---
Chapter One: The Night I Died
The night I died, the stars didn't move.
They just stared — cold and unmoving — like they had seen it happen before.
The wind was whispering outside my window, dragging along the edge of the old house like fingernails. The moonlight slipped through the curtains, cutting my room into slices of pale silver and shadow. Everything looked too still, too clean, like a set waiting for something to go wrong.
I should've been asleep. But something — someone — had whispered my name.
> "Claire…"
It wasn't loud. Just soft, careful, like a secret meant only for me.
I sat up slowly, heart pounding. The clock on my bedside table read 12:01 AM. My phone was dead, though I remembered plugging it in. I told myself it was a dream, one of the bad ones again, but the air was too heavy, too sharp with the smell of metal and dust.
Then I saw it — the mirror across the room.
My reflection wasn't moving.
I blinked once. Twice. My body trembled, but the girl in the mirror stood perfectly still, eyes locked on me. My breath caught. The mirror shimmered — and then she mouthed the word I hadn't spoken.
> "Run."
The lights flickered.
The fan began to spin even though the switch was off. I could hear the faint hum of electricity crawling through the walls, like static coming alive.
> "Claire…"
That voice again — closer now.
I slid out of bed and stepped backward until my heel hit the wall. My room felt smaller, like the air itself was pressing in on me. Every instinct told me to move, to get out, but I couldn't. My eyes were fixed on the mirror, on her.
She was smiling now. My reflection — smiling when I wasn't.
And then she pointed behind me.
The floorboards creaked.
I turned.
There was someone standing in the corner.
Tall. Still. Wearing a gray hoodie. I couldn't see his face, but I recognized the shape — the slouched shoulders, the way his hands hung low, heavy, like he'd done this before. My stomach twisted. I knew him. I didn't know how, but I knew.
I tried to speak, but my voice came out as a whisper.
> "Who are you?"
He raised his hand slowly and pressed a finger to his lips.
> "Shh…"
The whisper wasn't from him — it was everywhere. Inside my ears, my skull, my bones.
The lights went out.
For a second, everything was black — no sound, no movement. Just the sound of my heart beating like a trapped bird. Then the dim glow from the streetlight bled through the curtains again, just enough for me to see him move.
He was closer now.
The mirror flickered again — but this time, my reflection wasn't alone. There was a shadow behind her, towering, wrapping its hands around her throat.
I couldn't breathe. I stumbled backward, tripping over the rug and crashing against the dresser. Glass shattered. The mirror cracked down the middle, splitting my reflection in half.
That's when I felt it — cold metal against my neck.
I froze.
A knife.
He leaned close enough that I could smell him — old sweat, damp earth, and something sweet, like rot. His breath brushed my ear.
> "It's almost time," he whispered.
My pulse roared in my ears. I tried to scream, but my voice wouldn't come. My body was shaking so violently I could barely stand. My mind screamed move, run, fight — but nothing worked.
Then pain. White, blinding, ripping pain.
I fell. I felt the floorboards hit my back, the air forced from my lungs. The world twisted, blurring at the edges. The sound of the fan faded. The shadows folded over me, swallowing everything.
And then… silence.
---
When I opened my eyes, the room was whole again.
The mirror — unbroken.
The rug — smooth.
The clock — ticking softly.
12:01 AM.
Exactly where it had started.
I sat up, gasping. My throat hurt. My sheets were damp with sweat — or maybe blood. My hands trembled as I touched my neck, half expecting to feel the cut. But there was nothing. No wound. No mark. Just the faint, lingering cold.
I stumbled to the mirror. My reflection stared back — pale, hollow-eyed, terrified.
> "It's a dream," I whispered. "Just a dream."
But when I looked closer, I saw it — faint, red letters smeared across the glass. Letters I didn't write.
WELCOME BACK.
The power flickered again. The fan began to turn slowly.
And then, from the window behind me —
> "Claire…"
I froze. The whisper was outside this time, just beyond the glass.
My reflection's eyes shifted. Not toward me — toward the window.
I turned slowly.
There was a shape pressed against the glass. Pale. Still. Watching.
And before I could scream, the lights went out again.
---
When the world returned, the clock hadn't moved. Still 12:01 AM.
Still the same night.
Still the same whisper.
Only one thought pulsed through my head, over and over:
> I've been here before.
---