That night, the whispers returned louder, clearer.
Chizzy couldn't tell if she was awake or dreaming.
She stood in her room, candlelight flickering across the walls. The house groaned like it was breathing.
Then she saw him.
Not fully—just a shape in the hallway mirror. Tall, thin, his face shrouded by darkness. He moved like smoke.
His voice drifted to her like silk soaked in venom.
"You've opened the door. There's no closing it now."
She tried to speak, but her voice was gone.
"You are mine, Chizzy. You always were."
Then the mirror cracked.
She fell back, gasping, clutching her chest as the candles extinguished all at once.
She was in the dark.
But not alone.