the screen, buzzing and crackling. The sound made my teeth ache. Occasionally, an image broke through—Angela’s face, her eyes wide and filled with terror, her mouth forming words I couldn’t hear.
She dropped the camera in the sand and backed away from it, her breath shallow. “What is this? What happened to us?”
I didn’t answer. I couldn’t.
We sat there in silence for what felt like hours. The mainland stretched out behind us, but it didn’t feel real. The buildings looked normal, but there was something off about them, like they belonged to another world.
Angela stood first. “We need to figure out where we are.”
I nodded and followed her. My legs felt like lead. Every step was an effort.
The whispers started that night.
At first, I thought they were the wind moving through the empty rooms of the motel where we’d found shelter. But they had a rhythm, a cadence, almost like language. They came when I was alone.
I didn’t tell Angela.
One night, I stepped outside to look at the sky again. I couldn’t stop staring at the stars. They seemed alive, pulsing faintly, like they were watching me.
I found myself whispering back.
Angela caught me once.
“Who are you talking to?” she asked. Her voice was tight.
I turned to her, but I didn’t have an answer.
She didn’t press me, but I saw the fear in her eyes.
We never recovered our memories. Fragments came back sometimes—a flash of emotion, a sound, a scent—but they didn’t fit together. They were pieces of a puzzle with no edges, just floating in a void.
Angela’s camera stayed broken. She never touched it again.
Months passed, maybe longer. Time felt meaningless. I tried to focus on the present, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that something had been taken from me.
One evening, I saw a newspaper in a shop window. The headline caught my attention: Unexplained Beacon Draws Sailors to Island.
There was a photo of the lighthouse. Its light was faint, barely more than a flicker, but it was there.
I stared at the image until Angela pulled me away. “It doesn’t matter,” she said, her voice firm but trembling.
But it did matter.
Somewhere, on that island, it was still waiting.
The whispers grew louder that night.
The Reflection
I moved into the apartment on a Thursday. It wasn’t much—peeling paint on the walls, uneven floors, and a kitchen that looked like it hadn’t been updated since the ‘70s—but it was cheap, and I needed cheap. The landlord handed me the keys with a nod, barely saying a word. He seemed eager to be rid of me, like he didn’t want to stick around.
The first thing I noticed was the smell. It wasn’t overpowering, but it was there. A damp, musty scent, like old wood left out in the rain. I shrugged it off. Old buildings smell like that sometimes.
The apartment was mostly empty, except for a few pieces of worn furniture that looked like they came from a thrift store. In the hallway, there was a mirror. It was tall, maybe six feet, with a thick gold frame that had intricate carvings along the edges. The glass was cloudy, smudged with dust and fingerprints.
I wasn’t sure why, but the mirror made me uneasy. It felt out of place, like it didn’t belong there. I told myself I was just being paranoid. Moving is stressful, and this was my first place on my own. Everything was bound to feel strange at first.
That first night, the apartment was eerily quiet. The kind of quiet that makes you feel like you’re being watched. I couldn’t sleep. Every creak of the floorboards made my skin crawl.
The next morning, I decided to clean. The mirror was the first thing I tackled. I grabbed an old rag and some glass cleaner and started scrubbing. As I wiped away the grime, I caught my reflection staring back at me.
Something about it didn’t feel right. I don’t know how to explain it, but it didn’t look like me. Not exactly. The movements were the same—I waved my hand, and the reflection waved back—but the eyes felt different. Like they were too aware, too focused.
I shook it off and finished cleaning. By the time the mirror was spotless, it looked like any other mirror. Just a piece of glass in a fancy frame.
That night, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I told myself I was imagining things, that I was just spooked from being in a new place. But when I turned off the lights and climbed into bed, I could feel it—the mirror. It was like it was watching me.
I kept waking up. Every time I did, I found myself staring at the doorway where the mirror stood, just out of sight. My heart would race, and I’d have to remind myself to breathe. It’s just a mirror, I thought. Glass and wood. Nothing more.
By the third night, I started noticing things. Little things. A flicker of movement out of the corner of my eye. A shadow that didn’t match anything in the room. I told myself it was the light, the way it bounced off the glass.
But then, late that night, I saw something I couldn’t explain. I was in bed, staring at the ceiling, trying to calm my mind. I glanced toward the hallway and froze.
The reflection wasn’t mine.
It was standing in the mirror, staring into the bedroom. The face was mine, but the expression wasn’t. It was twisted, wrong. The eyes were wide, unblinking. The mouth was curled into a faint, unnatural smile.
I blinked, and it was gone.
I stayed awake until dawn, my back pressed against the headboard, clutching the blanket like it could protect me.
The mirror hasn’t moved, but something tells me it doesn’t need to. Whatever is in there, it’s waiting. Watching.
And I don’t know how much longer I can ignore it.
I didn’t sleep that night. Every creak, every groan of the old apartment sent my heart racing. I kept looking at the hallway, expecting to see that twisted face again. It didn’t show up, but that didn’t make me feel any better.
When the first bit of sunlight crept through the blinds, I finally got up. My legs felt shaky as I made my way to the hallway. The mirror was right where it had been, tall and still, with the morning light glinting off its surface.
For a moment, I just stood there, staring at it. The reflection was normal now—just me, tired and pale, with dark circles under my eyes. I wanted to believe that what I’d seen was a dream, but deep down, I knew it wasn’t.
I grabbed a sheet from the closet and threw it over the mirror. The fabric caught on the edges of the ornate frame, covering it entirely. I stood back, feeling a small sense of relief. If I couldn’t see it, maybe it couldn’t see me either.
That didn’t last long.
The rest of the day, I couldn’t focus on anything. I tried unpacking more boxes, but every time I walked past the hallway, I felt it. The mirror was still there, even hidden under the sheet. I couldn’t explain it, but it was like the air around it was heavier.
By the time night rolled around, I was on edge. I left the lights on, every single one. Even then, I kept glancing toward the hallway.
Around midnight, the sound started.
It was faint at first. A soft tapping, like someone gently knocking on glass. I froze, my heart hammering in my chest. The sound was coming from the hallway—from the mirror.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
I didn’t move. I didn’t breathe.
The tapping grew louder, more insistent. It wasn’t random—it had a rhythm, like someone was trying to get my attention.
I grabbed my phone and turned on the flashlight. My hands were trembling as I crept toward the hallway. The tapping stopped the moment I stepped closer.
The sheet was still in place, draped over the mirror. Nothing had changed, but I knew better.
I wanted to walk away. To go back to my room, lock the door, and pretend none of this was happening. But something compelled me to stay. My hand reached out, almost on its own, and I pulled the sheet down.
The mirror was spotless, the glass smooth and perfect. My reflection stared back at me, but it wasn’t right. It looked normal, but the eyes… they felt too sharp, too alive.
I wanted to step away, but I couldn’t. My reflection leaned forward, even though I wasn’t moving.
“Why are you scared?” it whispered.
The voice wasn’t mine. It was cold, distant, like it was coming from deep inside the mirror.
I stumbled back, almost tripping over my own feet. The reflection didn’t follow me this time—it stayed in the glass, smiling faintly.
“Don’t ignore me,” it said.
The lights in the hallway flickered, and the reflection began to blur. For a split second, I thought I saw something else in the glass—a dark shape, taller than me, with hollow eyes. But then it was gone.
I ran back to my room and slammed the door shut. My breathing was shallow, my hands shaking as I pressed my back against the door.
I didn’t sleep at all that night.
By morning, I decided I couldn’t stay here. I didn’t care about breaking the lease or losing the deposit—I just needed to get out.
But when I tried to leave, the front door wouldn’t budge.
The lock turned easily, and the handle moved, but it was like something was holding the door shut. I pulled harder, throwing my weight into it, but it didn’t make a difference.
Behind me, I heard the tapping again.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
I turned slowly, my stomach twisting into knots. The mirror was still in the hallway, uncovered now, and my reflection was back.
It wasn’t smiling anymore. It looked angry.
“You can’t leave,” it said.
The voice wasn’t a whisper this time. It was loud, filling the apartment.
