Mirrors always felt wrong at night. The reason had never been clear—until now.
The candle flickered as footsteps passed the hallway mirror. For the first time, a glance was dared.
The reflection smiled.
The watcher did not.
Frozen in place, breath caught, the thing in the glass tilted its head, eyes gleaming like wet onyx. A hand lifted—fingers twitching, beckoning.
A step back.
The reflection did not follow.
A crack spiderwebbed across the glass. From the splintered surface, something crawled out.
A scream never left trembling lips. The candle died. The mirror stood empty.
And somewhere, inside the glass, hands pounded from the other side, begging to be let out.