Book 1: The Midnight Mirror

The flickering light of the library's ancient chandelier cast dancing shadows across the endless rows of books. Master Renton Howling stood in his familiar place, his long, bony fingers tracing the spine of an old, cracked mirror on a pedestal beside him. His face was half-obscured by the darkness, but his smile gleamed in the dim light, sharp and cold.

"Ah, my dear friends, I see you've returned once more," he purred, his voice like silk sliding over jagged glass. "And how brave you must be. For tonight, we gaze into the mirror, one that reflects not just what we wish to see, but what lurks behind us. What hides in the dark places, waiting... watching... hungering."

He paused, lifting his hand to the mirror, but stopping short of touching its surface. "Mirrors have always had a way of showing the truth, haven't they? And the truth, my dear reader, is often more terrible than we can bear. But what happens when the mirror shows you something that shouldn't be there? Something... that follows you, even when you turn away?"

Renton's eyes gleamed in the candlelight, the shadows lengthening as his smile widened. "Our tale tonight is about one such reflection. A woman who saw far too much... far too late. You see, there are places even the bravest souls should never look. Places where, if you catch a glimpse, the thing you see might just notice you in return."

He stepped back, the library darkening as the candlelight flickered. "So, gather close. But be warned, what you see in the mirror tonight may never leave you."

With a slow, deliberate motion, Renton turned, his shadow stretching across the room as he disappeared into the darkness.

"And remember... never look too closely."

The Midnight Mirror

Emily had always loved old houses, the kind that creaked when the wind blew, with tall windows that let in long shafts of sunlight and wooden floors that echoed beneath your feet. When she found the house on Briarwood Lane, she thought she had stumbled onto the perfect place. It was a little run-down, sure, but it had charm, history, and most importantly, it was affordable.

Standing outside on the day she moved in, Emily gazed up at the house, feeling a strange mixture of excitement and nervousness. The place was larger than she needed, three bedrooms, a large kitchen, and a sprawling yard with an old oak tree in the back. But it was the bathroom that had sold her on it. It was spacious, with a huge claw-foot tub and an old-fashioned sink. The bathroom mirror was large, too, the kind that almost felt like it was watching you as you stood in front of it.

The first few weeks were uneventful, almost peaceful. Emily spent her days unpacking, cleaning, and making the house feel like home. She hung her favorite pictures on the walls, filled the kitchen with the scent of freshly brewed coffee every morning, and even found time to start a small garden in the backyard.

At night, she would take long baths in the claw-foot tub, enjoying the quiet that the old house seemed to offer. The bathroom quickly became her favorite place in the house, a sanctuary where she could relax after long days of work. The house had its quirks, of course: the occasional creak of the floorboards, the draft that seemed to come from nowhere, and the way the bathroom mirror would sometimes fog up, even when she hadn't used the shower.

But those were all things Emily could handle. The house was old, after all. Old houses came with old sounds, old drafts, and old mirrors.

It was a few weeks later when the first noise woke her up.

Emily was lying in bed, her thoughts drifting toward sleep, when she heard it, a faint, rhythmic scratching sound. At first, she thought it was a branch from the old oak tree scraping against the window, but when she sat up to listen more closely, the sound seemed to be coming from inside the house.

The scratching was soft at first, almost like the sound of someone dragging their fingernails across the wall. It came from the bathroom.

Emily frowned, her heart picking up pace as she slipped out of bed and made her way toward the door. She padded softly across the floor, her bare feet cold against the hardwood. As she got closer to the bathroom, the scratching grew louder, more insistent. It was coming from the shower.

She opened the bathroom door, her hand fumbling for the light switch. The room flooded with the soft, yellow glow of the old lightbulbs, casting shadows across the floor and walls. The mirror, as usual, had a thin layer of fog on it, despite the fact that she hadn't used the shower all day.

Emily's eyes flicked to the shower curtain, which was drawn shut. The scratching sound had stopped.

She stood there for a moment, her breath catching in her throat as she reached for the curtain. Slowly, she pulled it aside, her fingers trembling slightly.

Nothing. The tub was empty.

Emily let out a sigh of relief, shaking her head at her own paranoia. Old houses make old noises, she reminded herself. It's probably just the pipes or the wind. But as she turned to leave the bathroom, something caught her eye.

In the mirror.

For just a split second, as she passed by the large bathroom mirror, she thought she saw something, a shadow, maybe, or a figure standing behind the shower curtain.

