Chapter 7: The Silent Whisper

It started with a sound.

I was lying in bed, my room dark except for the faint glow of the streetlight filtering through the curtains. The quiet of the night wrapped around me like a blanket, thick and heavy. That's when I heard it—a soft, almost imperceptible whisper.

At first, I thought it was just my mind playing tricks. Late at night, when the world falls silent, the smallest noises can become amplified, bending reality into something... different. But this wasn't just a noise. It was a voice.

A whisper.

I sat up, my heart beginning to thud in my chest. The whisper came again, closer this time, like someone was standing at the edge of my bed, their breath brushing against my ear. But no one was there.

The air in the room felt thick, heavy, as if something unseen was watching. My eyes scanned the darkness, searching for any shape or movement, but everything was still. Just the murmur of the whisper, faint but persistent.

"Help me..."

Two words, faint and distant, but unmistakable. A chill ran down my spine. I sat frozen, trying to make sense of what I'd just heard. There was no one else in the room—there couldn't be. I lived alone.

"Help me..." the whisper came again, this time more desperate, but still barely above the level of a breath.

I got up from the bed, my legs shaking slightly as I moved. My eyes darted around the room, and I found myself drawn to the mirror on the far wall. Something about it felt... wrong. It was just a plain, rectangular mirror, one I'd had for years, but tonight, it seemed darker. Almost alive.

I approached it slowly, each step heavy with unease. The reflection looked normal at first—just me, standing in the dim light of the room. But then I saw it. A shadow, faint and barely visible, behind me in the mirror. It moved—just a flicker—and then it was gone.

I whipped around, my heart racing. There was nothing behind me. Just empty air. I turned back to the mirror, my pulse pounding in my ears. For a long moment, nothing happened. Just my reflection staring back at me, eyes wide, skin pale.

But then the whisper came again.

"Help me."

It was coming from the mirror. I stepped closer, the unease growing in my chest. I reached out, fingers trembling, and lightly touched the cold glass. The moment my skin made contact, the temperature in the room dropped sharply. My breath fogged up the mirror, and for a second, I thought I saw something behind the mist—something moving in the depths of the glass. A figure, blurred and indistinct.

I yanked my hand back, stepping away from the mirror, my pulse racing. I had the sudden, inexplicable feeling that whatever was in the mirror wanted out.

The whisper came again, louder this time, as if the thing inside was pressing against the glass, struggling to break free. "Help me..." It was pleading now, a desperate voice trapped behind the surface of the reflection.

I don't know why, but I felt compelled to answer. Maybe it was curiosity, or maybe it was the eerie pull of the unknown, but I found myself speaking aloud.

"Who are you?" My voice trembled in the silence.

For a moment, nothing happened. Then the figure in the mirror shifted, the fog swirling around it like mist in the morning air. The shape became clearer—a silhouette, a human figure, pressed against the other side of the glass.

"Trapped..." it whispered, its voice ragged and thin. "Trapped... for so long."

A cold shiver ran down my spine. I swallowed hard, my throat dry. "How... how can I help you?"

The figure in the mirror seemed to lean closer, its face still obscured, but I could feel its presence pushing against the boundary of the glass, pressing against the edges of my reality.

"Open it," the voice rasped. "Set me free."

I took a step back, my heart racing. Something about this felt wrong—deeply, fundamentally wrong. The air in the room had grown thick, almost suffocating, and the presence in the mirror felt more real than I could comprehend.

"I can't," I whispered, my voice shaking.

The figure in the mirror didn't move, but I could feel its frustration, its anger, growing. "Open it," the voice repeated, louder this time, more insistent.

I shook my head, backing away further. My mind was racing, trying to make sense of the situation. Mirrors don't trap people. This couldn't be happening.

But it was.

The whisper became a scream—high-pitched, furious. The glass trembled, and for a moment, I thought it might shatter. The figure in the mirror pressed harder, its silhouette becoming sharper, more defined.

"OPEN IT!" the voice shrieked, its desperation cutting through the air like a blade.

I stumbled backward, falling to the floor. My heart pounded in my chest as I stared at the mirror, the reflection warping, distorting. The figure in the glass thrashed, its hands clawing at the surface, trying to break through. The entire room felt like it was shaking, like the boundaries between my world and the mirror's were collapsing.

But then, just as quickly as it started, it stopped.

The air went still. The room fell silent. And the mirror... was just a mirror again.

I sat there on the floor for what felt like hours, my breath coming in short, ragged bursts. The reflection in the glass was calm now—normal. Just me, sitting in the dim light of my room, the world around me unchanged.

But I knew better. Something had happened—something I couldn't explain, something that defied all logic. The figure in the mirror had been real, and it had tried to get out.

I stood slowly, my legs shaky. The room felt cold, even though the temperature had returned to normal. I glanced at the mirror one last time before turning away, but I couldn't shake the feeling that it was still watching me—that whatever was inside it was still there, waiting.

Waiting for the next time I would listen.