[Fear System Log: 3:03 A.M.]
Role Deviation: 5%
Entity Status: Engaged – Observation Phase Complete
New Threat Level: Moderate
System Advice: Do Not Break Routine
The closet door stood ajar. Just enough to see blackness inside, but not enough to make out what might be waiting within.
He didn't move.
The reflection didn't either.
For a long moment, it felt like they were all frozen—the real him, the false him in the glass, and whatever hovered in the crack of that door like a spider behind silk.
Then the reflection tilted its head.
Just a twitch. Nothing more. But his stomach turned as if something inside him recognized it—not wrong in the way dreams feel wrong, but uncannily exact. The kind of wrong that you can't explain because you don't have language for how something is pretending to be human.
"Maintain your pattern," the system whispered. "Deviation encourages engagement."
Right. Routine.
Mary's routine.
He turned away from the mirror, jaw clenched, and began making tea.
Boil water. Earl Grey. One sugar. Splash of oat milk. Mary's favorite. Her hands knew what to do even if his mind screamed that tea was the stupidest possible reaction to a mimic in the goddamn mirror.
But routine mattered.
He poured the water.
Steam rose.
And behind him—tap, tap, tap—the fingernail sound returned.
He didn't look.
The teabag bled dark ribbons into the water.
He stirred.
The sound stopped.
Then—
A soft knock at the apartment door.
He froze, spoon in hand, the tea forgotten.
Three knocks.
Measured.
Faint.
Not loud enough to be a neighbor.
Not hesitant enough to be friendly.
He stepped toward it.
Checked the peephole.
Nothing.
Not even the hallway lights.
Just black.
Something cold pricked at the edge of his skull. Instinct. System. Something ancient.
Do Not Open It.
It's Not Meant to Come Through That Way.
He backed away slowly.
The mirror sat just across from the door. At a sharp angle, the reflection didn't show him—but it did show the hallway. And in the mirror, where the door still stood shut, something was standing on the other side.
It was tall.
Wrongly proportioned.
Too thin at the waist, too long in the arms.
But it was mimicking him—her—Mary.
Same pajamas.
Same tangled hair.
Except for the face.
The smile on it was almost perfect.
Almost.
He turned to the real door. Nothing there.
Back to the mirror. Still standing.
Still smiling.
He picked up the lamp.
The system whispered:
"If you break the mirror, you release it."
He froze.
Not an enemy he could fight. Not yet. And even if he could, this wasn't a story where punching the monster made it go away. That would be too easy. Too safe.
Instead, he turned away again and forced himself to sit at the kitchen table. The tea had gone cold.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
The clock rolled to 3:17 A.M.
He stared at the door. It was still locked.
But when he glanced again at the mirror, it was empty.
The hallway, the mimic—gone.
He exhaled once, deeply, trying not to shake. Maybe it had retreated. Maybe it—
His phone buzzed.
A message.
From an unsaved number.
> Look behind you.
His breath stopped.
He refused.
He stared at the words like they might vanish if he blinked hard enough.
Then another message came in.
> I like how you stir your tea.
He stood up fast, knocking over the chair. The crash echoed too loud in the small apartment.
Then—the light flickered.
Once.
Twice.
Out.
Pitch black.
The hum of electricity died.
Silence stretched until it screamed.
He backed away, trying to remember where the flashlight was. Drawer under the sink?
Then—
The mirror lit up.
Only the mirror.
A soft white glow from within it, like moonlight trapped in glass.
In it, the kitchen looked just as it should.
But his reflection was stirring the tea.
Smiling.
He was not.
The reflection finished the stir, raised the cup, and took a long sip.
Then it turned its head—slowly—directly at him.
It lifted a finger.
And beckoned.
[Fear System Notification: The entity is attempting synchronization.]
[Do Not Mirror Movements. Avoid Repeating Behavior.]
He stumbled backward. His mind raced for the safest next move.
Then the reflection spoke.
No sound—just lips moving, mouthing something over and over.
He squinted.
"Let me in."
The reflection stood.
So did he.
It took a step forward.
So did he.
NO.
He forced himself to break the rhythm, sidestepping, grabbing the nearest object he could find—a cast iron pan—just in case. Just to hold something real.
The reflection paused.
Smiled wider.
Then lifted its hand again—and traced something on the inside of the mirror glass.
Fog bloomed under its fingers. A message scrawled backward in condensation.
"You're next."
And then, all at once—
Crash.
The mirror shattered outward.
But no one stood behind it.
Just the wall.
Just splinters of glass.
And his own reflection, fractured a hundred times, still smiling.
[Chapter Complete – Time: 3:29 A.M.]
[Threat Level Increasing…]
[Next Phase Begins: Stranger's Eyes.]