Lena's breath hitched. The figure in the mirror didn't move, but she could feel it waiting. A deep, bone-chilling wrongness seeped into the air around her.
She had to do something.
Summoning every ounce of courage, she grabbed the camera, turned the lens toward the mirror, and snapped a picture.
The bulb flashed.
And the figure blinked.
Lena gasped, stumbling backward as her pulse raced. The reflection of the figure in the mirror had shifted, its eyes now wide open, staring straight at her through the glass. A thin, twisted smile spread across its face.
She froze. The air in the room grew heavier, almost suffocating, as if the space itself was closing in on her.
She took another step back, but her legs felt weak, and she nearly lost her balance.
Her heart thudded in her chest, pounding so loudly she was sure the figure could hear it. She grabbed her camera and raised it toward the mirror again, but the moment she did, the figure's smile stretched impossibly wide.
Lena's breath caught in her throat.
It wasn't just in the mirror anymore.
She could hear its footsteps now—loud and deliberate, echoing from within the reflection. It was coming for her.
The reflection of the figure reached out with one long, skeletal hand, fingers pressing against the glass, a faint sound of scratching filling the air.
Lena's mind raced. She couldn't think. Her only instinct was to run, to escape. But her feet remained rooted to the ground.
The mirror began to ripple, the edges warping like water disturbed by an unseen force. The figure's hand stretched farther, pushing against the surface of the glass, distorting the reflection.
Lena's pulse quickened. She lifted the camera to her eye, desperate for answers, for some way to stop this—this nightmare that was closing in on her.
The figure's hand slammed against the mirror with an audible crack.
Then, everything went black.
Lena awoke with a jolt, her body stiff and aching. She blinked, disoriented, her heart racing as the darkness of the room slowly began to clear. The silence was deafening, broken only by the distant hum of traffic outside her window.
But something was wrong.
The mirror. The figure.
She scrambled to her feet, eyes darting across the room, looking for any sign of the reflection, the presence that had haunted her.
And then—she saw it.
The mirror was cracked.
A jagged, black line cut through the center, like the spider-webbed fracture of glass after a hard blow. The edges seemed to ripple, faint distortions creeping through its surface, as though the glass itself was no longer solid.
Lena's breath caught in her throat. She took a cautious step toward it, every instinct in her telling her to turn and run, but she couldn't. She had to understand. She had to know what was happening.
She reached out, fingers trembling, and touched the cool surface of the mirror.
It felt wrong. The glass was warm, pulsating under her touch like a living thing. Her skin prickled, and her heartbeat raced as she pressed harder against it, her fingers sinking into the fractured surface. The cracks spread, widening, until the mirror gave way entirely—a tear in reality itself.
Without thinking, she stepped closer, her breath shallow. And before she could stop herself, she was drawn in. The world around her seemed to shift, the room blurring into a whirl of distorted shapes and colors. Her hand sank deeper into the glass, and before she could pull back, she was through.
Lena stumbled forward, catching herself against a cold, hard surface. She looked up and gasped.
She was no longer in her apartment.
The world she now found herself in was dark and silent, but the air was thick with an unnatural stillness. The walls were made of glass, as though she were trapped inside a giant fishbowl. Shadows twisted and shifted at the edges of her vision, moving just beyond her sight.
Then, from the corner of the room, she saw him.
The figure.
It stood there, waiting.
Its twisted smile spread wider as it took a step toward her.
Lena's breath caught in her throat. She couldn't move, couldn't speak. The terror paralyzed her.
The figure lifted its hand, and the air grew colder with each passing second. It was reaching for her.