I backed away, pressing myself against the front door. My reflection stepped closer, even though I hadn’t moved.
“You belong to me now,” it said.
The lights flickered again, and the apartment felt colder. I don’t know how long I stood there, staring at the mirror. But when the lights finally came back on, the reflection was gone.
The mirror was empty.
I tried the door again, and this time it opened. I didn’t think—I just ran. Out of the apartment, down the stairs, into the street.
I haven’t gone back.
But sometimes, when I pass by the building, I can feel it. The mirror is still in there, waiting.
And sometimes, I think it’s watching me.
I didn’t know what to do after that. I’d left the apartment behind, but it didn’t feel like I’d escaped. The first few nights at my friend Taylor’s place were quiet. I slept on her couch, with the TV on for background noise, and told myself everything would be fine.
But it wasn’t fine.
I hadn’t told Taylor much, just that the apartment creeped me out and I needed a place to crash. She didn’t ask questions, which I appreciated. But I couldn’t keep pretending nothing was wrong.
The first sign came three nights later. I woke up in a cold sweat at 3 a.m. The TV was still playing some late-night infomercial, but the sound was muted. I glanced around the room, heart racing, and then I saw it.
My reflection.
There was a large window behind Taylor’s couch, and in the faint glow of the streetlights outside, I could see my reflection in the glass. Except it wasn’t just mine.
Something else was there, standing just behind me.
It was the same dark figure I’d seen in the mirror, its hollow eyes staring at me through the glass.
I whipped around, but there was nothing there. My breath came in short, shallow gasps as I stared at the empty room. When I turned back to the window, the figure was gone.
I didn’t sleep for the rest of the night.
The next morning, Taylor noticed the bags under my eyes. “You look like hell,” she said, handing me a cup of coffee. “You sure you’re okay?”
I wanted to tell her everything, but where would I even start? “Yeah,” I mumbled. “Just couldn’t sleep.”
She gave me a look but didn’t push it.
That day, I tried to keep busy. I scrolled through apartment listings, went for a walk, even helped Taylor with some errands. But no matter what I did, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was being watched.
By the time the sun set, my nerves were shot. I told Taylor I wasn’t feeling well and went to bed early, hoping sleep would come if I just shut my eyes and waited.
It didn’t.
Around midnight, I heard it again.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
I froze, my eyes snapping open. The sound was coming from the window this time.
I sat up slowly, my heart pounding so hard it hurt. The curtains were drawn, but the tapping continued, steady and deliberate.
I didn’t want to look. I didn’t want to know. But something pulled me toward the window anyway.
I reached out with a trembling hand and pulled the curtain back.
There was nothing there. Just the empty street below and the dim glow of a streetlamp.
I let out a shaky breath and turned away, but then I heard it. A voice, soft and familiar, whispering my name.
I spun back to the window, and there it was. My reflection.
But it wasn’t right.
The glass didn’t show the room behind me. Instead, it showed the hallway from my old apartment. The mirror.
And my reflection was smiling again.
“You can’t run,” it said.
The voice sent chills down my spine. It wasn’t coming from the window—it was in my head, echoing like a bad memory.
I stumbled back, tripping over the edge of the couch. My reflection didn’t follow me this time. It stayed in the window, grinning, its empty eyes locked onto mine.
“Leave me alone!” I shouted, my voice cracking.
Taylor came rushing into the room, her face a mix of confusion and concern. “What’s going on?” she asked.
I pointed at the window, but when she turned to look, it was just a window again. My reflection was normal, the hallway and the mirror gone.
“I… I thought I saw something,” I stammered.
Taylor frowned, crossing her arms. “You’re freaking me out. Are you sure everything’s okay?”
I wanted to tell her the truth, but how could I? She’d think I was losing my mind. Maybe I was.
“Yeah,” I lied. “Just a bad dream.”
She didn’t look convinced, but she nodded. “Alright. But if you need to talk, I’m here, okay?”
I nodded, forcing a weak smile.
When she left the room, I collapsed onto the couch, my head in my hands. I couldn’t keep living like this. The mirror wasn’t just in that apartment—it was following me.
And I had no idea how to make it stop.
The next day, I knew I couldn’t ignore it any longer. Whatever was happening, whatever it was, I needed answers.
I didn’t say much to Taylor that morning. She was already on edge from the night before, giving me that look people give when they’re not sure if you’re okay but don’t know how to ask. I just told her I had errands to run and left.
My first stop was the library. It felt old-fashioned, but Googling “haunted mirror” and “weird reflections” hadn’t gotten me very far. At least at the library, I could dig deeper, maybe even find some local stories about the apartment or the building.
The librarian was a small, older woman with kind eyes. She didn’t ask why I needed information on “strange occurrences in apartments” or “haunted objects,” which I appreciated. She simply pointed me toward a section of local history books and articles.
I spent hours flipping through yellowed pages and faded photographs. Most of it was boring—city planning, old businesses, stories of long-dead locals—but one article caught my attention.
It was from the 1970s, about a man named Richard Ames. He’d lived in my old apartment, the same one with the mirror. The headline read: “Mysterious Disappearance Leaves More Questions Than Answers.”
The story detailed how Richard Ames had vanished without a trace. Neighbors reported hearing strange noises coming from his apartment late at night—whispers, laughter, tapping on the walls. The landlord found the place empty a week later, except for one thing: a massive gold-framed mirror, left in the hallway.
The description matched the mirror exactly.
I leaned back in my chair, my pulse racing. The article didn’t explain what happened to Richard or why he disappeared, but it felt like confirmation. This wasn’t just in my head. The mirror had a history.
But what did it want with me?
I copied down the article’s details and headed home. Well, to Taylor’s home. It didn’t feel like mine anymore.
When I got there, she was waiting for me, arms crossed. “You’ve been gone all day,” she said. “Are you okay?”
I hesitated. I’d been brushing her off for days, but I couldn’t do it anymore. “I need to tell you something,” I said, my voice quieter than I wanted it to be.
Taylor frowned but gestured for me to sit down. “Alright, spill.”
So, I told her everything. The mirror, the reflection, the tapping, the voice. I left nothing out.
When I finished, Taylor just stared at me, her mouth slightly open. “You’re serious?” she finally said.
I nodded.
She sighed, rubbing her temples. “Okay. This is… a lot. But if you think this mirror is haunted or cursed or whatever, why don’t we just go back to the apartment and get rid of it?”
Her suggestion caught me off guard. The thought of going back made my stomach churn, but she had a point. If the mirror was the source of all this, destroying it might be the only way to end it.
“I don ’t know if that’ll work,” I said. “But I’m willing to try.”
Taylor grabbed her car keys before I could change my mind. “Then let’s do it. The sooner, the better.”
The drive to the apartment was tense. I hadn’t been back since I left, and seeing the building again made my chest tighten. It looked the same—run-down, quiet—but now I knew better.
We went up the stairs, and I unlocked the door with the spare key I still had. The air inside was stale, and the musty smell hit me immediately. The mirror was right where I’d left it, in the hallway, its gold frame catching the faint light from the window.
Taylor walked up to it, inspecting it like it was just another piece of furniture. “This is it?” she asked.
I nodded, staying a few steps back.
She tapped the glass. “Doesn’t look so scary to me.”
Before I could respond, the reflection shifted.
Taylor froze, her hand still against the glass. Her reflection turned to look directly at her, even though she wasn’t moving.
“What the hell…” she whispered, stepping back.
The reflection didn’t mimic her. Instead, it smiled—a wide, unnatural grin that didn’t belong on her face.
“Taylor, get away from it!” I yelled.
But it was too late.
The mirror started to hum, a low, vibrating sound that made my teeth ache. The air around us felt heavy, like the room was collapsing in on itself.
“Do you see that?” Taylor shouted, backing away.
I saw it. The surface of the mirror rippled like water, and the reflection reached out. A hand—Taylor’s hand, but not Taylor’s—pressed against the glass from the inside, its fingers curling as if trying to break through.
“Run!” I screamed, grabbing her arm and yanking her toward the door.
The mirror’s hum grew louder, almost deafening, and the distorted reflection of Taylor watched us with that same twisted grin.
