A Shadow in Reflection

I lay motionless in bed, my gaze locked onto the ceiling, as if it grinned down at me, whispering my worst memories back into existence. The dream still clung to me, burrowed into my chest like something that had latched onto my soul in the night and refused to let go.

With a sharp slap to my face, I tried to shake it off. Breathe. Ground myself.

I slid out of bed, my room barren, lifeless, as if it existed only as a space rather than a place someone actually lived in. Moving toward the window, I pulled it open, letting the morning sun spill in, though its warmth did little to thaw the lingering unease in my mind.

"What the hell was that dream?"

The past crept in like an unwelcome guest. Flashes of my mother's final moments resurfaced—something I wished I could erase, forget, or at least stop hearing echoes of.

An accident no one fully understood. A mystery without a single loose thread to pull. A car that shouldn't have been there. A collision on a rain-slicked, midnight road.

A phone call that came far too late. And far too strangely.

And my father…

I had no clear memory of him. Only fragmented stories my mother had once told me, hazy images of a man in uniform walking away, never to return. A name carved into stone in a town where no one spoke it anymore.

I had always been alone. I could no longer recall the sound of my mother's voice or the stories she once spun, only the remnants of them, the weight of tears she had left behind, framed within lost memories.

Yet in that solitude, in the hollowed-out space loss had carved inside me, I found something.

Words. Stories.

Writing had become everything. A place where reality could be rewritten, where the dead could speak again, where things finally made sense, where entire worlds could be made real.

"Instead of standing here thinking, I should get ready. I have work to do."

I was on the verge of slipping too deep into thought, but time waited for no one.

I dressed quickly, grabbed my bag, and stepped out of my apartment.

The building I lived in carried the weight of years—cold, lifeless, its walls marked by time, the hallway lights flickering inconsistently. But this place was home, the only one I had.

I hurried toward the elevator, pressing the worn button. The rust-colored doors rattled open with a slow, aching creak.

Stepping inside, I pressed the button for the ground floor.

The elevator began its descent.

Around the seventh floor, my gaze drifted toward the mirror on the back wall.

And in that instant, I froze.

A shadow.

It stood just behind me—vaguely outlined, featureless, appearing from nowhere.

Dismissing it as a trick of the light, I tried to ignore it.

But even the elevator seemed to know something was wrong.

The light flickered as we descended.

I was no longer alone.

The shadow was smiling.

Floor after floor passed, the reflection in the mirror twisting.

That smile—it widened.

A chill crawled down my spine.

I tore my gaze away, fixing my eyes on the panel of buttons, refusing to look back.

Steady breaths. Focus.

The third floor.

Something shifted in the corner of my vision.

The shadow was closer. Close enough that I could have reached out and touched it.

The elevator jolted to a stop at the ground floor, its old mechanics groaning. The doors slid open.

Too slowly.

Seconds stretched into minutes. Minutes into hours.

I stepped out as quickly as I could, resisting the urge to run, but fear hummed in my veins, whispering in the back of my mind.

My heart slammed against my ribs.

I moved toward the exit, reaching for the door. The city air felt thick in my lungs, heavy with damp asphalt and the weight of endless movement. The streets were crowded, people moving mechanically, their faces void of life.

Without realizing it, my feet carried me toward the subway station.

On the platform, someone called out.

"Kaelen!"

I lifted my head to see Eliot—a coworker. Tall, perpetually disheveled hair, round glasses perched on his nose. Shorter than most, but among the best people I knew.

"What's up, man? You look like hell. Didn't sleep again?" He raised an eyebrow.

For a second, I hesitated.

I had no intention of telling him about the shadow in the elevator. He'd think I was losing it.

"Yeah, didn't sleep well. Been trying to finish that project," I lied. I hadn't even started it.

Eliot scoffed. "That's not exactly news. Have you ever slept well?" He laughed, knowing damn well I never did.

I forced a weak smile. But something inside me remained tense.

The subway arrived—a metal serpent swallowing people whole without asking questions.

We boarded, taking our usual seats.

"Oh, right—" Eliot glanced at his phone. "Boss wants to talk to you today."

I frowned. "About what?"

"No idea, but he seemed pretty serious."

It wasn't the first time I'd been called in.

At work, I was known for writing in-depth articles—insightful pieces that dug into stories others overlooked. But I also had a habit of getting lost in the work, forgetting everything else.

We finally arrived.

The office was housed in a sleek glass building—far too modern for my taste. Just outside, a small park stood in contrast, filled with laughter, the kind that carried echoes of childhood.

I took the stairs two at a time, my curiosity outweighing my unease.

On the seventh floor, my boss, Mr. Vance, was already waiting in his office.

"Kaelen, come in."

Vance was a man past fifty, sharp-eyed and always measured in his words—someone who had seen too much of life. Dressed in a tailored suit and a bowtie, he looked more like a university professor than an editor-in-chief.

"We have an assignment for you. A story. Something… special."

I wasn't paying full attention yet. My eyes wandered around his office—a massive space, shelves lined with awards, the city skyline stretching beyond the windows.

I exhaled and asked, "What kind of story?"

Vance tossed a file onto his desk.

"A small village. Not far from here. An old cabin. People say it's haunted. I don't know what to make of it. But there've been some… strange disappearances. I want you to go there. Investigate."

I blinked. "Haunted?"

Vance shrugged.

"You don't have to believe in ghosts. Just write what you find. People love this kind of stuff—especially these days. You leave in three days."

I didn't answer immediately.

Because in my mind, all I could see was the shadow in the elevator—its smile spreading like spilled ink.

Vance sighed.

"We'll pay you well. Think of it as a break from routine."

I shut the file and gave a slight nod.

Three days.

And then I'd leave.

What I didn't know was that, in that very moment...

My journey had already begun.