THE KILLER IN HER REFLECTION

Emilia had always believed that life at St. Alderidge Boarding High School would feel like something out of a quiet dream, structured, strict, and safe. At eighteen, she lived by routines that never changed: early morning bells, cold tiled floors, neat uniforms, and whispers that faded by nightfall. She stayed in the school hostel, where life felt controlled yet lonely. Still, she wasn’t entirely alone. Her elder cousin, Naomi, a confident senior who looked out for her like a sister. Tall, composed, and effortlessly bold, Naomi brought warmth into Emilia’s otherwise quiet world. They shared small moments, quick conversations, knowing glances that made the school feel less suffocating. Then there was Maxwell. He carried a quiet charm, with a lean build and thoughtful eyes that often lingered on Emilia longer than necessary. Their connection was unspoken soft glances, brief conversations which felt longer and a feeling neither of them dared to name. Emilia herself was easy to overlook. Slender and soft-spoken, she moved with a quiet grace that made her almost invisible. But her deep, observant eyes held something unusual, like she was always aware of more than she let on. St. Alderidge, with its old stone buildings and echoing halls, felt both like a cage and a refuge. Emilia had grown used to being the “quiet one” in Dormitory Three. She was present but distant. Until the mirrors started feeling wrong. It began on a Tuesday morning. The dormitory bathroom was crowded, steam blurring the large mirror above the sinks. Emilia waited her turn, then stepped forward. That was when she noticed it. Her reflection was late. She lifted her hand but in the mirror, it didn’t move immediately. It followed a second after, too smooth, too deliberate. She froze. It must be the fog, she told herself. But the unease stayed. All day, she felt watched, not from behind, but from somewhere closer. Something unseen, yet too near. That night, she couldn’t sleep. The dorm was silent. Moonlight stretched across the room, casting a pale glow on the small mirror beside her bed. Emilia stared at it absentmindedly until her breath caught. Her reflection was not lying down. It was sitting up. Her heart pounded as she quickly sat upright—but in the mirror, she had already been sitting, seconds before her. The reflection tilted its head slowly. Not confused, Not afraid, But aware and deliberate. Emilia’s throat tightened. She couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. Then the reflection smiled. Not her smile but something sharper, unfamiliar, intentional and dangerous. Slowly, it raised its hand and pressed it against the glass. Emilia stumbled back, falling off her bed. The mirror didn’t crack. It held the image perfectly as if there was space behind it. As if it wasn’t a reflection… but something else entirely, something she could not understand. Shaking, Emilia forced herself to look again. Now everything was normal. Her reflection lay still, just like her. Unmoving, Silent. She sat frozen, convincing herself it was nothing just stress, just exhaustion. But as she turned away, she didn’t see the one thing that mattered most: The reflection was still smiling. A faint tap echoed. Once. Then again. From inside the mirror. Emilia froze. Her breath trembled. “No…” Tap. Tap. Tap. Slow. Deliberate. A dragging sound followed. Like fingers on glass. From within. Her heart pounded. Then a whisper came— Soft. Familiar. “Emilia…” Her own voice. And in the quiet darkness, the mirror no longer felt like glass. It felt like something waiting.