The next morning, Elena Harper looked like she hadn't slept.
Because she hadn't.
The mirror's door stayed ajar all night, and every time she closed her eyes, she felt like someone was watching her. No footsteps. No voice. Just the overwhelming presence of… being seen.
By dawn, she was done pretending this was all in her head.
"You're living in Rosehill Manor, Elena. Not a haunted film set."
Leah giggled as she spilled her iced coffee on the table.
They'd come to the café just beyond town—neutral ground. Someplace that reeked of roasted beans, not rot and wallpaper gone bad, ghostly breath.
Elena managed a weak smile. "I'm serious, Leah. I think there's. something wrong with that house."
Sitting next to her, Mark, her best friend since childhood, leaned in. "Wrong like. rats-in-the-walls wrong? Or Victorian-ghost-boy-playing-the-violin wrong?"
Elena glared at her drink.
"Chains covered the mirror on the second floor."
They both blinked.
"Okay," Mark said slowly. "That is creepy."
"And now the chains are loose. Alone."
"…Okay, very creepy."
Leah arched an eyebrow. "Are you certain that someone didn't break in?"
"I thought so too," Elena whispered. "But nothing's missing. And I heard knocks—from the inside of the mirror."
The door to the kitchen fell silent.
Leah leaned back. "Are you absolutely certain you're all right? I mean, after Eleanor died—grief does funny things to the brain."
"I'm not mourning hallucinations, Leah. I'm being watched."
Mark rubbed the back of his neck. "You've always been empathetic to energy, remember? That one summer at the lakehouse, when you told me that someone was in your room and we found the diary hidden behind the floorboards?
Leah rolled her eyes. "That was likely some dude's secret journal of past girlfriends."
Elena nudged the journal she'd brought with her along the table. "This was my grandmother's. There are mentions in here of a man named Julian. That he never grew old. That he… recalled her name. And then that same name popped up in dust on the mirror.
Mark flipped the book open. "This writing doesn't look like her usual notes. It's… different."
"Exactly," Elena said. "It arrived overnight. And I didn't write it."
Leah gave her a piercing stare. "Do you think he's… real?"
Elena hesitated.
"I don't know. But I think he's stuck in that mirror."
Mark's jaw clamped. "Okay. I know this is crazy, but I think you think it. So what do we do? Pack up and leave? Call a priest? Smash the mirror?"
"I've tried," Elena said, whispering. "The glass won't break."
Leah bent in, her sarcasm fading. "Elena… if your grandmother was up to something deeper, something magical—we need to know what she began."
Mark nodded. "We're not letting you go through this by yourself."
Back at the manor, hours later, Elena entered the bedroom with the mirror. Alone once more.
The door closed now.
No indication of movement.
But etched faintly on the inside of the mirror—again, as if drawn in fog—were the words:
"Three came. Only you may stay."
Elena couldn't stop staring at the mirror.
The words were gone.She blinked—once, twice—and the fog-like scrawl had vanished completely, like it had never been there. But her skin still tingled with unease.
"Just me," she whispered. "What happens if someone else stays?"
Behind her, footsteps creaked up the staircase.
"Elena?" Mark's voice floated up, followed by Leah's. "We brought your favorite cinnamon rolls as an offering to the haunted furniture."
Elena smiled faintly but didn't answer. She didn't want to turn her back to the mirror.
Not anymore.
Leah stepped into the room first and paused. "Okay, this room is… heavier than I expected."
Mark followed, his gaze settling on the armoire. "So that's the mirror?"
Elena nodded. "It watches. Or listens. I'm not sure which is worse."
Mark walked over slowly, raising a hand. "Mind if I touch it?"
"No," Elena said quickly. "It reacts. It knows who's not me."
"Seriously?" Leah said with a nervous laugh. "You think it's... selective?"
"I know it is," Elena said. "It warned me."
Leah crossed her arms, eyes flicking to the glass. "Well, I don't scare easy."
She reached out and placed her fingers gently on the mirror's surface.
Nothing happened.
For a few seconds.
Then the light in the room flickered. The air thickened. A low humming sound—barely audible—vibrated through the floorboards.
Leah snapped her hand back. "What the—?"
Mark stepped between her and the armoire. "Okay. Nope. That wasn't just old wiring."
From the mirror, a faint outline appeared. Not a face this time—but a distorted silhouette. A man's shape, impossibly tall and faintly glowing, barely there.
Elena stepped forward.
"Julian?"
For a second—just a heartbeat—the mirror responded. The silhouette sharpened. And the glass rippled, like a drop had hit its surface.
Mark pulled Elena back. "Okay, that's enough ghost-hunting for tonight."
Leah looked pale. "I think… I believe you now."
As they all backed out of the room, the mirror shimmered once more. This time, three reflections stayed behind—even after the door shut.
Three figures. Frozen in the glass.But only two walked away.