Rain had been falling for three days straight.
Not the cinematic kind — no dramatic thunder, no flashes of lightning to frame a hero's face — just the quiet, stubborn kind that seeps into your shoes and soul.
Kayden sat by his apartment window, staring at the city like it owed him something. Streetlights blurred into halos against the drizzle. A billboard across the street flickered with static — a toothpaste ad that looked like it had given up on selling anything to anyone.
"Monday," he muttered, "the day God decided to remind humanity that hope's a scam."
He took a sip of instant coffee that had long gone cold. The taste was as bitter as his bank balance.
The room around him was small but neat — not by choice, but because he didn't own enough to make a mess. A secondhand desk, a creaky chair, a bed that complained louder than he did, and a mirror leaning against the wall. The mirror was the only thing that looked out of place — tall, old-fashioned, framed in dark wood. He'd bought it from a pawn shop two weeks ago, because the seller swore it was handmade and unique.
It definitely was. The damn thing hummed.
Not audibly — not always, anyway — but sometimes, when he stared too long, he could feel it. A faint static in his head, like a TV tuned to a dead channel. It didn't bother him much at first. Weird was normal in his life.
Kayden's phone buzzed.
> [Boss]: Don't bother coming tomorrow. You're done.
He stared at the message, sighed, and muttered, "Guess hope's still on break."
He tossed the phone on the bed and leaned back in his chair. Being fired from a delivery job wasn't new. He'd been fired enough times to know the pattern — first, you're "late once too often," then "not a team player," then "we're downsizing." Always the same lines, different voices.
Still, it stung. Not because of the job, but because he'd really tried this time.
He rubbed his eyes, the kind of tired that sleep couldn't fix. The rain drummed against the window, hypnotic.
Then — a flicker.
The mirror behind him shimmered faintly, like something beneath the glass had shifted. He turned, half expecting a reflection glitch. But the room looked the same.
Except for one thing.
His reflection wasn't moving.
Kayden blinked. His heart did a slow, confused thump.
He raised his hand. The reflection didn't.
"...Huh."
He waved again. Nothing. His reflection just stood there, staring back, eyes slightly darker than his own.
For a moment, he thought it was just exhaustion. Maybe his brain had decided to take a break, too. He looked away, rubbed his temples, and looked back — only for the reflection to finally move, perfectly synced.
"Okay, yeah. That's not creepy at all."
He stood, walked over, and touched the mirror's surface. Cold. Smooth. Normal. His own tired face stared back at him, framed by the dull light.
But the humming — the faint static buzz in his skull — it grew stronger, like the mirror was breathing.
He whispered, "If this is a dream, I want a refund."
The lights flickered. For a single heartbeat, everything in the apartment — the air, the sounds, even his thoughts — felt off. Like reality had blinked.
Then it stopped.
The room returned to normal, the rain tapping on the glass as if nothing happened.
Kayden laughed softly, shaky and half-crazed. "Right. Sleep deprivation it is."
He turned off the lamp and crashed onto the bed, face-first. Sleep took him fast — too fast.
---
He dreamed.
He stood in a vast, grey field.
No sound. No wind. Just emptiness.
And there — far in the distance — was the same mirror. Standing alone.
A figure stepped out of it. His own reflection. Except its eyes glowed faintly, like static on an old TV screen.
"Kayden," it said, voice distorted but calm. "Do you want to know why you can't sleep at night?"
He opened his mouth, but no sound came. The reflection tilted its head, smiling faintly.
"It's because something on the other side is trying to wake up."
Kayden jolted awake. Sweat drenched his shirt. The rain had stopped.
For a moment, he sat there, breathing hard, staring into the dark. His eyes drifted toward the mirror. The glass was still. Silent.
Then he saw it.
At the corner of the frame — etched faintly in the wood — was something he'd never noticed before.
A word.
Or rather, a name.
> "Observer."
The mirror was humming again.
---
To be continued…