We didn’t stop running until we were outside, gasping for air.
“What the hell was that?” Taylor panted, her face pale.
“I don’t know,” I said, my voice shaking. “But I think it wants more than just a reflection.”
Neither of us spoke for a long time. We just sat on the curb outside the building, catching our breath, our minds racing. Taylor was the first to break the silence.
“What do we do now?” she asked. Her voice was shaky, but there was a sharpness to it, a demand for answers I didn’t have.
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “But we can’t just leave it there. It’s… dangerous. I mean, you saw it. That thing isn’t just some creepy trick. It’s—”
“Alive,” she finished for me. “Or something close to it.”
We sat there a little longer, the weight of what we’d seen pressing down on us. The mirror wasn’t just haunted. It wasn’t just showing strange reflections. It was something else, something I couldn’t explain.
“We should destroy it,” Taylor said finally.
Her words hung in the air, heavy and final. Destroying it felt like the logical choice, but the thought of going back in there, of facing that thing again, made my stomach churn.
“What if it doesn’t work?” I asked. “What if breaking it makes it worse?”
Taylor gave me a sharp look. “Worse than it already is? That thing tried to pull me in. I’m not letting it sit there and wait for someone else to stumble onto it.”
She was right. As much as I wanted to run away, to never think about that mirror again, I couldn’t leave it behind for someone else to find.
“Alright,” I said. “But we need to be smart about it. If we’re going to destroy it, we need to make sure it’s gone for good.”
Taylor nodded, her jaw set. “Let’s do it tonight. Before we lose our nerve.”
The hours dragged by as we made our plan. We’d bring tools—hammers, a crowbar, whatever we could find—to break the mirror apart. We’d bag up the pieces and take them far away from the apartment, maybe to the river or some secluded spot where no one would ever find them.
Taylor raided her dad’s garage for supplies while I sat at her kitchen table, staring at the article I’d found about Richard Ames. I couldn’t stop thinking about him. Had he tried to destroy the mirror? Had it stopped him?
When Taylor returned, her arms loaded with tools, I pushed the thought away. We didn’t have time for second-guessing.
“You ready?” she asked, setting a sledgehammer on the floor with a thud.
“Not really,” I said honestly. “But let’s do it.”
We drove back to the apartment just before midnight. The streets were empty, and the building loomed in the dark, its windows like hollow eyes.
The air inside was colder than before, and the silence felt oppressive. My heart was pounding as we made our way to the hallway, the tools clanking in the bag Taylor carried.
The mirror was waiting for us, just like before. Its surface was still and smooth, but I could feel it watching us.
“Let’s get this over with,” Taylor muttered, pulling the sledgehammer from the bag.
She handed me a crowbar, and we stood in front of the mirror, both of us hesitating.
“Do you feel that?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
Taylor nodded. “Yeah. Like it’s… alive.”
I tightened my grip on the crowbar. “On three?”
She nodded again.
“One… two…”
Before I could say three, the mirror rippled. The smooth surface shifted, and our reflections appeared—not as they should have been, but wrong. Twisted.
Taylor’s reflection had empty black eyes and a smile stretched too wide, like it was pulled by invisible strings. Mine was worse. It wasn’t smiling. It was staring at me, its head tilted, its expression full of something I couldn’t name.
Fear. Hunger. Hate.
“Do it!” I shouted.
Taylor swung the sledgehammer with all her strength. The impact rang out like a gunshot, and the mirror cracked, a jagged line splitting down the middle.
The reflections didn’t shatter. They moved.
Taylor swung again, and the crack widened, but now the mirror was humming, the same low, vibrating sound as before. The room felt like it was spinning, the air thick and heavy.
“Keep going!” I yelled, raising the crowbar and slamming it against the glass.
The mirror groaned, like a living thing in pain. More cracks spread across its surface, but the reflections were still there, moving, pressing against the glass as if trying to break through.
“Why isn’t it breaking?” Taylor screamed, hitting it again and again.
I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. The humming was deafening now, and the cracks in the glass were glowing, a sickly, unnatural light spilling out.
Then, the mirror screamed.
It was a sound I’ll never forget—high-pitched, inhuman, full of rage and despair. The light from the cracks flared, blinding us, and the air around us seemed to explode.
I was thrown backward, hitting the wall hard. The last thing I saw before everything went black was the mirror shattering, the pieces flying in every direction like shards of light.
And then, silence.
When I came to, everything was quiet. Too quiet.
My head was pounding, and I struggled to sit up. The hallway was dim, lit only by the faint flicker of a streetlamp outside. Broken shards of glass glittered on the floor like tiny stars, and the tools Taylor and I had brought lay scattered.
“Taylor?” My voice came out hoarse, barely above a whisper. I looked around, panic building in my chest when I didn’t see her.
Then I heard a groan.
“Taylor!” I scrambled toward the sound, my hands crunching over shards of glass. She was slumped against the wall a few feet away, clutching her arm.
“Hey, hey, are you okay?” I asked, grabbing her shoulders.
She blinked at me, her eyes dazed. “What… what happened?”
“The mirror,” I said. “It shattered.”
Her gaze shifted to the pile of broken glass, and she let out a shaky breath. “Is it… gone?”
“I don’t know,” I admitted. My voice trembled despite my efforts to stay calm.
We both turned to look at the spot where the mirror had hung. The golden frame was still there, but the glass was gone—reduced to a million tiny pieces scattered across the floor.
But something felt off.
The air was heavy, like the moment before a thunderstorm. And there was a faint sound, so quiet I almost missed it. A whisper.
“Do you hear that?” I asked.
Taylor’s face went pale. “Yeah. It’s coming from…”
We both turned to the largest shard of glass lying on the floor. The whispering was louder now, rising and falling like a chant in a language I couldn’t understand.
“I think we need to leave,” Taylor said, her voice tight.
I nodded, but my legs felt like lead. I couldn’t take my eyes off the shard. There was something in it—movement, shapes twisting and writhing just beneath the surface.
“Come on,” Taylor urged, pulling at my arm.
That snapped me out of it. I stood, gripping her hand, and we stumbled out of the hallway. My heart was racing as we ran down the stairs and out into the cold night air.
We didn’t stop until we were a block away. Only then did we turn to look back at the building.
The window on the second floor—the one closest to where the mirror had been—was glowing faintly.
Taylor shivered. “What do we do now?”
I didn’t have an answer. Destroying the mirror had felt like the only solution, but whatever we’d done hadn’t fixed things. If anything, it felt worse.
“We need help,” I said finally. “Someone who knows about… this kind of thing.”
“Like an exorcist?” Taylor asked, her voice dripping with skepticism.
“Maybe,” I said. “I don’t know. But we can’t just leave it like this.”
Taylor sighed, rubbing her face with her hands. “Okay. But not tonight. I can’t… I just can’t.”
I nodded. I didn’t blame her. My whole body ached, and my mind was a mess.
We went back to her car and sat in silence for a while, trying to process what had happened.
But as we sat there, I couldn’t shake the feeling that we weren’t alone.
That night, I stayed at Taylor’s place. Neither of us slept. We sat in her living room with the lights on, jumping at every creak and shadow.
Around three in the morning, my phone buzzed.
The screen lit up with a notification: "Missed Call – Unknown."
My heart skipped a beat.
“Who is it?” Taylor asked, her voice wary.
I didn’t answer. My hands were trembling as I unlocked the phone and checked my voicemail.
There was a new message.
With a deep breath, I pressed play.
At first, there was only static. Then, faintly, I heard it.
My own voice.
“Don’t look behind you.”
A cold chill ran down my spine. Taylor must have seen the look on my face because her eyes widened.
“What is it?” she asked.
I didn’t answer. I couldn’t.
Because I could feel it.
Something was behind me.
I didn’t turn around.
And I don’t think I ever will.
The first thing I noticed was the smell. It wasn’t overpowering, but it was there. A damp, musty scent, like old wood left out in the rain. I shrugged it off. Old buildings smell like that sometimes.
The apartment was mostly empty, except for a few pieces of worn furniture that looked like they came from a thrift store. In the hallway, there was a mirror. It was tall, maybe six feet, with a thick gold frame that had intricate carvings along the edges. The glass was cloudy, smudged with dust and fingerprints.