She whipped around, her heart pounding. But the bathroom was empty. The curtain was still pulled aside, the tub bare and lifeless.

Emily took a deep breath and gave herself a small laugh. "You're losing it," she muttered to herself as she left the bathroom and crawled back into bed. It had to have been her mind playing tricks on her, right? She had been tired, a little on edge. That's all.

But deep down, Emily couldn't shake the feeling that something had been there. Just out of view. Just out of reach.

Over the next week, the noises in the house grew worse.

The scratching returned, louder this time, always coming from the bathroom. But now there were other sounds, too, soft thumps, like someone walking through the house when no one else was there. Objects around the house would be moved, sometimes just slightly, like a picture frame that was tilted when it had been straight before. Other times, things would fall off shelves for no reason, smashing to the ground in the dead of night.

Emily tried to convince herself it was nothing. Old houses settled. Pipes clanged. Drafts blew through cracks in the walls. But there was something about the way the house felt now, something cold, oppressive, like the very air had grown heavy and thick with tension.

The bathroom became a place she avoided. She showered quickly, always keeping her back to the curtain, refusing to look at the mirror for more than a few seconds at a time. She started leaving lights on at night, the soft glow of the hallway light making her feel a little safer as she lay in bed, listening to the noises in the dark.

But the mirror, she couldn't escape the mirror. Every time she passed by it, she felt a presence, something watching her, waiting. And sometimes, when the light hit it just right, she swore she saw shadows in the reflection that weren't there when she looked back over her shoulder.

One night, as she lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling, Emily heard the scratching again. But this time, it was louder, closer. She froze, her heart thudding in her chest.

The scratching wasn't coming from the bathroom anymore.

It was coming from her bedroom wall.

Emily lay in bed, the room utterly silent except for that faint, relentless scratching sound coming from the wall. It was as if something was trying to claw its way out from behind the plaster. She squeezed her eyes shut, hoping it would stop, hoping it was just a bad dream.

But the sound didn't stop.

Her breath quickened as the scratching grew louder, more frantic. She couldn't stay in bed. Not with that noise so close, so... alive. Heart pounding, Emily sat up slowly, every muscle in her body tense. She glanced toward the wall from where the noise was coming, and for the briefest of moments, she thought she saw something, something dark, shift behind the paint.

It was as though the wall itself was breathing.

Without thinking, she jumped out of bed and grabbed the nearest object, a heavy book from her nightstand. Armed with nothing but fear and adrenaline, she edged toward the wall. The scratching had stopped now, leaving the room in a thick, suffocating silence. She pressed her ear to the plaster, holding her breath.

For a few seconds, there was nothing. Just the faint thud of her own heart.

Then she heard it again, faint, distant, but unmistakable. A whisper.

Emily stepped back, clutching the book tighter. She was done with this. She wasn't going to let her imagination turn this into something worse than it was. It was just an old house. Old houses made noises. Right?

The scratching returned, louder this time, as if whatever was behind the wall was angry that she had listened.

She turned on every light in the room, trying to drown out the darkness. But even with the lights on, the room felt wrong. The shadows on the walls seemed too thick, too deep. They flickered in the corners of her vision, as if something was standing just out of sight, watching her.

She glanced toward the mirror on her dresser. Her reflection stared back at her, pale, wide-eyed, trembling. The mirror had fogged over slightly, the way it always did in the bathroom. But there was no reason for it to be fogged now.

No reason at all.

Emily walked to the mirror slowly, her breath shallow. She wiped the fog from the glass with a trembling hand, clearing her reflection.

Her eyes widened. There, behind her, just at the edge of the frame, was something. A shadow, standing in the corner of the room, just barely visible in the reflection.

She whipped around, but the room was empty.

Heart hammering in her chest, she turned back to the mirror. The shadow was still there, closer now, its outline sharp and jagged, like something grotesquely human but not quite.

Suddenly, the scratching started again, louder, more frantic, as if whatever was behind the wall was now clawing at it with a vengeance. Emily stumbled back, knocking over the chair by her dresser, her mind racing. She had to get out of the room. She had to get out of the house.

Emily bolted down the hallway, her bare feet slapping against the hardwood floors. The house was pitch dark except for the faint glow from the living room lamp, but it felt like the shadows were closing in around her, swallowing the light.

