The Shadow in the Mirror
Detective Rachel Hart never believed in coincidences. Ten years on the force had taught her that every mystery connected if you followed the thread long enough. Tonight, sitting in the rain-lashed darkness of her car, though, the case in front of her felt like grasping at smoke.
It had started two weeks ago with the disappearance of Julia Keene, a brilliant and dogged journalist famous for unmasking the most powerful secrets. Rachel had come into her apartment ready to find evidence of a struggle or a note that could offer some clue about what had happened. But there was only this silence and this broken mirror on the wall of the bedroom. On it, in bold, crimson lipstick, someone had written “11:11“. No fingerprints. No signs of forced entry. No leads.
Now, Rachel sat outside a deserted warehouse on Pier 17, gripping the steering wheel. Hours had passed since that anonymous call came in hours earlier that evening: “Julia Keene. 11:11. Come alone.” The words repeated in her head like a warning and a dare. She knew it was a trap. The setup screamed danger. But Julia’s fiancé had begged her, and Rachel’s instincts whispered this could be the break she needed.
The air inside the warehouse was heavy, damp, and cold. Rachel’s boots echoed on the concrete floor; every step swallowed in cavernous space. A faint scent of mildew mingles with something sharper, metallic. She swept her flashlight across the room, catching shadows that seemed to move.
There was a mirror in the center of the room. It was tall, ornate, and spotless-out of place in the decayed emptiness around it. Rachel approached cautiously, her hand hovering above the Glock holstered beneath her jacket. Her reflection stared back, flickering in faint light.
“Detective Hart,” a voice rasped from the shadows.
Rachel spun, her gun drawn, but the room behind her was empty. The voice had been low and guttural, neither male nor female, as though scraped from another world.
“Who is it?” she demanded, the voice sharp over the cold tendrils of fear slithering through her veins.
The voice chuckled, dry and humorless. “You’ve been looking for Julia Keene. Haven’t you wondered why she’s gone?”
Rachel tightened her hold on the gun. “Step out where I can see you.”
The mirror rippled, beginning to distort its surface like water. Rachel didn’t move; she could hardly breathe as her own reflection started to change. Its lips curled up into a wide, sickening grin.
“You’re in deeper than you know,” the reflection hissed. “Julia found me. And now, so have you.”
Darkness enveloped the room. Rachel’s flashlight sputtered and died. She listened for some sound, but there was nothing.
Then, faintly, she heard bare feet pounding concrete coming from behind.
She spun around, firing into the blackness. Brief muzzle flashes illuminated the room, but there was nothing there. No shadow. No form.
“11:11, Detective,” the voice whispered, impossibly close. “It’s almost time.”
A sharp pain exploded at Rachel’s temple, and she crumpled to the ground. Her world spun as she fought to stay conscious. When she finally staggered to her feet, the mirror was gone. So was her gun. Her flashlight flickered back to life, casting a weak glow on the wall.
Scrawled across it in dripping red letters were the words: “You’re next.”
She felt her phone vibrating in her pocket, and she jumped. The display read 11:11 p.m. on the unknown number. Her heart pounding, she hesitated before speaking.
Hello?”
A single whisper came through the line: “Run.”
The call ended abruptly, leaving Rachel gripping the phone like a lifeline. She stumbled out of the warehouse into the rain, her senses on high alert. Her instincts screamed at her to leave, but her mind wrestled with questions. Who—or what—was behind this? And why Julia Keene?
This wasn’t just a case anymore. It was something far darker. A game.
Coming inside her car, Rachel felt that—this presence, so cold and invasive, watching her do everything. She sped off, the warehouse dwindling in the rearview mirror. The sense of dread didn’t leave her, and she knew one thing for certain: the game had only just begun. And she wasn’t sure she’d survive to see how it ended.
By: R.P.Dharshini
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