The Face Behind the Glass
912 Words
Kevin didn’t remember walking out of Avery’s office.
One second he was standing in front of her—her eyes pinning him open like she could see every secret tearing holes in his ribs—and the next he was on the street, cold air slapping his face, breath coming too fast and too shallow.
His reflection followed.
Every glossy surface he passed—car windows, shop doors, puddles left from last night’s rain—caught him.
Repeated him.
Watched him.
But none of them moved wrong this time.
They moved exactly with him.
Which somehow felt worse.
Like the mirror had finally learned how to wear him properly.
⸻
He reached the apartment with fingers that didn’t feel like they belonged to him. His keys rattled like bones as he shoved them into the lock, stepped inside, and let the door slam behind him.
Silence rushed in.
The kind that felt staged.
He didn’t turn the lights on. The soft gray wash from the hallway slipped in through the c***k under the door, enough to shape the room into vague outlines.
Kevin dropped his bag. It hit the floor louder than it should’ve.
He looked at the mirror.
Not directly—his eyes skimmed toward it, then away, then back again, drawn like gravity had its own hands.
The mirror was exactly where it had always been.
Calm.
Still.
Waiting.
Nothing moved inside it.
But the silence sharpened, like the room braced for something.
Kevin swallowed. “You wanted to warn me,” he whispered, barely forming the words. “Warn me about what?”
His reflection stared back. Just him. Empty. Tired. Haunted.
He took one step closer.
The air felt heavier.
Another step.
His pulse beat in his throat, loud enough to hear. Or maybe that wasn’t his pulse at all—maybe it was something behind the glass.
He stopped just a foot away from his own face.
“Who are you?” he asked. “What do you want from me?”
For a long moment, nothing changed.
Then—
His reflection blinked.
Perfectly in sync.
But his reflection blinked again—a second, smaller one—immediately after.
Kevin didn’t.
His lungs froze. His fingers curled involuntarily, nails catching skin.
“No,” he whispered.
The reflection frowned—slow, almost disappointed—and mouthed something he couldn’t hear.
Kevin leaned closer.
It mouthed it again.
“Not safe.”
His spine went rigid.
He took one step back, but the reflection didn’t mimic it this time.
It stayed close to the glass, eyes locked on him with something sharper than fear. Something like urgency.
Kevin’s voice cracked. “Not safe from what?”
The reflection lifted a hand—his hand—pressing the palm against the inside of the mirror. The glass dimmed around the touch, as if something beneath the surface reacted to the contact.
And then the mirror began to fog.
Not with moisture.
But with movement.
Shadows slid through it like ink swirling in water. The glass pulsed once—faint but undeniable—like a heartbeat on the wrong side.
Kevin backed up another step.
His reflection didn’t follow.
It stayed right where it was, eyes widening, mouth forming the words again—
“Run.”
A chill tore down Kevin’s spine so violently he staggered.
“Run from what?” he demanded, voice shaking.
The mirror trembled.
Just slightly.
Like something pressed against it from behind.
A sound whispered through the room, thin and impossible, like breath against his ear—
Kevin.
He spun around.
No one was there.
He looked back at the mirror—
His reflection was gone.
The glass was empty.
Empty.
Just his darkened apartment reflected back, with no version of him in it.
Kevin’s heartbeat turned to thunder. “No—no, no—don’t do this—”
He reached toward the glass—
And a hand slammed against it from the inside.
Not his.
A different hand.
Longer fingers.
Darker silhouette.
Wrong.
Kevin stumbled backwards, hit the wall, breath rattling out of him. His chest felt too tight to expand. His vision blurred at the edges.
The shape behind the glass leaned forward, pressing against the mirror like it could break through if it only pushed hard enough.
The whisper came again—
You waited too long.
The mirror cracked.
Just a hairline fracture.
But it spread like lightning across the surface.
Kevin bolted.
He grabbed his bag, shoved his keys into his pocket, didn’t even put on his shoes properly. He yanked open the door and ran blindly into the hallway, heart ricocheting against his ribs.
Down the stairs.
Out the building.
Into the cold night.
Only when he reached the street did he stop, doubled over, hands on his knees, lungs burning as he tried to breathe.
Cars passed. People walked. Life continued.
Normal.
Normal everywhere—except behind him.
He looked back at the building.
Every window reflected the streetlights.
And in one of them…
A shape stood in the reflection.
In the exact spot where his apartment mirror was.
Watching him.
Unmoving.
Wrong.
Kevin turned and kept running.
He didn’t look back again.
But he didn’t need to.
Because he could feel it—
The mirror wasn’t in the apartment anymore.
It was following him.
Step for step.
Street to street.
Glass to glass.
And it had finally decided to stop warning him.
Now, it wanted something else.
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