THE MIRROR THAT SPEAKS

Chapter 8: The Mirror Speaks

After a harrowing day marked by unsettling events and the pervasive presence of ominous shadows, Lucas hurried home, yearning for rest. Despite his exhaustion, an inexplicable unease gnawed at him, a sense that the shadows were still lurking, waiting.

Entering his dimly lit bedroom, Lucas's gaze was irresistibly drawn to the antique mirror hanging on the wall—an heirloom passed down through generations. Its once-gleaming surface now seemed to ripple subtly, as if alive.

As he approached, his reflection stared back, but something was amiss. The eyes looking at him held a depth and knowledge that felt foreign. Suddenly, the reflection smirked, an expression Lucas knew he wasn't making.

"Stop searching, Lucas," the reflection whispered, its voice a distorted echo. "Before it's too late."

Heart pounding, Lucas stumbled back. "Who... what are you?"

The reflection's eyes gleamed with a sinister light. "I am you, the part of you that understands the futility of this quest. Let go, and all will be well."

Images began to flood the mirror's surface, depicting a life Lucas had never envisioned: attending Riverside Community College, marrying Tessa—a girl he cared for but didn't love romantically—and settling into a mundane existence. The scenes felt both alien and eerily comforting.

A part of him yearned to embrace this vision, to surrender to the simplicity it promised. Yet, deep within, a voice urged resistance.

Desperate to break free from the mirror's thrall, Lucas clenched his fists and struck the glass. Pain shot through his hand as the mirror cracked, blood oozing from his knuckles.

The mirror's surface shimmered, and the images shifted, now showing a desolate future where the town remained ensnared by darkness, its inhabitants mere shadows of their former selves.

A gust of wind swept through the room, scattering papers and rattling objects. A cacophony of whispers filled the air, rising to a deafening crescendo. Overwhelmed, Lucas clutched his head, a single phrase piercing through the chaos: "Believe in the book."

The pressure became unbearable, and with a final, thunderous crack, the mirror shattered, plunging the room into silence. Lucas's vision blurred, and he collapsed, consciousness slipping away.

When he awoke, there was filtering through the curtains. His hand throbbed, and shards of glass glittered on the floor. The events of the few minutes ago felt like a fevered dream, yet the pain and the blood were undeniable.

Determined, Lucas bandaged his hand and reached for his phone. Ignoring the hour, he called his friends, urgency driving his actions.

"We need to meet. Now," he said, his voice brooking no argument.

Despite the late hour, his friends sensed the gravity in his tone and agreed to gather at the school's entrance.

Tessa's Encounter:

Tessa crept towards her front door, only to find her father, typically engrossed in late night friday news, standing by the entrance as if anticipating her.

"Dad? Why are you up?"

He turned slowly, his expression eerily serene. "I had a feeling you'd try to leave. It's best if you stay."

His calm demeanor was unsettling, and Tessa felt an inexplicable dread.

Ryan's Situation:

Ryan attempted to climb out of his bedroom window, but as he glanced back, he saw his mother standing in the doorway, her face devoid of emotion.

"Going somewhere?"

Caught off guard, Ryan stammered, "Just... needed some air."

She shook her head slowly. "Not today. Stay."

The authoritative tone was unlike her, leaving Ryan both confused and alarmed.

Caleb's Challenge:

Caleb found his parents seated at the kitchen table, staring blankly ahead.

"Mom? Dad? Are you okay?"

In unison, without turning to him, they replied, "You mustn't go out. It's dangerous."

The synchronized response was unnerving, and Caleb felt a deep sense of unease.

Despite these eerie confrontations, each managed to slip away, driven by the urgency of their mission. The familiar streets now seemed weird in the presence of the night sky and as they converged at the school's entrance, an unspoken understanding passed between them: the forces they were up against were more pervasive and insidious than they'd imagined.

Reuniting at the school entrance, they exchanged their unsettling experiences.

"It's like they were possessed," Tessa whispered.

"Something doesn't want us out," Ryan added.

Lucas clenched his aching fist. "We can't stop now. We need to find the journal."

With flashlights in hand, they made their way to the cemetery.

Navigating through the tombstones, Lucas's light landed on one that made his breath stop.

It bore his father's name. Richard Carter.

His father wasn't dead. He had never even stepped foot in Riverside.

A surge of emotion overwhelmed him. His father had been a monster, but Lucas had never wished him dead. He had wanted justice, not this… lie.

He clenched his fists, rage boiling inside him. He wanted to scream, to tear this whole town apart.

But right now, they had a grave to dig.

---

Ryan ran toward a small storage hut by the graveyard and returned with four shovels.

"We have to do this fast," he muttered.