I wasn’t sure why, but the mirror made me uneasy. It felt out of place, like it didn’t belong there. I told myself I was just being paranoid. Moving is stressful, and this was my first place on my own. Everything was bound to feel strange at first.
That first night, the apartment was eerily quiet. The kind of quiet that makes you feel like you’re being watched. I couldn’t sleep. Every creak of the floorboards made my skin crawl.
The next morning, I decided to clean. The mirror was the first thing I tackled. I grabbed an old rag and some glass cleaner and started scrubbing. As I wiped away the grime, I caught my reflection staring back at me.
Something about it didn’t feel right. I don’t know how to explain it, but it didn’t look like me. Not exactly. The movements were the same—I waved my hand, and the reflection waved back—but the eyes felt different. Like they were too aware, too focused.
I shook it off and finished cleaning. By the time the mirror was spotless, it looked like any other mirror. Just a piece of glass in a fancy frame.
That night, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I told myself I was imagining things, that I was just spooked from being in a new place. But when I turned off the lights and climbed into bed, I could feel it—the mirror. It was like it was watching me.
I kept waking up. Every time I did, I found myself staring at the doorway where the mirror stood, just out of sight. My heart would race, and I’d have to remind myself to breathe. It’s just a mirror, I thought. Glass and wood. Nothing more.
By the third night, I started noticing things. Little things. A flicker of movement out of the corner of my eye. A shadow that didn’t match anything in the room. I told myself it was the light, the way it bounced off the glass.
But then, late that night, I saw something I couldn’t explain. I was in bed, staring at the ceiling, trying to calm my mind. I glanced toward the hallway and froze.
The reflection wasn’t mine.
It was standing in the mirror, staring into the bedroom. The face was mine, but the expression wasn’t. It was twisted, wrong. The eyes were wide, unblinking. The mouth was curled into a faint, unnatural smile.
I blinked, and it was gone.
I stayed awake until dawn, my back pressed against the headboard, clutching the blanket like it could protect me.
The mirror hasn’t moved, but something tells me it doesn’t need to. Whatever is in there, it’s waiting. Watching.
And I don’t know how much longer I can ignore it.
I didn’t sleep that night. Every creak, every groan of the old apartment sent my heart racing. I kept looking at the hallway, expecting to see that twisted face again. It didn’t show up, but that didn’t make me feel any better.
When the first bit of sunlight crept through the blinds, I finally got up. My legs felt shaky as I made my way to the hallway. The mirror was right where it had been, tall and still, with the morning light glinting off its surface.
For a moment, I just stood there, staring at it. The reflection was normal now—just me, tired and pale, with dark circles under my eyes. I wanted to believe that what I’d seen was a dream, but deep down, I knew it wasn’t.
I grabbed a sheet from the closet and threw it over the mirror. The fabric caught on the edges of the ornate frame, covering it entirely. I stood back, feeling a small sense of relief. If I couldn’t see it, maybe it couldn’t see me either.
That didn’t last long.
The rest of the day, I couldn’t focus on anything. I tried unpacking more boxes, but every time I walked past the hallway, I felt it. The mirror was still there, even hidden under the sheet. I couldn’t explain it, but it was like the air around it was heavier.
By the time night rolled around, I was on edge. I left the lights on, every single one. Even then, I kept glancing toward the hallway.
Around midnight, the sound started.
It was faint at first. A soft tapping, like someone gently knocking on glass. I froze, my heart hammering in my chest. The sound was coming from the hallway—from the mirror.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
I didn’t move. I didn’t breathe.
The tapping grew louder, more insistent. It wasn’t random—it had a rhythm, like someone was trying to get my attention.
I grabbed my phone and turned on the flashlight. My hands were trembling as I crept toward the hallway. The tapping stopped the moment I stepped closer.
The sheet was still in place, draped over the mirror. Nothing had changed, but I knew better.
I wanted to walk away. To go back to my room, lock the door, and pretend none of this was happening. But something compelled me to stay. My hand reached out, almost on its own, and I pulled the sheet down.
The mirror was spotless, the glass smooth and perfect. My reflection stared back at me, but it wasn’t right. It looked normal, but the eyes… they felt too sharp, too alive.
I wanted to step away, but I couldn’t. My reflection leaned forward, even though I wasn’t moving.
“Why are you scared?” it whispered.
The voice wasn’t mine. It was cold, distant, like it was coming from deep inside the mirror.
I stumbled back, almost tripping over my own feet. The reflection didn’t follow me this time—it stayed in the glass, smiling faintly.
“Don’t ignore me,” it said.
The lights in the hallway flickered, and the reflection began to blur. For a split second, I thought I saw something else in the glass—a dark shape, taller than me, with hollow eyes. But then it was gone.
I ran back to my room and slammed the door shut. My breathing was shallow, my hands shaking as I pressed my back against the door.
I didn’t sleep at all that night.
By morning, I decided I couldn’t stay here. I didn’t care about breaking the lease or losing the deposit—I just needed to get out.
But when I tried to leave, the front door wouldn’t budge.
The lock turned easily, and the handle moved, but it was like something was holding the door shut. I pulled harder, throwing my weight into it, but it didn’t make a difference.
Behind me, I heard the tapping again.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
I turned slowly, my stomach twisting into knots. The mirror was still in the hallway, uncovered now, and my reflection was back.
It wasn’t smiling anymore. It looked angry.
“You can’t leave,” it said.
The voice wasn’t a whisper this time. It was loud, filling the apartment.
I backed away, pressing myself against the front door. My reflection stepped closer, even though I hadn’t moved.
“You belong to me now,” it said.
The lights flickered again, and the apartment felt colder. I don’t know how long I stood there, staring at the mirror. But when the lights finally came back on, the reflection was gone.
The mirror was empty.
I tried the door again, and this time it opened. I didn’t think—I just ran. Out of the apartment, down the stairs, into the street.
I haven’t gone back.
But sometimes, when I pass by the building, I can feel it. The mirror is still in there, waiting.
And sometimes, I think it’s watching me.
I didn’t know what to do after that. I’d left the apartment behind, but it didn’t feel like I’d escaped. The first few nights at my friend Taylor’s place were quiet. I slept on her couch, with the TV on for background noise, and told myself everything would be fine.
But it wasn’t fine.
I hadn’t told Taylor much, just that the apartment creeped me out and I needed a place to crash. She didn’t ask questions, which I appreciated. But I couldn’t keep pretending nothing was wrong.
The first sign came three nights later. I woke up in a cold sweat at 3 a.m. The TV was still playing some late-night infomercial, but the sound was muted. I glanced around the room, heart racing, and then I saw it.
My reflection.
There was a large window behind Taylor’s couch, and in the faint glow of the streetlights outside, I could see my reflection in the glass. Except it wasn’t just mine.
Something else was there, standing just behind me.
It was the same dark figure I’d seen in the mirror, its hollow eyes staring at me through the glass.
I whipped around, but there was nothing there. My breath came in short, shallow gasps as I stared at the empty room. When I turned back to the window, the figure was gone.
I didn’t sleep for the rest of the night.
The next morning, Taylor noticed the bags under my eyes. “You look like hell,” she said, handing me a cup of coffee. “You sure you’re okay?”
I wanted to tell her everything, but where would I even start? “Yeah,” I mumbled. “Just couldn’t sleep.”
She gave me a look but didn’t push it.
That day, I tried to keep busy. I scrolled through apartment listings, went for a walk, even helped Taylor with some errands. But no matter what I did, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was being watched.
By the time the sun set, my nerves were shot. I told Taylor I wasn’t feeling well and went to bed early, hoping sleep would come if I just shut my eyes and waited.
It didn’t.
Around midnight, I heard it again.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
I froze, my eyes snapping open. The sound was coming from the window this time.
I sat up slowly, my heart pounding so hard it hurt. The curtains were drawn, but the tapping continued, steady and deliberate.
I didn’t want to look. I didn’t want to know. But something pulled me toward the window anyway.
I reached out with a trembling hand and pulled the curtain back.