The scratching had followed her, the noise echoing through the house now, as if it was everywhere at once.

As she reached the living room, something flew past her head, smashing against the wall with a deafening crash. Emily screamed and ducked, instinctively covering her head as more objects, books, picture frames, even the lamp, were hurled across the room. She could feel the air moving as they whizzed by her, as if something unseen was violently throwing them, desperate to hurt her.

Emily backed up against the wall, gasping for breath. Her eyes darted around the room, searching for the source of the attack, but there was nothing. Nothing but the dark, empty air.

Then the bathroom door slammed shut. Hard.

Emily froze, her eyes locked on the door. The house had gone deathly silent again. Her body shook with fear as she edged toward the front door, her hand fumbling for the doorknob.

Before she could even turn it, she heard something from behind the bathroom door.

It wasn't scratching this time.

It was breathing.

A slow, deep rasp, as if someone, something, was standing just on the other side of the door, gasping for air. The sound was too loud, too unnatural, like whatever was making it had no lungs, no throat, just an empty, hungry void.

Emily's hands shook as she grabbed her phone from the table by the door. She fumbled with it, her fingers slipping as she dialed 911. But the moment she hit call, the phone died. The screen went black. She cursed and threw it on the ground, her body trembling with fear.

The breathing behind the bathroom door grew louder, more erratic.

Then the door slowly creaked open.

Emily backed up, her heart racing. She didn't want to look, but she couldn't help it. She glanced toward the bathroom, and in the dim light, she saw it.

The shower curtain was drawn.

Her breath caught in her throat. The shower curtain had been open when she last saw it. But now it was pulled shut, tightly shut, as if something was hiding behind it.

And then she saw it, just a glimpse, in the mirror on the bathroom wall. Something tall. Something dark. It was standing behind the curtain, its shape barely visible through the faded fabric.

Emily gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. She could only see it in the mirror, but it was there, tall, looming, its outline grotesque and wrong. It wasn't human. It couldn't be.

She turned and ran, sprinting out of the house and into the night, not stopping until she was blocks away, her breath coming in ragged gasps, her heart slamming against her ribs.

A week passed. Emily refused to go back to the house. She crashed at a friend's place, but even there, she couldn't shake the feeling that something was still watching her. She barely slept, and when she did, the nightmares were always the same, darkness, the sound of breathing, and that figure in the mirror, its eyes wide and hollow, its mouth a bottomless pit.

But eventually, she knew she had to go back. She had left everything behind in her panic, her clothes, her computer, her entire life. She couldn't just leave it all behind. The house had been quiet for years before this. Maybe it had been some kind of hallucination, stress getting the better of her.

She arrived at the house late in the afternoon, hoping to get in and out before the sun set. The house looked just as she had left it, but the air around it felt... different. Heavier. As though something still lingered.

Emily took a deep breath and stepped inside. The moment she crossed the threshold, a cold draft swept through the house, chilling her to the bone.

She moved quickly, packing her things as fast as she could, her heart hammering in her chest. The house was eerily quiet, but she couldn't shake the feeling that something was waiting, watching her from the shadows.

As she moved through her bedroom, tossing clothes into a suitcase, she heard it.

Crying.

A soft, muffled sobbing sound, coming from her room, the room she had just entered.

Emily froze. The sound of a woman crying, faint but unmistakable, echoed through the room. She whipped around, but there was no one there.

The crying grew louder, filling the room, the sound suffocating her with its sadness, its intensity. Emily grabbed the last of her things and bolted for the door, her pulse racing.

But as she reached the front door and yanked it open, she heard something that made her blood run cold.

The crying was coming from right behind her.

Emily bolted out the door, her breath catching in her throat, but the crying, it wasn't stopping. The soft, mournful sobbing followed her as she ran down the driveway, her shoes slapping against the concrete. She threw her things into the back seat of her car, her hands trembling as she fumbled with the keys.

The crying grew louder, closer.

Finally, she managed to start the car, her fingers slick with sweat. She slammed the door shut, locked it, and peeled out of the driveway without a second glance at the house. She wasn't staying a moment longer.

As she drove down the darkened road, the sky a deep, oppressive gray, the crying began to fade. For a brief moment, Emily allowed herself to breathe, her hands white-knuckled on the steering wheel. Maybe it was over. Maybe she was finally free.

But then, as she passed the last streetlight and the road dipped into shadow, she heard it again.

The crying. Only this time, it wasn't distant.

