Peter:
The house loomed at the end of the street, its shadow stretching long across the cracked pavement. The evening light did little to soften its edgesâif anything, it made the place look more unreal, more wrong, as if it didnât quite belong in the same world as the neat suburban homes behind them.
Alexa stood at the rusted gate, gripping the iron bars as she gave it an experimental push. The hinges shrieked in protest, the sound cutting through the stillness like a warning. Peter flinched.
âYeah, thatâs not ominous or anything,â he muttered.
Alexa smirked. âCome on, you already said yes. No backing out now.â
Peter sighed, stepping beside her. âI know I said yes, but standing here, actually looking at it? Iâm starting to question all my life choices.â
She rolled her eyes. âYouâll survive.â
They pushed through the gate together, the rusted metal groaning as it swung inward. The stone pathway leading to the house was uneven, slabs cracked and pushed up by time and neglect. Dead leaves had piled against the base of the house, shifting slightly as a breeze passed through.
Peter eyed the place warily. âYou sure no one actually lives here? Like, some crazy old hermit whoâs gonna chase us off with a shovel?â
Alexa scoffed. âPeter, look at this place. Itâs empty. No lights, no sign of life, just dust and cobwebs. Itâs been abandoned for years.â
Peter wasnât convinced. âRight, because abandoned houses never have squatters, raccoons, orâoh, I donât knowâghosts.â
Alexa grinned. âIf it has ghosts, then weâll have an even better story to tell.â
Peter shook his head. âThatâs not reassuring.â
Alexa stepped onto the porch first, the wood creaking beneath her weight. She ran her fingers along the faded doorframe, her expression thoughtful.
âThereâs just something about places like this,â she murmured. âA place people used to live, but now itâs just... frozen. Like itâs waiting for someone to notice it again.â
Peter crossed his arms. âYou do realize most people wouldnât see this and think, âHey, I should go inside that totally-not-haunted house.ââ
Alexa shrugged. âMost people are boring.â
Peter sighed. He already knew he wasnât going to change her mind.
Alexa placed her fingertips against the door, testing it.
The house exhaled.
Or maybe it was just the wind through the broken windows. Maybe.
Peter took a step closer.
Then Alexa pushed the door open.
Inside, the air was still. Unmoving. Thick, like something unseen was watching, waiting.
Their footsteps echoed against the rotting wooden floor, kicking up dust that swirled in the pale light leaking through the broken windows. A tattered rug lay half-rolled near the entrance, its edges curled and brittle. The walls, once lined with elegant wallpaper, were now stripped down to patches of crumbling plaster.
Everything was coated in a fine layer of dust, as if the house itself had been frozen in time. White sheets covered the furniture, draped like ghostly figures standing in silence. A chandelier hung from the ceiling, its crystals coated in grime, swaying slightly even though there was no breeze.
Peter exhaled slowly. "I really donât like this."
Alexa ignored him, moving further inside. She stopped at the old wooden table, wiping away dust with her sleeve, revealing the dark mahogany surface underneath.
âThis place is amazing,â she murmured. âItâs like time just stopped here.â
She turned toward the fireplace, where a stack of old, yellowed newspapers sat untouched. Alexa picked one up, coughing as dust flew into the air. She squinted at the date.
"1926?" she read aloud. "Peter, this house is ancient."
Peter, however, was staring at something else. Across the room, a single chair was turned toward them, not covered by a sheet like the others. It looked... out of place.
His throat tightened.
"We should keep moving," he muttered.
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Alexa, oblivious to his unease, had already wandered to the kitchen doorway. The cabinets hung open, their hinges rusted, and shattered dishes littered the floor. The sink was full of murky waterâimpossible, considering the house had been abandoned for decades.
Alexa dipped a finger into it. "Itâs cold," she said, surprised.
Peter frowned. "Maybe itâs just rainwater." But even as he said it, he wasnât convinced.
Something about this house felt... wrong.
A faint sound came from the other side of the room.
A soft shuffle.
Peter whipped aroundâbut nothing was there. Just shadows stretching long against the warped wooden floor.
Alexa perked up. "Did you hear that?"
Peter clenched his jaw. "Yeah."
She moved toward the noise, into what must have once been the parlor. The fireplace here was larger, lined with cracked ceramic tiles, and above it hung an oval portrait of a man in old-fashioned clothes. His face was faded, almost completely obscured, but Peter couldnât shake the feeling that the eyes were still there, buried under the decay, staring at them.
Alexa picked up a music box sitting on a shelf beneath it. She wound it absentmindedly, and for a moment, there was only silence.
Thenâ
A tinny, discordant melody chimed through the air.
Peter snatched the box from her hands, slamming it shut. âStop messing with things!â
Alexa raised an eyebrow. âChill. Itâs just a music box.â
Peterâs grip tightened around it. His pulse felt too loud in his ears. "This place doesnât feel right."
For the first time, Alexa hesitated. The air in the room felt different now.
Heavier.
