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.