Chapter 10
1221 Words
Chapter 10 – It Knows Me
Amber didn’t go near the mirror again.
She couldn’t.
Even standing on the opposite side of the room, she could feel it—like a quiet pressure at the back of her mind, waiting. Watching. Patient.
So she turned it around.
Carefully. Slowly. Without looking directly at the glass.
Now it faced the wall.
Out of sight.
That should have helped.
It didn’t.
Because even without seeing it, she knew exactly where it was.
And worse—
She could feel when it *wasn’t still.*
---
The rest of the day passed in fragments.
Amber tried to stay busy, moving from one thing to another without really finishing anything. Her thoughts kept slipping, circling back to the same things over and over again.
The hallway.
The shadow.
The way the voice had changed.
*It learned.*
That was the part she couldn’t shake.
Not imagined.
Not random.
Not nothing.
Something had listened to her… and adjusted.
By evening, the house felt smaller.
The walls closer.
The air heavier.
Amber sat on her bed, knees pulled to her chest, staring at the opposite wall.
The mirror was behind her.
She hadn’t looked at it in hours.
Didn’t plan to.
But her body was tense, like it was waiting for something.
For it.
For the next move.
“Nothing’s happening,” she whispered. “See? It’s stopped.”
The words barely settled before—
A soft scrape.
Behind her.
Amber’s spine went rigid.
No.
No, no, no.
She closed her eyes.
“It’s the frame,” she said quickly. “Or the table. Something just—shifted.”
Another scrape.
Longer this time.
Dragging.
Her breath hitched.
Slowly—
Against every instinct screaming at her not to—
Amber turned her head.
The mirror was no longer facing the wall.
It had shifted.
Just slightly.
Enough that she could see the edge of the glass again.
Amber stared at it.
“I didn’t touch you,” she whispered.
The room stayed silent.
But the silence felt… wrong.
Like it was waiting for her to do something.
To react.
Her chest rose and fell too fast.
“Okay,” she said, forcing steadiness into her voice. “Okay. Fine.”
She stood up.
One careful step at a time, she moved toward it.
If something had moved it—
There had to be a reason.
A logical one.
There *had* to be.
Amber reached out and grabbed the edge of the mirror.
Her fingers trembled slightly as she turned it back toward the wall again.
Firm this time.
Deliberate.
“There,” she said under her breath. “Done.”
She stepped back.
Waited.
Nothing happened.
No sound.
No movement.
No whisper.
Amber let out a breath, tension loosening slightly in her shoulders.
“See?” she muttered. “You’re just—”
Tap.
Amber froze.
The sound didn’t come from the mirror.
It came from the door.
Three soft knocks.
Evenly spaced.
Deliberate.
Her heart dropped.
She stared at it.
No one should be there.
Not this late.
“Hello?” she called, her voice tight.
No answer.
Just silence.
Then—
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Again.
Same rhythm.
Same spacing.
Too precise to be random.
Amber took a step toward the door.
Then stopped.
Something about it felt wrong.
Not dangerous—not in the way her instincts usually warned her.
Just…
Off.
Like it wasn’t someone knocking.
Like it was something copying the idea of knocking.
Her hand hovered near the handle.
“Who is it?” she asked.
Silence.
Then—
“…Amber…”
Her blood ran cold.
The voice came from the other side of the door.
Clear.
Soft.
Perfect.
Too perfect.
Amber’s fingers curled slightly.
“That’s not funny,” she said, but her voice shook. “Who’s there?”
No response.
Just that quiet, waiting stillness again.
Then—
The handle moved.
Not turning.
Just… twitching.
Like something didn’t quite understand how it worked.
Amber stumbled back, her pulse spiking.
“No,” she whispered. “No—don’t—”
The handle stilled.
Silence.
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then—
A breath.
Right behind her.
Amber spun around.
The mirror.
It was facing her again.
Fully.
She knew—*knew*—she had turned it.
But now—
It reflected the room clearly.
The bed.
The door.
Amber.
And something else.
Standing just behind her.
Too tall.
Too still.
Its face wasn’t clear—not fully—but its outline was unmistakable.
Watching.
Amber’s throat closed.
Slowly, she turned.
Nothing.
The room was empty.
Her chest heaved as she turned back to the mirror—
The reflection snapped back to normal.
Gone.
Like it had never been there.
“No,” she breathed. “No, I saw that. I *saw* that—”
The lights flickered.
Once.
Twice.
Then steadied.
Amber didn’t move.
Didn’t blink.
Her reflection stared back at her.
Perfectly in sync.
Until—
It didn’t.
Her reflection tilted its head.
Just slightly.
Amber didn’t.
Her stomach dropped.
“Stop,” she whispered.
The reflection smiled.
Not wide.
Not sharp.
Just enough to be wrong.
“…You see me now.”
The voice didn’t come from the room.
It came from the mirror.
Amber staggered back, hitting the edge of her bed.
“No—no, that’s not—”
“You said my name wrong,” it continued softly.
Amber shook her head violently. “I didn’t say your name at all—”
The reflection’s smile faded.
“…Ambra.”
The word landed heavier this time.
Intentional.
Certain.
Amber’s chest tightened.
“That’s not your name,” she snapped, fear sharpening into something defensive. “And it’s not mine either.”
Silence.
For a second, the reflection just watched her.
Then—
“…It will be.”
Something in the room shifted.
Not visibly.
But deeply.
Like a thread pulling tighter.
Amber’s breath stuttered.
“What does that mean?” she demanded. “What *are* you?”
The reflection didn’t answer.
Instead, it stepped closer.
Not in the room.
Only in the mirror.
Closing the distance between them.
Until it stood right behind her reflection.
Too close.
Its shape clearer now.
Still not fully visible—
But enough.
Enough to know it wasn’t human.
“…You opened it.”
Amber’s thoughts scrambled. “Opened what?!”
The reflection’s eyes flickered—just for a second—not matching hers.
Darker.
Deeper.
Wrong.
“…You heard me.”
“I didn’t *mean* to!”
A pause.
Then, softer—
“…You answered.”
Amber’s breath caught.
Her mind flashed back—
The hallway.
The whisper.
Her correcting it.
“I didn’t know—” she started.
“…Now you do.”
The lights flickered again.
Harder this time.
The room dimmed—
Brightened—
Then settled.
The reflection was normal again.
Perfectly aligned.
Just Amber.
Alone.
The presence—
Gone.
Amber stood there, shaking, her pulse roaring in her ears.
“No,” she whispered. “No, you don’t just—leave—what was that? What *are you*?!”
No answer.
The mirror stayed still.
Silent.
Empty.
But deep down—
She knew.
This wasn’t over.
Not even close.
Because now—
It wasn’t just watching.
It was speaking.
And worst of all—
It knew her name.
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