They dug in silence, each thrust of the shovel bringing them closer to the buried truth.

Minutes passed. Then an hour. It was almost morning.

Sweat dripped down their faces. Dirt caked their hands.

Then—

CLANG.

Their shovels hit something solid.

Lucas dropped to his knees, brushing away the remaining dirt. A wooden box lay buried beneath the soil. His breath hitched.

With trembling hands, he opened it.

Inside was an old, leather-bound book.

Eli's real journal.

They had the truth in their hands.

But before Lucas could even flip the first page—

A gust of wind howled through the cemetery.

A deep, guttural growl echoed in the darkness.

And then—something moved.

Something was there again .

Lucas grabbed the book, shoving it into his bag before taking off. They ran as fast as their legs could carry them, lungs burning, legs aching. Whatever was lurking in the shadows was terrifying, but the thought of their parents discovering they had snuck out was a different kind of horror.

At the front of the school, they exchanged glances, breathless and shaken. Then, one by one, they parted ways, slipping into the night like ghosts.

Lucas crept back into his room through the window, his hands trembling as he pulled the bag off his shoulders. The weight of the journal inside felt unbearable, like it was pulsing with something alive. Every instinct screamed at him to unzip the bag and look inside.

But this wasn't just his journey. They had come too far together. It had to wait.

He set the bag down and collapsed onto his bed, shutting his eyes. Sleep pulled at him immediately, but just as he drifted into the quiet darkness, a voice jolted him awake.

"My sweet boy…"

Lucas froze. His heart slammed against his ribs. He knew that voice. His mother. But something was off.

Through his barely cracked eyelids, he saw her standing in the doorway. The dim glow from the hallway cast her in eerie shadow, but her grin—too wide, too still—stood out.

"You've grown up so well," she whispered, stepping closer.

Lucas forced his breath to stay slow, steady. Pretend to be asleep.

His mother—or whatever this was—hovered over him now. He could feel her breath against his face, warm and cloying.

"I remember when you were just a little baby," she murmured, her fingers brushing over his forehead. "You never cried much. Such a good boy. Do you remember, Lucas?"

He didn't. He couldn't. Because it wasn't real.

"You've always belonged here. Always been my little boy. You'll never leave, will you?"

Lucas swallowed, fighting the urge to flinch as her fingers trailed down his cheek. His pulse was deafening in his ears.

And then—just as suddenly as she appeared—his mother straightened, stepping back toward the door.

"Sleep well, darling," she whispered, and as she turned, for the briefest moment, her reflection in the hallway mirror didn't follow.

Lucas waited until her footsteps disappeared down the hall before he bolted upright, chest heaving. His hands clenched the sheets as he fought the terror clawing up his throat.

Something was very wrong.

He wasn't safe here.

Not in this town.

Not in this house.

And certainly not with her.

But that didn't stop him from sleeping the morning in.

The exhaustion from the night's events weighed down on him, dragging him into a heavy sleep. Even after the encounter with his mother—or whatever that thing was pretending to be her—his body gave in, too drained to resist.

For the first time since moving to Riverside, there were no nightmares. No shadows creeping at the edge of his vision. No distorted whispers clawing at his mind. Just… silence.

But the silence felt wrong.

Too deep. Too still.

When Lucas finally stirred, sunlight was already streaming through his window, cutting across his face. His head throbbed, and his limbs felt heavier than usual, like he had slept for days.

Then came the knock.

A slow, deliberate tap-tap-tap against his bedroom door.

"Lucas, honey," his mother's voice sang from the other side. "You're going to be late for school."

His breath hitched. Late?

He forced himself upright, blinking against the grogginess. His phone lay on the nightstand, the screen lighting up as he reached for it.

10:42 AM.

Panic shot through him. That wasn't just late—it was practically halfway through the school day.

Why hadn't his alarm gone off? Why hadn't his mom woken him up earlier?

Something wasn't right.

And then, he remembered.

Last night. The book. The cemetery. The shadows.

And his mother.

The way she stood over him. The things she said.

Lucas hesitated before responding. "Uh… yeah, sorry. I wasn't feeling great."

A pause. Too long.

Then, the door handle turned, and Lucas's heart nearly stopped.

He sprang up, rushing to it before she could step inside. "I—I think I just need to rest a little more," he blurted out, pressing his palm against the door to keep it shut.

Silence.

Then, his mother chuckled. Soft, sweet. Wrong.

"Of course, honey," she cooed. "Get some rest."

Her footsteps retreated down the hall, slow and measured, and Lucas finally exhaled, pressing his forehead against the door.

His pulse was racing.

Because in the reflection of his bedroom mirror, his mother was still standing there.

Grinning.