There was nothing there. Just the empty street below and the dim glow of a streetlamp.
I let out a shaky breath and turned away, but then I heard it. A voice, soft and familiar, whispering my name.
I spun back to the window, and there it was. My reflection.
But it wasn’t right.
The glass didn’t show the room behind me. Instead, it showed the hallway from my old apartment. The mirror.
And my reflection was smiling again.
“You can’t run,” it said.
The voice sent chills down my spine. It wasn’t coming from the window—it was in my head, echoing like a bad memory.
I stumbled back, tripping over the edge of the couch. My reflection didn’t follow me this time. It stayed in the window, grinning, its empty eyes locked onto mine.
“Leave me alone!” I shouted, my voice cracking.
Taylor came rushing into the room, her face a mix of confusion and concern. “What’s going on?” she asked.
I pointed at the window, but when she turned to look, it was just a window again. My reflection was normal, the hallway and the mirror gone.
“I… I thought I saw something,” I stammered.
Taylor frowned, crossing her arms. “You’re freaking me out. Are you sure everything’s okay?”
I wanted to tell her the truth, but how could I? She’d think I was losing my mind. Maybe I was.
“Yeah,” I lied. “Just a bad dream.”
She didn’t look convinced, but she nodded. “Alright. But if you need to talk, I’m here, okay?”
I nodded, forcing a weak smile.
When she left the room, I collapsed onto the couch, my head in my hands. I couldn’t keep living like this. The mirror wasn’t just in that apartment—it was following me.
And I had no idea how to make it stop.
The next day, I knew I couldn’t ignore it any longer. Whatever was happening, whatever it was, I needed answers.
I didn’t say much to Taylor that morning. She was already on edge from the night before, giving me that look people give when they’re not sure if you’re okay but don’t know how to ask. I just told her I had errands to run and left.
My first stop was the library. It felt old-fashioned, but Googling “haunted mirror” and “weird reflections” hadn’t gotten me very far. At least at the library, I could dig deeper, maybe even find some local stories about the apartment or the building.
The librarian was a small, older woman with kind eyes. She didn’t ask why I needed information on “strange occurrences in apartments” or “haunted objects,” which I appreciated. She simply pointed me toward a section of local history books and articles.
I spent hours flipping through yellowed pages and faded photographs. Most of it was boring—city planning, old businesses, stories of long-dead locals—but one article caught my attention.
It was from the 1970s, about a man named Richard Ames. He’d lived in my old apartment, the same one with the mirror. The headline read: “Mysterious Disappearance Leaves More Questions Than Answers.”
The story detailed how Richard Ames had vanished without a trace. Neighbors reported hearing strange noises coming from his apartment late at night—whispers, laughter, tapping on the walls. The landlord found the place empty a week later, except for one thing: a massive gold-framed mirror, left in the hallway.
The description matched the mirror exactly.
I leaned back in my chair, my pulse racing. The article didn’t explain what happened to Richard or why he disappeared, but it felt like confirmation. This wasn’t just in my head. The mirror had a history.
But what did it want with me?
I copied down the article’s details and headed home. Well, to Taylor’s home. It didn’t feel like mine anymore.
When I got there, she was waiting for me, arms crossed. “You’ve been gone all day,” she said. “Are you okay?”
I hesitated. I’d been brushing her off for days, but I couldn’t do it anymore. “I need to tell you something,” I said, my voice quieter than I wanted it to be.
Taylor frowned but gestured for me to sit down. “Alright, spill.”
So, I told her everything. The mirror, the reflection, the tapping, the voice. I left nothing out.
When I finished, Taylor just stared at me, her mouth slightly open. “You’re serious?” she finally said.
I nodded.
She sighed, rubbing her temples. “Okay. This is… a lot. But if you think this mirror is haunted or cursed or whatever, why don’t we just go back to the apartment and get rid of it?”
Her suggestion caught me off guard. The thought of going back made my stomach churn, but she had a point. If the mirror was the source of all this, destroying it might be the only way to end it.
“I don ’t know if that’ll work,” I said. “But I’m willing to try.”
Taylor grabbed her car keys before I could change my mind. “Then let’s do it. The sooner, the better.”
The drive to the apartment was tense. I hadn’t been back since I left, and seeing the building again made my chest tighten. It looked the same—run-down, quiet—but now I knew better.
We went up the stairs, and I unlocked the door with the spare key I still had. The air inside was stale, and the musty smell hit me immediately. The mirror was right where I’d left it, in the hallway, its gold frame catching the faint light from the window.
Taylor walked up to it, inspecting it like it was just another piece of furniture. “This is it?” she asked.
I nodded, staying a few steps back.
She tapped the glass. “Doesn’t look so scary to me.”
Before I could respond, the reflection shifted.
Taylor froze, her hand still against the glass. Her reflection turned to look directly at her, even though she wasn’t moving.
“What the hell…” she whispered, stepping back.
The reflection didn’t mimic her. Instead, it smiled—a wide, unnatural grin that didn’t belong on her face.
“Taylor, get away from it!” I yelled.
But it was too late.
The mirror started to hum, a low, vibrating sound that made my teeth ache. The air around us felt heavy, like the room was collapsing in on itself.
“Do you see that?” Taylor shouted, backing away.
I saw it. The surface of the mirror rippled like water, and the reflection reached out. A hand—Taylor’s hand, but not Taylor’s—pressed against the glass from the inside, its fingers curling as if trying to break through.
“Run!” I screamed, grabbing her arm and yanking her toward the door.
The mirror’s hum grew louder, almost deafening, and the distorted reflection of Taylor watched us with that same twisted grin.
We didn’t stop running until we were outside, gasping for air.
“What the hell was that?” Taylor panted, her face pale.
“I don’t know,” I said, my voice shaking. “But I think it wants more than just a reflection.”
Neither of us spoke for a long time. We just sat on the curb outside the building, catching our breath, our minds racing. Taylor was the first to break the silence.
“What do we do now?” she asked. Her voice was shaky, but there was a sharpness to it, a demand for answers I didn’t have.
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “But we can’t just leave it there. It’s… dangerous. I mean, you saw it. That thing isn’t just some creepy trick. It’s—”
“Alive,” she finished for me. “Or something close to it.”
We sat there a little longer, the weight of what we’d seen pressing down on us. The mirror wasn’t just haunted. It wasn’t just showing strange reflections. It was something else, something I couldn’t explain.
“We should destroy it,” Taylor said finally.
Her words hung in the air, heavy and final. Destroying it felt like the logical choice, but the thought of going back in there, of facing that thing again, made my stomach churn.
“What if it doesn’t work?” I asked. “What if breaking it makes it worse?”
Taylor gave me a sharp look. “Worse than it already is? That thing tried to pull me in. I’m not letting it sit there and wait for someone else to stumble onto it.”
She was right. As much as I wanted to run away, to never think about that mirror again, I couldn’t leave it behind for someone else to find.
“Alright,” I said. “But we need to be smart about it. If we’re going to destroy it, we need to make sure it’s gone for good.”
Taylor nodded, her jaw set. “Let’s do it tonight. Before we lose our nerve.”
The hours dragged by as we made our plan. We’d bring tools—hammers, a crowbar, whatever we could find—to break the mirror apart. We’d bag up the pieces and take them far away from the apartment, maybe to the river or some secluded spot where no one would ever find them.
Taylor raided her dad’s garage for supplies while I sat at her kitchen table, staring at the article I’d found about Richard Ames. I couldn’t stop thinking about him. Had he tried to destroy the mirror? Had it stopped him?
When Taylor returned, her arms loaded with tools, I pushed the thought away. We didn’t have time for second-guessing.
“You ready?” she asked, setting a sledgehammer on the floor with a thud.
“Not really,” I said honestly. “But let’s do it.”
We drove back to the apartment just before midnight. The streets were empty, and the building loomed in the dark, its windows like hollow eyes.
The air inside was colder than before, and the silence felt oppressive. My heart was pounding as we made our way to the hallway, the tools clanking in the bag Taylor carried.
The mirror was waiting for us, just like before. Its surface was still and smooth, but I could feel it watching us.
