John’s expression sharpened, disbelief etched into every line of his face as he fixed his gaze on the mirror before him.

  “What in the hell is this?!”

  The reflection staring back curled its lips into an uncanny grin, silent and unblinking, as if it were drinking in his reaction.

  John’s eyes blew wide, his stare locking onto the mirrored figure, unwavering.

  For a heartbeat, the air thickened, time itself grinding to a halt...

  “Uh, hold on a second...”

  John was the first to shatter the stillness. He snatched up the towel hanging nearby, draped it over the mirror, and muttered to himself: “Must’ve been the wrong way to go about this...”

  “Reveal!”

  He tore the towel away—but the grin lingered on the reflection’s face, its movements jarringly out of sync with his own...

  “Huh...”

  John froze all over again.

  Some kind of high-tech prank?

  Fear never touched him when it came to things like this, so his mind stayed razor-sharp. Years of steeped scientific rationality made the very idea of ghosts and ghouls nothing but nonsense to him.

  “Someone’s messing with me, isn’t they?”

  John stroked his chin, his gaze narrowing as he locked eyes with the reflection, a flicker of curiosity glinting in his stare...

  Meanwhile, the “him” in the mirror held that eerie smile, but a rare spark of surprise flickered beneath its surface.

  No fear? Not even a flicker?

  Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

  Then something even more confounding unfolded.

  As if overtaken by a strange compulsion, John’s own lips slowly twisted into the exact same macabre grin—matching the reflection’s angle, its curve, its chilling uncanniness, stroke for stroke.

  “There we go. That’s more like it.”

  John thought to himself, a flicker of pride sparking in his chest. Was he some kind of savant at this?

  If the mirror wouldn’t sync with him, then he’d just sync with the mirror instead...

  If the mountain refuses to come to Muhammad, Muhammad must go to the mountain!

  What was once a scene dripping with dread now felt almost... ordinary.

  The mirrored figure went utterly slack-jawed, completely blindsided by this guy’s warped train of thought...

  Burning to drag a shred of fear from John’s soul, it stretched its grin wider—wider than any human mouth should go—its lips nearly splitting at the seams.

  But John mirrored the motion without missing a beat.

  In that instant, the figure in the mirror finally grasped the absurdity of his logic.

  This man is out of his goddamn mind...

  This is what he calls “normal”?

  Is he trying to con a ghost here?

  Moments later, the mirrored figure’s patience snapped.

  Its face spiderwebbed with cracks—sharp, jagged lines, like porcelain shattered by a steel wire—before streaks of scarlet blood seeped forth, painting its features a gory crimson in the blink of an eye.

  Let’s see you copy this, you maniac.

  “Alright, alright—you wanna play dirty, huh...”

  John’s mouth twitched. There was no way in hell he could mimic that—he didn’t have the props for a trick like this.

  Just as the thought crossed his mind, his gaze darted sideways, and a plan sparked to life.

  “Seal!”

  In the blink of an eye, John spun on his heel, snatched up an “artifact” from the counter, and slammed it dead-center against the mirror.

  “...”

  The mirrored figure went rigid, dumbfounded all over again.

  Its view of John vanished entirely—blocked by a giant, neon-pink toilet plunger.

  “Mission accomplished!”

  John grinned, turning on his heel to march out of the bathroom, already plotting to track down the prankster behind this stunt...

  But when he grabbed the doorknob and twisted, it wouldn’t budge—not an inch—as if something had jammed it tight from the other side.

  And that’s when the blood started seeping from the lock’s seams—slow, thick, and glistening red.

  “?”

  John raised an eyebrow.

  Still at it?

  Just then, a cold, clawing dread pricked at his spine. He whirled around.

  The mirrored figure had shredded through the plunger’s makeshift seal, oozing out of the glass like a fish breaking the water’s surface—slow, deliberate, and hungry.

  “Huh?!”

  A jolt shot through John’s chest. For the first time, his usual unshakable calm wavered...

  But before he could move a muscle, his body seized up, frozen as if bound by invisible chains.

  He glanced down—and his blood ran cold. The crimson seeping from the lock had come alive, coiling into thin, sinewy tendrils that wrapped around his limbs, his torso, his neck, snaking tighter with every passing second.

  “What the hell! What kind of unholy crap is this?!”

  Shock exploded in John’s veins. This was no prank—no trick in the world could pull this off!

  Could it be... could there really be something evil here?

  The old hermit’s words from outside the church echoed in his mind, and the scientific convictions he’d clung to for years began to crumble, piece by piece...

  By then, the figure had fully slithered out of the mirror.

  It had no body—nothing but that blood-drenched, mangled face, floating inches from John’s own, its hollow eyes boring into him, as if it meant to drag the deepest, darkest terror from the very core of his soul.

  John, who’d always prided himself on being unflappable, kept his face steady—but his voice came out in a desperate plea: “C’mon, man, cut me some slack! I’m begging you! I’ll light a candle for you every single day—say a prayer at the church, even! How’s that sound?”

  “If that’s not enough? I’ll even burn you two paper dolls—blonde bombshells, the whole nine yards! Deal?”