The House of Mirrors

Morning came slowly, dragging its faint light across the trees like a warning. Adex drove silently, watching the road narrow until it felt like a path for pilgrims rather than cars. The forest had changed. The trees appeared taller, their branches entwined like arms, trying to block out the sky.

Adex arrived at the clearing just after dawn. The house stood still, waiting. It appeared pristine, as if the night had merely gone around it, not through it. He parked, shut off the engine, and sat briefly with his hand resting on the keys.

Adex stepped out, closed his door, and walked to the porch. Yesterday, the door had opened independently, as if it anticipated his arrival. Today, it seemed to prompt him to knock. He pressed the doorbell. A chime resonated from inside, old and low, like a phone call that had gone unanswered for years.

Then came the sound of movement, slow and deliberate. The door creaked open just enough to reveal the warmth within.

He stepped through.

The house had changed.

It wasn't the same one he'd entered the night before, but the shape was similar. There was now polish and brightness where there had once been cobwebs and silence. As he entered, the aroma of lavender oil and old wood filled the corridor. The walls were adorned with frames displaying black-and-white images of strangers and rooms that had since disappeared. A clock chimed somewhere deep inside.

The sitting room opened like a stage set, bathed in the beauty of another era—velvet chairs surrounding a marble coffee table. The fireplace was heaped with logs, organised like an offering. Lace curtains hung from towering windows, and the air buzzed with the silence of an incomplete project.

He was about to speak when a calm, ancient voice called out.

"You're early."

He turned.

She sat as if she had been carved into the furniture, a quiet older woman with keen eyes that age had not dared to touch.

"You must be Adex."

Her voice had the softness of someone who no longer needed to raise it.

Adex stepped closer. "And you must be Linda Monroe."

She gave a half-smile, tilting her head.

"I was expecting someone taller," Linda said.

Adex nodded politely and sat down across from her. The chair emitted a soft groan under his weight.

"You're the one who's been sending all those emails," she said.

"I'm sorry," he replied. "I didn't mean to bother you. I just needed to speak with you."

Linda leaned back in her seat, her fingers curled around a porcelain cup.

"It's nice to meet you, but I don't see the use in dragging old ghosts out of the past. I'm ninety-five, Adex. I've buried more than most. What do you want?"

"My friend is in danger," he said.

She gazed at him for a long time, then asked, "Is this woman worth it?"

Adex blinked.

"No. She's not."

Linda raised an eyebrow.

"Then why are you here?"

"Because I care about her. Even though she doesn't care about me."

She observed him over the rim of her teacup.

"And you think saving her will change that?"

"No," he said. "Jill will never forgive me. Not really. But that's not why I came. I'm here because I can't watch her fall into something I could've stopped."

Linda placed the cup down with a gentle clink.

"You've got the look of someone who's already lost," she said. "You just haven't noticed yet."

He didn't respond.

She shifted forward, her voice growing quiet.

"Pray you survive this. Because one day, she will have to face her demon. And no one will be able to do it for her."

Adex leaned in.

"What demon?"

Linda's eyes didn't blink.

"Whatever is possessing her needs to finish what it started. To do that, it has to take on a human form. It used to come to her in nightmares—but now, it's coming in flesh."

Adex's breath stopped. "Human form?"

She lowered her gaze. "The demon will need a body.

Adex frowned. "Whose body?"

Linda's answer was quiet. "Ask her who she last imagined in the dark, who she longed for when no one was watching. That's the body he'll take."

The words sat heavy between them.

"You've lived through this," Adex said. "How did you stop him?"

Her expression hardened. Her hands twitched on the armrest.

"I didn't," she said.

"But you're alive."

"I am," she said. "But I don't sleep."

Adex waited.

"He never leaves completely," she said, voice almost breaking. "I gave him what he wanted. And then I ran. But memory doesn't let you go just because you closed a door."

She glanced at the cold, empty fireplace.

"He was everything I ever wanted. Until I realised he was everything I feared."

Silence returned. The clock chimed again. Adex gazed around the room—each object, each calm shadow. He didn't trust any of it.

"I need to stop him," he said.

Linda stood up slowly, one hand gripping a cane carved with strange symbols. She vanished down a hallway. Her footsteps were light but certain, like she still knew where everything was, even in the dark.

She returned with a worn, thick, leather-bound book. She handed it to Adex with care, like passing down a child.

"This helped me," she said. "I don't know if it'll help you."

He flipped through the first few pages, seeing notes scribbled in ink, strange schematics, names scratched out, and others underlined in red.

"Read it," she said. "But not all at once. Let it teach you slowly. You'll know when to stop."

Adex nodded, then met her eyes.

"Is there anything else I should know?"

She hesitated, then reached out and placed her hand over his.

"She won't recognise him. Not at first. And you—he might look like you. He'll know how to move like you. Speak like you. Love like you."

Adex's jaw tightened.

"He'll use her desire," she added. "That's what opens the door. Not fear."

Adex nodded once, slowly, and stood.

Linda walked him to the entrance. As he stepped out into the daylight, she whispered one more thing, barely above a whisper:

"She won't believe you until it's too late. So don't waste time trying."

He turned back, just once, to look at her.

"You survived," he said.

Her eyes narrowed slightly.

"No," she replied. "I escaped. It's not the same thing."

The door shut behind him without a sound.

The woods greeted him again with their hushed sway. His footsteps felt heavier on the way back. The trees no longer felt like trees. They felt like watchers.

He slid into the driver's seat, placed the book in the passenger seat, and stared through the windshield.

A breeze passed, brushing across the glass like a whisper.

And somewhere far off, the morning began to peel itself away from the light.

He didn't start the engine.

He sat there, listening.

Because something was coming.

And this time, it was wearing his face.