Whispers Know Your Name
462 Words
Anya barely blinked for hours after watching the footage. The figure, the mirror, her own reflection leaving her behind — it had to be a dream. A delusion. But the timestamp was there. The files were real. Her hands trembled as she clutched her phone.
She didn’t go to class that day. She didn’t shower, didn’t eat. The apartment felt different now — not just haunted, but aware. Like it had watched her watching it.
By evening, her phone began glitching. Contacts vanished and reappeared. The screen flickered. Every now and then, it vibrated with no new messages. And when she finally turned it off in frustration… it turned itself back on.
Then, just before midnight, it buzzed again.
Unknown number.
“She’s not your reflection anymore.”
She dropped the phone.
The bathroom mirror had fogged again.
And this time, instead of one word, there were many. A message. Backwards — but legible.
“I AM WHERE YOUR NAME LIVES. DON’T FORGET WHO YOU ARE.”
Her phone buzzed again.
This time, it displayed her name in the contact list:
"Anya."
But the number next to it wasn’t hers.
She answered.
Nothing.
Then… a voice. Familiar.
Her voice.
But twisted. Slower. Warped.
“If you forget your name, I can become you.”
She screamed and threw the phone, but it didn’t break. It landed face-up, screen black.
A new message appeared:
“Look behind the mirror.”
Anya grabbed a flashlight, heart pounding. She entered the bathroom and carefully pulled the mirror from the wall. Dust and cobwebs fell out. Behind the glass was a narrow cavity… and something wrapped in old, black cloth.
She unwrapped it slowly.
It was a photo.
A polaroid. Faded.
It showed a girl. Pale. Eyes wide, mouth half-open in a scream.
Written beneath it, in handwriting she recognized as her own:
“ME.”
But she had never taken that photo.
She dropped it. Behind it were dozens more. All polaroids. All of her. In different clothes, different angles, all from inside the apartment. Sleeping. Showering. Sitting.
Unaware.
She ran to Priya’s place that night. Didn’t explain much, just begged to stay. Priya agreed, though she looked increasingly worried. That night, Anya refused to sleep. She stared at the guest room mirror, half-expecting something to look back.
At 2:17 a.m., her phone lit up.
Unknown number.
“You can leave the apartment. Not the reflection.”
She ran to the mirror.
Her reflection was gone.
Just an empty room.
Then… her own image walked back into frame. Slowly. Smiling. Wearing different clothes than her.
Behind it… a figure followed.
Twisted.
Faceless.
It raised a hand.
On the inside of the mirror… a message was written in dripping black:
“WE KNOW YOUR NAME.”
- Writer
