In the muffled world of privilege, Emma Smith seemed destined for a seamless existence. Heiress to a colossal fortune, she was the only daughter of Charles Smith, a respected CEO whose empire extended across the entire country. Her life had been shaped by comfort and indulgence, a cozy cocoon that had protected her from any adversity.
Yet, a persistent emptiness remained.
The disappearance of her mother, which occurred when Emma was just a child, had left an invisible scar. In her nightmares, she saw the shredded body, the ribcage gaping like a scarlet flower from which gleaming viscera escaped. The once immaculate walls of the parental bedroom, splattered with brownish red, still haunted her fragmented memory.
Sometimes, when she closed her eyes, she heard that wet gurgle, the last breath of her mother escaping from a slashed throat, and smelled that metallic odor that had permeated the place for weeks.
And then, there was that reflection... The one in her bathroom mirror.
One night, as she brushed her teeth, she had the impression that her reflection wasn't quite obeying her. A tiny lag, a second's delay. At first imperceptible, then increasingly obvious. Her eyes in the mirror blinked a fraction of a second too late, her smile stretched a few moments after hers.
That night, frozen in front of the mirror, Emma felt her blood run cold when her reflection completely stopped moving while she was trembling with all her limbs. The eyes of her double, bloodshot, were fixed directly into hers with an unhealthy intensity. Then, slowly, a grimace distorted her reflected face, revealing black and purulent gums, abnormally pointed yellowish teeth.
The reflection brought its hands closer to the glass, leaving moist and reddish traces on the shiny surface. Emma had backed away, but her double had continued to advance, as if the mirror was just a simple window. The silver surface began to undulate like a thick liquid, and pale fingers with black nails torn to the flesh began to emerge from it, dragging with them shreds of dead skin and viscous filaments.
Paralyzed with terror, Emma had watched this thing, this corrupted version of herself, extract itself centimeter by centimeter from the mirror, the wet and obscene sound of sliding flesh resonating in the tiled room. A stench of rot had invaded the air, and black flies had begun to buzz around the walking corpse that wore her face.
It was only when the entity had spoken her name with the voice of her dead mother that Emma had found the strength to scream and flee, leaving behind this abomination that was no longer a simple reflection.
And this dull anxiety grew in her, intensifying as her eighteenth birthday approached, like a silent premonition.
That day, Emma was preparing for her usual routine: a shopping session in the most luxurious mall in the city. Her cousin Jade was supposed to join her, though a slight doubt already hung over this appointment.
A strange presentiment taunted her, but she chose to ignore it, focusing on the prospect of finding the most beautiful clothing pieces. She shook her head, refusing to let herself be invaded by all negative energies. That wasn't going to spoil her shopping session.
When the time came, she went to the store and found some clothes to her liking. A good catch. Jade, on the other hand, was not at the meeting point. Strange. She would write to her later.
On the way back, a little girl in tears called out to her. She was looking for her brother. Impossible for Emma to ignore her sobs. Fortunately, the boy was not far, standing near the exit, scanning the crowd.
When the little girl joined him, something strange happened.
"I told you it was easy to get her, Sebastian."
Emma felt a shiver run down her spine. The boy looked up at her and added in a dismal voice: "Can we have some of your fresh flesh?"
Her blood froze.
Lea shrugged and declared: "Well, might as well help ourselves directly. She'll take too long to answer."
Their pupils had been tinged with a deep, unfathomable black. Sebastian pulled out a fork. Lea, a spoon.
Emma tried to flee, but her foot stumbled. Before she could get up, a searing pain exploded in her Achilles heel. Sebastian had just driven his fork into it to immobilize her.
She opened her mouth to scream, but Lea planted her spoon in her throat, cutting short any cry. The pain was unbearable, but what terrified her the most was the indifference of the passersby. No one moved. No one came to help her.
Sebastian smiled. "My dearest sister Lea, would you do me the pleasure of starting the tasting?"
"My dear brother, we cannot eat without inviting the others. It would be impolite. Come, all of you around us, it's time for the feast!"
A murmur ran through the crowd. "Feast... someone mentioned a feast..." "Yes, it smells like fresh meat..." "An exquisite moment to share..."
One by one, the spectators pulled out kitchen utensils: knives, ladles, spatulas...
Emma was suffocating with anguish.
Sebastian snickered. "While waiting for everyone, let's make the meal bleed. I prefer it juicy."
The fork sank deeper into her flesh, tracing new wounds in her calves, then her thighs. Her blood spurted. Then, people fell on her, biting, slicing, devouring.
Slowly, Emma slipped into unconsciousness.
When she opened her eyes, she was in the hospital. Everything was white. Clean. Silent.
Where were those black-eyed children? How had she gotten here?
A knock at the door made her jump. Jade entered with a drink in her hand. She rushed to her, bombarding her with questions: was she okay? What had happened? Why had she fainted in the middle of the mall?
Emma turned pale. "I... I fainted?"
"Yes," replied Jade. "I entered the store and saw you fall. I immediately called for help."
And the children? Why wasn't she talking about them?
"There were children..." Emma tried. "You didn't see them?"
Jade frowned. "What children?"
Before she could answer, a doctor entered.
"Hello, I'm Dr. Marc. I'm here to see how Miss Emma is doing."
He took her vitals and nodded. "Everything is fine, but she needs rest."
Jade gave her a kiss and assured her that Charles would visit soon, then left the room.
Emma fell back on the pillow. Sleep. Maybe that would help her understand.
But after midnight, a noise woke her up. A figure was standing at the foot of her bed.
It was a nurse. Her complexion was pale, her long hair hiding her face. She approached slowly, an almost gentle smile on her lips.
"My name is Laura. I'm here to take your vitals."
But in her hand, it wasn't a stethoscope. It was a sickle.
Emma swallowed. "What... what is that for?"
The nurse tilted her head. "Oh, we'll know soon."
Then, without warning, she began to slash...
To be continued