THE WHISPER BEHIND THE GLASS
732 Words
Kevin lasts exactly seven minutes before he realizes he can’t stay in the apartment.
The air feels too heavy—thick with the memory of last night’s reflection, Rowan’s questions, Liam’s warnings.
It’s like the whole place is holding its breath, waiting for him to look into something shiny long enough to get pulled under.
He grabs his jacket, keys, his notebook… and hesitates at the door.
The hallway mirror.
He keeps his eyes on the floor and slips past it fast, shoulders tight, breath shallow.
One wrong glance is enough.
He knows that now.
⸻
THE OUTSIDE DOESN’T HELP
The morning is gray and cold—the kind of cold that makes the city feel like a body holding secrets under its skin. Kevin pulls his hood up and heads down the street, pretending everything is normal.
It isn’t.
People walk past him, busy, loud, alive.
But in every window he passes—every car door, shopfront, metal pole—
he sees movement.
Not clear enough to understand.
Not slow enough to catch.
Just… different.
Reflections bending at the wrong angles.
Shadows turning just a moment too late.
Someone’s eyes lingering in the glass after the real person looks away.
His throat tightens.
He walks faster.
⸻
A VOICE THAT SHOULDN’T EXIST
By the time he reaches the café near his office, his nerves are stretched thin. He pushes the door open, the bell chiming overhead.
Warm air.
Coffee smell.
People talking.
A normal place.
Safe.
He chooses a table in the corner—back to the wall, reflections limited, light soft.
He pulls out his notebook and tries to write.
Nothing comes.
Just shaky lines and half-formed thoughts.
A soft thud hits the window beside him.
He stiffens.
A pigeon taps the glass with its beak.
Tap.
Tap.
He rolls his eyes. “Of course. Even the birds are haunting me.”
The bird flutters away.
But its reflection stays.
Still.
Perfect.
Unmoving.
Kevin’s breath halts.
The reflected pigeon turns its head toward him—
—while the real window shows nothing at all.
A whisper slides across the glass, barely a breath, barely a sound:
“Kevin…”
His bones freeze.
“No,” he whispers. “Not here. Not now.”
But the reflection pulses, like the surface is trying to speak again.
Another whisper curls along the window’s edge, colder this time:
“Don’t… look away.”
He jerks his gaze down at the table—and the moment he breaks eye contact, the whisper stops.
Silence swallows the café.
Just the hum of the espresso machine.
The scrape of chairs.
Nothing supernatural.
Nothing strange.
Nothing except the pounding in his chest.
⸻
A CALL HE CAN’T IGNORE
His phone vibrates.
UNKNOWN NUMBER
His heart stutters.
He answers.
“Hello?”
A quiet breath.
Then a voice he hasn’t heard in years:
“Kevin?”
He goes cold instantly.
It’s Avery.
His childhood friend.
The only person besides Liam who knows parts of what happened when they were kids.
The only person who ran away before the worst of it.
“Avery?” His voice cracks. “Why are you calling?”
Her breathing is fast—panicked.
“I—I think I saw something. In my mirror. Something… wrong.”
Kevin grips the phone harder.
“Describe it.”
She swallows audibly. “It wasn’t me. Or—maybe it was. I don’t know. But it looked like it was calling to you.”
His stomach drops straight through the floor.
“What did it say?”
Avery hesitates.
Then whispers:
“It said your name.”
⸻
THE LAST STRAW
Kevin rises from his seat so fast the chair nearly tips.
He throws money on the table and pushes outside into the chill air.
His mind races.
If Avery is seeing things too—
if the reflections are spreading—
then this isn’t about stress.
Or hallucinations.
Or coincidence.
It’s something else.
Something bigger.
Something reaching for him.
His breath fogs in the cold.
He turns toward home—
because Liam will know what to do,
because the mirrors are acting strange,
because this is spiraling way too fast—
and stops dead in his tracks.
Across the street,
in a parked car window,
his reflection is standing completely still.
Not walking.
Not breathing.
Not matching him at all.
Just staring.
And smiling.
⸻
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