Chapter Three: Whispers Between Walls
523 Words
The mirror cracked—not shattered, just a clean, jagged line through its center, as if reality itself had flinched.
I couldn’t look away. None of us could.
Inside the mirror, our older selves stood frozen in a dimly lit hallway lined with old books and strange glowing orbs.
My older self had a scar across his cheek.
Myra’s hair was longer, streaked with black strands that shimmered even in the dimness.
Tara looked battle-worn, and Arjun had a mechanical glove fused into his arm, pulsing faint blue.
“I don’t like this,” Tara murmured, stepping back. The mirror wobbled in the air, reacting to her fear.
Older-me raised his hand, touching the inside of the glass with his fingertips. His lips moved slowly, shaping the word: “Don’t... trust... the...”
The image fizzled.
Gone.
The mirror dropped to the wooden floor of our treehouse, landing with a hollow clink.
Myra crouched beside it, brushing her fingers over the cool surface. “Who were they warning us about?”
“I don’t know,” I said. My voice came out quieter than I intended.
“I do,” said a voice behind us.
We all spun around. Nikhil—Myra’s kid brother—stood there, panting.
He had climbed up the rope ladder without any of us noticing. His eyes were wide.
“Nikhil, you shouldn’t be up here,” Myra said, trying to sound calm.
He pointed toward the woods behind our houses. “There’s someone living in the abandoned white bungalow. I saw him last night. He came out when everyone was asleep. He... floated.”
Arjun raised an eyebrow. “Floated?” 🤔
“His feet didn’t touch the ground,” Nikhil said. “And when he passed the lamppost, it flickered and died.”
We exchanged nervous glances.
That house had been abandoned for over ten years.
None of us had ever dared go near it. People said it was haunted.
Kids dared each other to touch the gate and run. No one stayed long enough to knock.
Now someone lived there?
“I think we need to go there,” Tara said, brushing her hair back. “That mirror... whatever that vision was—it wasn’t just for show. It was a message.”
“We can’t just walk in,” Arjun replied. “What if it’s a trap? We’re just kids.”
“No,” I said. “We’re not. Not anymore.”
---
That night, I couldn’t sleep.
I sat on my bed, The Origin pencil clutched in my fingers.
The glow-in-the-dark stars on my ceiling flickered as the pencil vibrated lightly—like it was trying to tell me something.
I took out a fresh notebook page and started sketching.
Not with intention—just letting my hand move. A house. Twisted trees. Glowing windows. A shadow behind the curtains.
The drawing shimmered.
And then—there was a tap on my window.
I froze.
A second tap.
Slowly, I turned.
There was no one there.
But on the windowpane, drawn in dew, were the words:
“We see you too, Ayaan.”
- Writer
