The hand twitched.
Evelyn's breath hitched, her body frozen in place. The fingers—pale, elongated, wrong—curled slightly, pressing against the wooden floor as if testing the weight of existence.
Then, it dragged forward.
A slow, deliberate motion. Scraping against the stone. Something was coming.
Evelyn took a step back, her heartbeat a drum against her ribs. The door leading into the dark stood slightly ajar, and beyond it, the shadows moved.
A whisper slithered through the air.
"Don't turn away."
Evelyn ignored it.
She turned—and ran.
Her feet pounded against the stone floor as she bolted toward the staircase at the far end of the basement. The air was thick, pressing against her lungs like unseen hands. The walls breathed. The whispers laughed.
Behind her—something crawled.
Fast.
She hit the stairs hard, gripping the railing as she climbed two steps at a time. The wood groaned under her weight, as if trying to hold her back.
Then—
Cold fingers wrapped around her ankle.
Evelyn screamed.
She kicked wildly, her heel connecting with something soft but wrong—not flesh, not bone, but something that shouldn't exist.
The grip loosened. She wrenched herself free, throwing her weight forward. The door at the top of the stairs was closed. She lunged for the handle, twisting, yanking.
It wouldn't open.
Behind her—scraping.
A whisper, almost amused: "Stay."
Evelyn slammed her shoulder into the door. Wood cracked.
Another hit.
The door burst open.
She stumbled forward, hitting the ground hard. The moment her body crossed the threshold, the air changed.
The whispers stopped.
The basement—gone.
She was in her mother's house again. The hallway. The old mirror stood at the end, cracked and dusty. The air was still, untouched by whatever horror had just chased her.
Evelyn spun, expecting to see the open basement door.
But it wasn't there.
The wall was solid. No door. No stairs.
Nothing.
Her breath came in ragged gasps. Had she imagined it? No. She could still feel the cold grip on her ankle, the bruising ache in her shoulder from slamming through the door.
It had been real.
And then—a sound.
A slow, rhythmic knocking.
From the mirror.
Evelyn's reflection wasn't moving.
And then, with a slow, unnatural smile—
It whispered:
"He's coming."
The Reflection's Warning
Evelyn couldn't move.
Her reflection was wrong.
It stood in the mirror, staring back at her—but it wasn't just a simple image. It lingered, its head tilting slightly as if observing her. Its lips had moved, whispering those two words.
"He's coming."
Her heart pounded against her ribs. The house around her was silent, but the air felt charged, like the moment before a storm.
She swallowed, stepping closer to the mirror. Her reflection should have mimicked her—but it didn't. It remained still, watching.
Her voice came out hoarse. "Who's coming?"
The reflection's lips curled into a slow smile.
Then—it moved.
Not like a reflection. It stepped forward inside the glass, the background behind it shifting. No longer a hallway—but a room. A place Evelyn had never seen before.
A room filled with shadows.
She stumbled back, her breath quickening. "What is this?"
The reflection tilted its head, amusement flickering in its hollow, too-dark eyes. And then, finally, it spoke again—its voice layered, as if multiple whispers were speaking at once.
"You need to remember."
Evelyn's stomach twisted. "Remember what?"
The reflection's smile faded.
"Why you left."
The Forgotten Past
The words struck something deep inside her.
A memory, buried.
Something she had pushed away.
Her childhood in Black Hollow had always been fragmented. She remembered the town, the cold autumns, the feeling of being watched—but there were gaps. Moments she couldn't recall, like pages torn from a book.
Her mother had been secretive, paranoid. Always warning her about the whispers. About the house.
Evelyn clenched her fists.
Her mother had died here. Alone. And Evelyn had always felt guilt—because she had left.
Why?
What had happened all those years ago?
The reflection knew.
It lifted a hand, pressing it against the glass. "Look."
The mirror's surface rippled.
And suddenly—Evelyn was no longer standing in the hallway.
The Vision
The air turned heavy. Thick. Evelyn gasped as the world shifted, her surroundings twisting into something else.
She was somewhere else.
The house was different.
Not abandoned. Not broken.
It was alive.
The wallpaper was fresh, the wooden floors polished. Candles flickered in sconces along the walls, casting eerie, elongated shadows. The scent of burning wood mixed with something... rotting.
Then she heard it.
A child's laughter.
Faint. Echoing down the hallway.
Her breath hitched. A memory. This was a memory.
Her feet moved on their own, drawn forward.
She turned a corner—
And saw herself.
A small girl. No older than seven. Dressed in a pale blue nightgown, her dark hair tangled from sleep. She stood in front of a door, tiny fingers pressed against the wood.
Listening.
Evelyn's pulse quickened. She remembered this.
This was her room.
The younger version of herself leaned in, ear pressed against the door.
And then—a whisper seeped through the wood.
"Evelyn… let me in."
The child froze.
So did the older Evelyn.
She wanted to scream—don't do it! But the memory was already unfolding, set in stone.
The younger Evelyn reached for the handle.
Her fingers wrapped around it.
Turned.
The door creaked open.
Darkness spilled from the other side, curling like smoke.
Then—a hand emerged.
The same pale, unnatural hand she had just seen in the basement.
Evelyn's body locked up.
No.
No, no, no.
The hand reached for the young girl's wrist—
And then—
A scream.
The world shattered.
The Return to Reality
Evelyn gasped, staggering backward.
She was in the hallway again. The mirror was intact, its surface still and ordinary—except for one thing.
The reflection was gone.
Her own face stared back at her now, wide-eyed and pale.
She sucked in a breath.
She had seen it.
The thing had tried to take her as a child. And now, after all these years, it was still waiting.
She understood now.
This wasn't just a haunted house.
This house had been feeding on her family.
And whatever was inside it—it wanted her back.
Then, from somewhere deep within the house—
A slow, deliberate knock.
Coming from the front door.
Evelyn turned, her body tense.
No one should be here.
No one should know she was here.
But the knocking came again. Harder. More insistent.
Then—
A voice.
Low. Familiar.
"Evelyn... open the door."
Her breath caught in her throat.
Because the voice?
It was her mother's.