“Let’s get this over with,” Taylor muttered, pulling the sledgehammer from the bag.
She handed me a crowbar, and we stood in front of the mirror, both of us hesitating.
“Do you feel that?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
Taylor nodded. “Yeah. Like it’s… alive.”
I tightened my grip on the crowbar. “On three?”
She nodded again.
“One… two…”
Before I could say three, the mirror rippled. The smooth surface shifted, and our reflections appeared—not as they should have been, but wrong. Twisted.
Taylor’s reflection had empty black eyes and a smile stretched too wide, like it was pulled by invisible strings. Mine was worse. It wasn’t smiling. It was staring at me, its head tilted, its expression full of something I couldn’t name.
Fear. Hunger. Hate.
“Do it!” I shouted.
Taylor swung the sledgehammer with all her strength. The impact rang out like a gunshot, and the mirror cracked, a jagged line splitting down the middle.
The reflections didn’t shatter. They moved.
Taylor swung again, and the crack widened, but now the mirror was humming, the same low, vibrating sound as before. The room felt like it was spinning, the air thick and heavy.
“Keep going!” I yelled, raising the crowbar and slamming it against the glass.
The mirror groaned, like a living thing in pain. More cracks spread across its surface, but the reflections were still there, moving, pressing against the glass as if trying to break through.
“Why isn’t it breaking?” Taylor screamed, hitting it again and again.
I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. The humming was deafening now, and the cracks in the glass were glowing, a sickly, unnatural light spilling out.
Then, the mirror screamed.
It was a sound I’ll never forget—high-pitched, inhuman, full of rage and despair. The light from the cracks flared, blinding us, and the air around us seemed to explode.
I was thrown backward, hitting the wall hard. The last thing I saw before everything went black was the mirror shattering, the pieces flying in every direction like shards of light.
And then, silence.
When I came to, everything was quiet. Too quiet.
My head was pounding, and I struggled to sit up. The hallway was dim, lit only by the faint flicker of a streetlamp outside. Broken shards of glass glittered on the floor like tiny stars, and the tools Taylor and I had brought lay scattered.
“Taylor?” My voice came out hoarse, barely above a whisper. I looked around, panic building in my chest when I didn’t see her.
Then I heard a groan.
“Taylor!” I scrambled toward the sound, my hands crunching over shards of glass. She was slumped against the wall a few feet away, clutching her arm.
“Hey, hey, are you okay?” I asked, grabbing her shoulders.
She blinked at me, her eyes dazed. “What… what happened?”
“The mirror,” I said. “It shattered.”
Her gaze shifted to the pile of broken glass, and she let out a shaky breath. “Is it… gone?”
“I don’t know,” I admitted. My voice trembled despite my efforts to stay calm.
We both turned to look at the spot where the mirror had hung. The golden frame was still there, but the glass was gone—reduced to a million tiny pieces scattered across the floor.
But something felt off.
The air was heavy, like the moment before a thunderstorm. And there was a faint sound, so quiet I almost missed it. A whisper.
“Do you hear that?” I asked.
Taylor’s face went pale. “Yeah. It’s coming from…”
We both turned to the largest shard of glass lying on the floor. The whispering was louder now, rising and falling like a chant in a language I couldn’t understand.
“I think we need to leave,” Taylor said, her voice tight.
I nodded, but my legs felt like lead. I couldn’t take my eyes off the shard. There was something in it—movement, shapes twisting and writhing just beneath the surface.
“Come on,” Taylor urged, pulling at my arm.
That snapped me out of it. I stood, gripping her hand, and we stumbled out of the hallway. My heart was racing as we ran down the stairs and out into the cold night air.
We didn’t stop until we were a block away. Only then did we turn to look back at the building.
The window on the second floor—the one closest to where the mirror had been—was glowing faintly.
Taylor shivered. “What do we do now?”
I didn’t have an answer. Destroying the mirror had felt like the only solution, but whatever we’d done hadn’t fixed things. If anything, it felt worse.
“We need help,” I said finally. “Someone who knows about… this kind of thing.”
“Like an exorcist?” Taylor asked, her voice dripping with skepticism.
“Maybe,” I said. “I don’t know. But we can’t just leave it like this.”
Taylor sighed, rubbing her face with her hands. “Okay. But not tonight. I can’t… I just can’t.”
I nodded. I didn’t blame her. My whole body ached, and my mind was a mess.
We went back to her car and sat in silence for a while, trying to process what had happened.
But as we sat there, I couldn’t shake the feeling that we weren’t alone.
That night, I stayed at Taylor’s place. Neither of us slept. We sat in her living room with the lights on, jumping at every creak and shadow.
Around three in the morning, my phone buzzed.
The screen lit up with a notification: "Missed Call – Unknown."
My heart skipped a beat.
“Who is it?” Taylor asked, her voice wary.
I didn’t answer. My hands were trembling as I unlocked the phone and checked my voicemail.
There was a new message.
With a deep breath, I pressed play.
At first, there was only static. Then, faintly, I heard it.
My own voice.
“Don’t look behind you.”
A cold chill ran down my spine. Taylor must have seen the look on my face because her eyes widened.
“What is it?” she asked.
I didn’t answer. I couldn’t.
Because I could feel it.
Something was behind me.
I didn’t turn around.
And I don’t think I ever will.
The Note in the Drawer
I moved into a small apartment last month. It wasn’t much, but it was cheap, and I was in no position to be picky. The place had that typical musty smell, and the walls were thin, but it would do.
On my first day, I started unpacking my things. I was putting away some clothes when I noticed something odd. In the bottom drawer of the dresser, there was a folded piece of paper. It wasn’t mine. I hadn’t seen it before.
I opened it up, and it read: "Don’t open the closet at midnight."
It made no sense. Why would someone leave this here? Maybe it was a prank. Maybe the last tenant had a weird sense of humor. But I couldn’t shake the feeling that it was important. I laughed it off, but as midnight approached, I found myself staring at the closet door.
I tried to ignore it. I really did. But there was something about the warning that made it impossible to focus on anything else.
I glanced at the clock. It was almost midnight.
I stood up, walked to the door, and grabbed the handle. My heart was racing. I was about to open it when I heard a voice—low and raspy—whisper from the closet.
"Don’t do it."
I froze. The voice was so clear, so close. But the closet was empty. I could see it. There was nothing there.
I slowly backed away from the door, my pulse pounding in my ears. Something was wrong. I knew it, but I didn’t know what to do.
I didn’t open the closet that night. And I haven’t opened it since. But I can’t shake the feeling that something is waiting in there. And I don’t know if I’ll ever be brave enough to find out.
On my first day, I started unpacking my things. I was putting away some clothes when I noticed something odd. In the bottom drawer of the dresser, there was a folded piece of paper. It wasn’t mine. I hadn’t seen it before.
I opened it up, and it read: "Don’t open the closet at midnight."
It made no sense. Why would someone leave this here? Maybe it was a prank. Maybe the last tenant had a weird sense of humor. But I couldn’t shake the feeling that it was important. I laughed it off, but as midnight approached, I found myself staring at the closet door.
I tried to ignore it. I really did. But there was something about the warning that made it impossible to focus on anything else.
I glanced at the clock. It was almost midnight.
I stood up, walked to the door, and grabbed the handle. My heart was racing. I was about to open it when I heard a voice—low and raspy—whisper from the closet.
"Don’t do it."
I froze. The voice was so clear, so close. But the closet was empty. I could see it. There was nothing there.
I slowly backed away from the door, my pulse pounding in my ears. Something was wrong. I knew it, but I didn’t know what to do.
I didn’t open the closet that night. And I haven’t opened it since. But I can’t shake the feeling that something is waiting in there. And I don’t know if I’ll ever be brave enough to find out.
The House on Maple Street
I didn’t think much of the house when I first saw it. It was just another old, run-down place on Maple Street. No one had lived there for years. It was the kind of house you’d cross the street to avoid. But one day, I found myself standing in front of it. There was a strange pull, like I had to see what was inside.
I knocked on the door. No answer. I tried the knob. It was unlocked. I hesitated, then stepped inside. The smell hit me first. Dust. Old wood. Something else, something I couldn’t place.
