📖 Episode 2: Through the Mirror

It started with a whisper.

Not a loud, ghostly moan or a terrifying scream. Just a soft, barely audible whisper — like someone breathing words against cold glass.

At first, I thought it was in my head. But every time I passed a mirror — any mirror — I heard it again.

“Closer…”

“Almost…”

“Let me try again…”

I started avoiding my own reflection. Brushing my teeth with the lights off, skipping the mirror in the elevator, and covering my bedroom mirror with a thick sheet.

But the whisper followed.

And worse — it responded when I spoke.

“Who are you?” I asked one night, staring at my covered mirror.

Silence.

Then:

“You.”

That night, I dreamt of a hallway made entirely of glass.

The walls, the floor, the ceiling — all mirrors. All showing different versions of me. Some younger. Some older. Some bleeding. Some smiling.

And at the end of the hallway, a tall mirror with no reflection.

Just darkness.

As I approached it, something pressed against the glass from the inside. A pale hand. Then a face. Mine — but not mine. Its eyes were hollow. Its mouth was open, screaming soundlessly.

I woke up gasping, drenched in sweat.

The next day, I decided to do something stupid.

I uncovered the mirror.

For a moment, it was normal. My face. My room behind me.

But then — my reflection blinked. Twice. I hadn’t blinked at all.

I leaned closer.

So did it.

I tilted my head right.

It tilted left.

Then — it smiled.

But I wasn't smiling.

The glass vibrated. A faint hum filled the room, and a new crack formed — in the center of the mirror, like a wound.

I reached out and touched the glass.

It was warm.

And then… it gave way.

My hand sank in.

Like dipping into cold water.

I pulled back immediately. My heart was pounding. But my hand — my hand had frostbite.

I wrapped it up and sat there in silence for what felt like hours.

What was this thing?

A portal? A curse? A… copy of our world?

The whispers grew louder that night. The mirror called my name.

“Adam… you’ve seen it now. Come through. You belong here.”

I started researching.

Old forums. Ancient texts. Obscure Reddit threads. Stories about mirror-worlds, parallel selves, and “the man behind the glass.”

One post stood out.

“If you ever see yourself move when you haven’t — you’ve been marked. The other side knows. And it wants you back.”

I read on, horrified.

“The only way to stop it is to finish the exchange. Break the mirror — you keep your world. Step through — and take their place.”

But I had already touched the mirror.

And last night… I saw him in the hallway.

Not in the mirror.

In my world.

He didn’t do anything. Just stood there. Watching.

And smiling.

Now, the cracks are spreading — not just in the bathroom mirror, but in every reflective surface in my house.

I even saw a crack on my phone screen… from the inside.

They're trying to break through.

And I don't know how much longer I can hold them off.

The final message on the mirror tonight wasn’t a whisper.

It was written in condensation.

“Tomorrow. Midnight. You cross… or we pull.”