It was right behind her.

Emily's stomach dropped, her heart slamming against her ribs. She could feel it, the presence, right there, in the back seat, breathing heavily, crying softly. She didn't dare look in the rearview mirror. She didn't want to see it.

But the sobbing... the sound was so close now, so human, so full of grief. Slowly, as if her body was moving against her will, Emily's eyes flicked upward to the mirror.

And that's when she saw it.

The demon was there, sitting in the back seat, its wide, hollow eyes staring directly at her. Its mouth hung open in a grotesque, endless pit, and from that black abyss came the terrible, heart-wrenching crying. The demon's face was twisted and deformed, its skin pale and sickly, its long, dark fingers twitching at its sides.

Emily's breath caught in her throat as their eyes met in the mirror. For a moment, the demon continued to cry, its wails growing louder, more desperate.

Then, suddenly, it stopped.

The sobbing cut off with an eerie silence, leaving nothing but the sound of Emily's frantic breathing. The demon's eyes widened, its mouth stretching impossibly wide into a grotesque grin.

Emily screamed, swerving the car as the demon's grin widened further, its eyes gleaming with malevolent glee. She tried to tear her gaze away from the mirror, but the sight of that grinning face held her in place, paralyzing her with terror.

The car careened off the road, slamming into a tree with a sickening crunch. Emily's world went black.

Emily awoke in the hospital, her body sore and bruised, her head pounding. The beeping of machines filled the room, and for a moment, she wasn't sure where she was. But as the memories came flooding back, of the demon, the crying, the crash, her heart began to race.

She sat up quickly, her eyes darting around the room, expecting to see the demon's hollow eyes staring back at her.

But the room was empty.

There was no sign of the demon. No sign of the thing that had followed her into the car, that had tormented her for weeks. It was gone.

The doctors told her she had suffered a concussion, that the accident had been the result of her swerving to avoid something in the road. They didn't believe her story about the demon, about the crying, about the way it had looked at her in the mirror. They told her it was all a hallucination, brought on by stress and trauma.

But Emily knew the truth.

Even now, as she sat in the sterile hospital room, she could still feel it, the demon's eyes on her, watching, waiting. She didn't see it again, not in the hospital or when she returned to her friend's house to recover.

But that didn't mean it was gone.

Emily left the house on Briarwood Lane, never returning to retrieve the rest of her things. She moved to a new city, started a new life. But she never forgot. She never forgot the way the demon had grinned at her, the way it had followed her home.

And she never looked into a mirror again.

Epilogue:

Back in the dim, flickering candlelight of the library, Master Renton Howling stood before the ancient mirror on the pedestal. His fingers hovered just above its cracked surface, a knowing smile playing on his lips.

He glanced at the reader, his eyes gleaming with amusement. "Ah, mirrors... such fascinating things, aren't they? They show us what we are, what we fear, and sometimes... what we're meant to become."

His voice dropped to a whisper, barely audible above the crackling of the fire. "But every once in a while, a mirror shows us something else. Something that we weren't meant to see. And once you've seen it... well, let's just say you can never unsee it."

Renton turned back to the mirror, his smile widening. "Like our dear Emily, who now knows better than to trust her reflection. But I wonder, dear reader... if you looked into your mirror right now, what might be staring back at you?"

The library grew quiet, the shadows thickening as the last candle flickered. Renton leaned closer to the mirror, his eyes narrowing as he peered into its depths.

Then, from deep within the glass, a faint sound began to rise.

Crying.

Soft, mournful sobs echoed from the mirror, just like those Emily had heard. Renton's smile widened into something grotesque, something almost inhuman.

The crying grew louder, filling the room, but Renton didn't flinch. He simply stood there, listening to the mournful wails with a twisted, delighted expression on his face.

Slowly, he reached out and pressed his hand against the surface of the mirror. The crying stopped, replaced by an eerie, unnatural silence. For a moment, the only sound in the library was Renton's slow, steady breathing.

Then, from the depths of the mirror, something moved.

Renton's reflection began to change, the face in the glass warping and distorting into something dark, something monstrous. A wide, hollow grin spread across the reflection's face, its eyes growing impossibly large and black.

The demon had found its way into the library.

Master Renton simply smiled wider, his eyes gleaming with dark amusement as the scene slowly faded into shadow.

And as the last candle flickered out, the sound of crying echoed once more through the dark.

The End