The inside was dark, but I made my way through the rooms. The wallpaper was peeling, the furniture covered in sheets. But the thing that bothered me the most was the silence. It felt wrong, like the house was holding its breath.
I made my way up to the second floor. The hallway was narrow, and the floors creaked under my feet. Then I saw it. A door, slightly ajar. There was something behind it, I could feel it.
I pushed the door open and froze. In the corner of the room stood a mirror. It wasn’t huge, but it was old, with a dark, ornate frame. I walked closer, not sure why, but I couldn’t stop myself. When I looked into it, I didn’t see my reflection. I saw someone else. A man, standing right behind me, smiling.
I spun around. No one was there. I turned back to the mirror. The man was still there, his smile wider now. I felt a cold chill run down my spine.
“Who are you?” I whispered. But the man didn’t answer. His smile only grew.
I backed away from the mirror, my heart pounding. The door slammed shut behind me. I tried to open it, but it wouldn’t budge. The house felt like it was closing in on me.
I looked back at the mirror. The man was still there, but now he was closer. His face was pressed against the glass, his eyes wide, like he was trying to get through.
I tried to scream, but no sound came out. The man reached out, his fingers curling toward me, and for the first time, I realized he wasn’t in the mirror. He was inside the room with me.
I stumbled backward, my mind racing. I had to get out. I had to leave. But the man was getting closer. His hand was almost on my shoulder when the mirror shattered.
The glass fell to the floor in a million pieces, but I didn’t wait. I pushed open the door, ran down the stairs, and didn’t stop until I was outside, gasping for air.
I never went back to that house. I don’t know who the man in the mirror was, or what he wanted. But sometimes, when I look into a mirror, I feel like I see him behind me. Waiting.
I knocked on the door. No answer. I tried the knob. It was unlocked. I hesitated, then stepped inside. The smell hit me first. Dust. Old wood. Something else, something I couldn’t place.
The inside was dark, but I made my way through the rooms. The wallpaper was peeling, the furniture covered in sheets. But the thing that bothered me the most was the silence. It felt wrong, like the house was holding its breath.
I made my way up to the second floor. The hallway was narrow, and the floors creaked under my feet. Then I saw it. A door, slightly ajar. There was something behind it, I could feel it.
I pushed the door open and froze. In the corner of the room stood a mirror. It wasn’t huge, but it was old, with a dark, ornate frame. I walked closer, not sure why, but I couldn’t stop myself. When I looked into it, I didn’t see my reflection. I saw someone else. A man, standing right behind me, smiling.
I spun around. No one was there. I turned back to the mirror. The man was still there, his smile wider now. I felt a cold chill run down my spine.
“Who are you?” I whispered. But the man didn’t answer. His smile only grew.
I backed away from the mirror, my heart pounding. The door slammed shut behind me. I tried to open it, but it wouldn’t budge. The house felt like it was closing in on me.
I looked back at the mirror. The man was still there, but now he was closer. His face was pressed against the glass, his eyes wide, like he was trying to get through.
I tried to scream, but no sound came out. The man reached out, his fingers curling toward me, and for the first time, I realized he wasn’t in the mirror. He was inside the room with me.
I stumbled backward, my mind racing. I had to get out. I had to leave. But the man was getting closer. His hand was almost on my shoulder when the mirror shattered.
The glass fell to the floor in a million pieces, but I didn’t wait. I pushed open the door, ran down the stairs, and didn’t stop until I was outside, gasping for air.
I never went back to that house. I don’t know who the man in the mirror was, or what he wanted. But sometimes, when I look into a mirror, I feel like I see him behind me. Waiting.
The Mirror
I found the mirror at a yard sale. It was old, but the frame looked sturdy. It wasn’t anything special, but something about it caught my eye. I don’t know what made me buy it. I wasn’t even looking for a mirror.
The seller didn’t seem to care much about it. “It’s been in the family for years,” she said. “I think it’s just a little... odd. But you can have it for cheap.”
I paid her and took it home. At first, nothing happened. It just hung on my wall, like any other mirror. But then, things started to feel different. At night, I would catch myself staring into it, not sure for how long. Sometimes I saw things in the reflection that didn’t match what was around me. Shadows moving when I wasn’t.
I didn’t tell anyone about it. They would think I was crazy. But the mirror kept calling to me. Each time I looked, it felt harder to look away.
One evening, I stood in front of it, trying to avoid the strange feeling creeping up on me. But then I saw something new. A figure, standing just behind me in the reflection. At first, I thought it was a trick of the light, but it wasn’t. I could see the figure clearly, like it was real.
I turned around quickly, but no one was there.
I went back to the mirror. The figure was still there. It stood still, just staring at me.
I tried to ignore it, but the feeling wouldn’t go away. I started having nightmares. I would wake up in the middle of the night and see that figure standing by my bed, staring at me. It felt so real, like it was waiting for something.
One night, I couldn’t take it anymore. I went to the mirror and tried to touch the figure. My fingers brushed the glass, but it didn’t feel like glass. It felt... wrong. Cold. Empty.
Suddenly, I felt something grab my wrist. I yanked my hand away, but it didn’t let go. I looked into the mirror. The figure was closer now, its face inches from mine. It was smiling, but it wasn’t a friendly smile. It was wide and stretched too far.
I couldn’t pull away. I tried, but my hand stayed stuck, pressing against the glass. The figure leaned in closer, and I could hear a voice, faint but clear.
“You can’t leave now.”
The voice was soft, but it felt like it was inside my head. I finally managed to tear my hand away, but I couldn’t stop looking into the mirror. The figure grinned wider, as if it had won.
I didn’t sleep that night. The next day, I took the mirror down. I wrapped it in a blanket and put it in the back of my closet. But when I checked, I saw it.
The mirror was back on the wall. And the figure was waiting for me again.
The seller didn’t seem to care much about it. “It’s been in the family for years,” she said. “I think it’s just a little... odd. But you can have it for cheap.”
I paid her and took it home. At first, nothing happened. It just hung on my wall, like any other mirror. But then, things started to feel different. At night, I would catch myself staring into it, not sure for how long. Sometimes I saw things in the reflection that didn’t match what was around me. Shadows moving when I wasn’t.
I didn’t tell anyone about it. They would think I was crazy. But the mirror kept calling to me. Each time I looked, it felt harder to look away.
One evening, I stood in front of it, trying to avoid the strange feeling creeping up on me. But then I saw something new. A figure, standing just behind me in the reflection. At first, I thought it was a trick of the light, but it wasn’t. I could see the figure clearly, like it was real.
I turned around quickly, but no one was there.
I went back to the mirror. The figure was still there. It stood still, just staring at me.
I tried to ignore it, but the feeling wouldn’t go away. I started having nightmares. I would wake up in the middle of the night and see that figure standing by my bed, staring at me. It felt so real, like it was waiting for something.
One night, I couldn’t take it anymore. I went to the mirror and tried to touch the figure. My fingers brushed the glass, but it didn’t feel like glass. It felt... wrong. Cold. Empty.
Suddenly, I felt something grab my wrist. I yanked my hand away, but it didn’t let go. I looked into the mirror. The figure was closer now, its face inches from mine. It was smiling, but it wasn’t a friendly smile. It was wide and stretched too far.
I couldn’t pull away. I tried, but my hand stayed stuck, pressing against the glass. The figure leaned in closer, and I could hear a voice, faint but clear.
“You can’t leave now.”
The voice was soft, but it felt like it was inside my head. I finally managed to tear my hand away, but I couldn’t stop looking into the mirror. The figure grinned wider, as if it had won.
I didn’t sleep that night. The next day, I took the mirror down. I wrapped it in a blanket and put it in the back of my closet. But when I checked, I saw it.
The mirror was back on the wall. And the figure was waiting for me again.
The Call
I got a strange phone call last night. At first, I thought it was just a wrong number, but when I answered, the voice on the other end sounded... off.
It wasn’t the usual robotic tone you get with spam calls. No, this was different. The voice was shaky, like the person was nervous or scared. It said my name, and then, it just started repeating it.
“Sarah... Sarah... Sarah...”