Peter placed the music box back on the shelf, it looked like a small tower. He took a step back toward the doorway. âMaybe we shouldââ
A thud came from upstairs.
They both froze.
It wasnât the house settling.
A sound came from upstairs.
Not a footstep.
Something lighter, more unnatural. A slow, scraping noise, like fingertips dragging along old wood. It started softâalmost imperceptibleâbut it didnât stop. It stretched on, moving in uneven intervals, like something testing the air above them.
Thenâa faint tap.
Like nails clicking against the banister.
Peter felt the breath leave his lungs.
Alexa stiffened, her earlier confidence wavering for the first time.
Another tap. Closer.
Peter swallowed hard, his body tense. His mind screamed at him to run.
Then, suddenlyâsilence.
The air around them felt thicker, like something had just turned its attention toward them.
Peter didnât realize he had been holding his breath until Alexa moved. Not backwardâforward.
Toward the hallway.
âAlexaââ His voice came out hoarse.
She ignored him, stepping into the dark corridor, drawn toward whatever waited at the end.
Peter had no choice but to follow.
The air changed as soon as they stepped in.
The hallway was too long. That was the first thing Peter noticed. âAlexa please, we have to leave. This is real horror stuff.â The space stretched unnaturally, the walls warping at the edges of his vision. It felt endless, like a corridor in a dream that didnât quite obey the rules of reality.
And then, at the very end, they saw it.
A broken mirror.
Peterâs breath came shallow as he stared at it.
The glass should have fallen to the floor in shards long ago, but somehow, the pieces still clung to the frame like something was holding them there. The cracks pulsed faintly, silver veins filled with something that wasnât light, wasnât shadowâsomething in between. Every so often, the reflections in the jagged surface shifted, warping at the edges, as if the mirror wasnât just broken, but wrong.
A deep, gut-wrenching instinct told Peter not to go near it.
Then Alexa stepped forward.
Peter saw it instantlyâthe way her body tensed, the sudden flicker of something in her eyes. She wasnât just looking at the mirror. She was recognizing it.
His stomach twisted. "Alexa?"
"Iâve seen this before," she whispered.
His pulse spiked. What?
She tilted her head, her hazel eyes locked onto the shifting cracks. "Earlier today. In the bathroom at school. Just for a second, but it looked exactly like this."
Peter felt something cold clamp around his ribs.
This was bad. This was so bad.
"Great," he said tightly, every muscle in his body screaming to turn around and leave. "One more reason to get the hell out of here."
But Alexa didnât move.
Peter saw it in her expressionâthe quiet, sharp curiosity that always got her into trouble. Her fingers twitched at her sides. She took another half-step closer, her gaze locked on the mirror like it had hooked into her thoughts.
"Alexa." His voice was firm, warning.
She ignored him.
Peterâs skin prickled, his heart hammering against his ribs. Everything in him was screaming that this wasnât just some creepy old mirror. There was something alive in it, something watching.
Then she lifted her hand.
"Donât touch it," he blurted, surging forward and grabbing her wrist.
Her skin was warm beneath his fingers, but he didnât care about that. His grip tightened, urgent. "Alexa, Iâm seriousâthis thing is wrong. We need to go. Now."
She turned to him, startled. He could see the war between reason and pure, unrelenting curiosity in her eyes.
"Please Peter," she said softly.
Peter barely had time to react before her fingertips brushed one of the jagged shards.
A low, thrumming hum crawled through the walls, through his chest, through his bones. The dim light around them warped, stretching unnaturally, colors bending like they were being pulled through water. The mirror shifted, its broken surface liquefying, becoming something fluid and deep and endless.
The air thickened, pressing against his skin like unseen hands. A deep, vibrating hum resonated through the house, not just a sound but a feeling, rattling in his chest like a second heartbeat.
The mirrorâs surface pulsed, the silver cracks spreading like veins reaching for something unseen. The shards, still impossibly suspended in the frame, shifted, rearranging themselves in a way that made Peterâs stomach turn. Reflections bled together, distorting and stretching like faces trapped behind glass.
Then, the floor tilted beneath them.
Peter staggered, his breath hitching as gravity itself seemed to bend. Alexa gasped, but instead of stepping back, she was drawn forward, her fingers still brushing the broken glass.
The mirror quivered, then screamed.
It was not a sound made for human ears. It was metal bending, glass shattering, a chorus of voices whispering and wailing at once. The dim light of the house snuffed out, leaving only the mirrorâs glowâsickly, silver, alive.
And thenâ
It pulled them in.
Not gently. Not like stepping through a doorway. The mirror ripped them away from reality, yanking them forward with an unseen force so violent that Peter felt his stomach flip inside out. The world around them fractured, splintering into jagged shards of color and darkness, swirling into a tunnel that had no end.
Peter reached for Alexa, but his hand passed through her like she was nothing but smoke. His heartbeat thundered in his ears, his body weightless, spinning, fallingâ
Then everything snapped.
And they were somewhere elseâ¦