Chapter 3: The Man in the Mirror
I ran.
Not out of the house — I wasn’t that stupid yet. I locked myself in the bathroom, the only room without a camera I could remember installing. My back pressed against the cold door as I slid down to the floor, breathing hard.
My phone wouldn’t stop vibrating. Dozens of notifications from the Echo app, even though I’d factory reset it twice.
Last Seen: Kneeling on the bathroom floor
Activity: Panicking
I looked up.
The bathroom mirror showed me exactly as I was — sweaty, wide-eyed, terrified. But as I stared, my reflection blinked half a second after I did. Then it smiled.
I didn’t.
The reflection leaned closer to the glass, pressing its forehead against it until the surface fogged from its breath. My breath.
“You’ve always been so slow,” it whispered, voice muffled but perfectly clear. “Thirty-eight years and you never once wondered why some mornings you woke up more tired than when you went to bed.”
I covered my ears. It didn’t matter. The voice was inside my head now too.
A memory flashed — last month, waking up with blood under my nails and no idea where it came from. The week before, my coworkers joking that I seemed “different” after my night shifts. The time Sarah left because she said I’d been acting like a stranger for months.
The thing in the mirror laughed softly, reading my thoughts like they were subtitles.
“Yeah. That was me. Borrowing you. The body gets… stiff after wearing it too long. Needs rest.”
It raised a hand and placed it flat against the glass. I watched in horror as my real hand slowly lifted on its own, moving toward the mirror like a magnet. My fingertips touched the cold surface.
For one sickening second, the glass felt warm. Soft. Like skin.
I yanked my hand back, but it was too late. A thin crack appeared in the mirror, spreading like a spiderweb from the point of contact.
The creature’s face split into a grin that tore wider than human jaws should allow.
“I don’t need the cameras anymore,” it said. “I’m already inside.”
The lights flickered. When they steadied, the mirror was empty. My reflection was gone.
But I could still feel it.
Behind my eyes.
Watching.
I smashed the mirror with my fist. Shards rained down, cutting deep into my knuckles. Blood ran down the sink — real blood, warm and mine.
May you like
From the broken pieces on the floor, dozens of fractured reflections stared up at me, all smiling with black eyes.
One of them winked.