It sounded like it was coming from far away, but somehow, it was still clear enough to send chills down my spine. I didn’t say anything at first. I just listened.
The voice continued. “I’m watching you.”
I felt my heart race. My first thought was to hang up, but something kept me there, listening. The voice didn’t sound like anyone I knew. It didn’t sound familiar at all, but it also didn’t sound completely strange. It was just... wrong.
“I see you,” it whispered. “You’re not alone.”
I froze. I looked around my apartment, but it was empty. There was no one here. I had locked the door. It was just me and the silence.
Then, the voice spoke again. But this time, it was different. It wasn’t just my name. It started saying things about my life. Little things. Things no one would know.
“Your keys are on the kitchen counter,” the voice said, as if it was looking right at them.
I turned toward the kitchen, and sure enough, my keys were lying on the counter. I wasn’t sure what to do. I felt a pit form in my stomach.
“I can hear you breathe,” it whispered next. “I can hear everything.”
I could feel my breath catching in my chest. I wasn’t sure whether to hang up or call the police, but I couldn’t move. I couldn’t think. The voice kept going, getting more intense.
“I can see your phone, Sarah. I know where you are. You can’t hide from me.”
Then, the line went dead.
I stared at my phone, feeling my hands shake. I didn’t know what to think. Was it a prank? Was someone playing a sick joke on me? Or was it something worse? I wasn’t sure.
I decided to go to bed and try to forget about it. But when I lay down, I noticed something.
My phone had started ringing again. The same number. I didn’t answer.
The voice from the night before echoed in my head: “I can hear everything.”
I tried to sleep, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I wasn’t alone in my own apartment. That someone, or something, was still here with me. Watching me.
And I’m not sure if it’s gone. Because every time I pick up my phone now, it’s always the same number calling. And I can never seem to stop listening.
It wasn’t the usual robotic tone you get with spam calls. No, this was different. The voice was shaky, like the person was nervous or scared. It said my name, and then, it just started repeating it.
“Sarah... Sarah... Sarah...”
It sounded like it was coming from far away, but somehow, it was still clear enough to send chills down my spine. I didn’t say anything at first. I just listened.
The voice continued. “I’m watching you.”
I felt my heart race. My first thought was to hang up, but something kept me there, listening. The voice didn’t sound like anyone I knew. It didn’t sound familiar at all, but it also didn’t sound completely strange. It was just... wrong.
“I see you,” it whispered. “You’re not alone.”
I froze. I looked around my apartment, but it was empty. There was no one here. I had locked the door. It was just me and the silence.
Then, the voice spoke again. But this time, it was different. It wasn’t just my name. It started saying things about my life. Little things. Things no one would know.
“Your keys are on the kitchen counter,” the voice said, as if it was looking right at them.
I turned toward the kitchen, and sure enough, my keys were lying on the counter. I wasn’t sure what to do. I felt a pit form in my stomach.
“I can hear you breathe,” it whispered next. “I can hear everything.”
I could feel my breath catching in my chest. I wasn’t sure whether to hang up or call the police, but I couldn’t move. I couldn’t think. The voice kept going, getting more intense.
“I can see your phone, Sarah. I know where you are. You can’t hide from me.”
Then, the line went dead.
I stared at my phone, feeling my hands shake. I didn’t know what to think. Was it a prank? Was someone playing a sick joke on me? Or was it something worse? I wasn’t sure.
I decided to go to bed and try to forget about it. But when I lay down, I noticed something.
My phone had started ringing again. The same number. I didn’t answer.
The voice from the night before echoed in my head: “I can hear everything.”
I tried to sleep, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I wasn’t alone in my own apartment. That someone, or something, was still here with me. Watching me.
And I’m not sure if it’s gone. Because every time I pick up my phone now, it’s always the same number calling. And I can never seem to stop listening.
The Door
I found the door in the woods. It wasn’t there the day before. I was walking my usual route when I saw it—just standing there, out of place. A wooden door, with no walls, no house around it. It looked old, like it had been there for years, even though I was sure it hadn’t.
Curious, I walked closer. The air around it felt cold, almost like a breeze, but there was no wind. I stood in front of it for a long time, staring at the brass doorknob. It was shiny, like someone had polished it recently. The door was just... out of place.
I reached out and touched the knob. It felt warm, not cold like everything else. I hesitated for a moment. Why was it so warm? Should I open it?
But something pushed me. A feeling, like I needed to. So, I turned the knob. It creaked loudly, but the door didn’t open. It felt stuck, like something was on the other side, holding it closed. I gave it a shove, and finally, the door opened.
There was nothing on the other side. Just darkness. No light, no sounds, nothing. But the feeling, the weight of it, felt... wrong. I tried to step back, but my feet wouldn’t move. It was like the air around me had thickened. I could barely breathe.
I looked back at the door. The darkness was pulling at me. I couldn’t explain it, but I knew I had to go through. Every part of me screamed to turn and run, but I couldn’t. My legs moved forward, dragging me through the door.
The moment I stepped through, the door slammed shut behind me. I looked around, but there was still nothing. No walls, no ground, just an empty void. And then, I saw it.
There was a figure standing in the distance, barely visible. I couldn’t make out its features, but I knew it was watching me. Slowly, I began walking toward it. My steps felt heavy, as if something was pushing down on me.
When I got closer, I stopped. The figure was just standing there, still, silent. And then, it moved. It turned its head, slowly, to face me. Its eyes were wide, black voids. It didn’t blink.
I froze, unable to move. Its mouth opened, but no sound came out. And then, it smiled. A slow, wide grin that didn’t feel human. Something was wrong. I should have turned and ran, but I couldn’t. I was stuck, watching, as the smile stretched wider and wider.
I didn’t know how long I stood there, paralyzed by fear, but eventually, I blinked. When I opened my eyes, the figure was gone.
The door reappeared behind me. I didn’t hesitate. I ran to it, grabbed the knob, and yanked it open. I stepped through, back into the woods. But something was different. The trees were gone. The air was colder.
And then I realized. I wasn’t alone. The figure from the void was standing just behind me, smiling, watching.
Curious, I walked closer. The air around it felt cold, almost like a breeze, but there was no wind. I stood in front of it for a long time, staring at the brass doorknob. It was shiny, like someone had polished it recently. The door was just... out of place.
I reached out and touched the knob. It felt warm, not cold like everything else. I hesitated for a moment. Why was it so warm? Should I open it?
But something pushed me. A feeling, like I needed to. So, I turned the knob. It creaked loudly, but the door didn’t open. It felt stuck, like something was on the other side, holding it closed. I gave it a shove, and finally, the door opened.
There was nothing on the other side. Just darkness. No light, no sounds, nothing. But the feeling, the weight of it, felt... wrong. I tried to step back, but my feet wouldn’t move. It was like the air around me had thickened. I could barely breathe.
I looked back at the door. The darkness was pulling at me. I couldn’t explain it, but I knew I had to go through. Every part of me screamed to turn and run, but I couldn’t. My legs moved forward, dragging me through the door.
The moment I stepped through, the door slammed shut behind me. I looked around, but there was still nothing. No walls, no ground, just an empty void. And then, I saw it.
There was a figure standing in the distance, barely visible. I couldn’t make out its features, but I knew it was watching me. Slowly, I began walking toward it. My steps felt heavy, as if something was pushing down on me.
When I got closer, I stopped. The figure was just standing there, still, silent. And then, it moved. It turned its head, slowly, to face me. Its eyes were wide, black voids. It didn’t blink.
I froze, unable to move. Its mouth opened, but no sound came out. And then, it smiled. A slow, wide grin that didn’t feel human. Something was wrong. I should have turned and ran, but I couldn’t. I was stuck, watching, as the smile stretched wider and wider.
I didn’t know how long I stood there, paralyzed by fear, but eventually, I blinked. When I opened my eyes, the figure was gone.
The door reappeared behind me. I didn’t hesitate. I ran to it, grabbed the knob, and yanked it open. I stepped through, back into the woods. But something was different. The trees were gone. The air was colder.
And then I realized. I wasn’t alone. The figure from the void was standing just behind me, smiling, watching.
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