The Nightmare Part 2

She squeezed her eyes shut, counted to three, and looked again. The corner was empty. Only her racing heart and the rain told her she was awake. _It’s not real. It’s not real._ She chanted it until sunrise, knees pulled to her chest, rocking.

Days passed, and Jessica stopped sleeping. She drank coffee until her hands vibrated and her vision doubled. She left every light on. She nailed blankets over the mirrors. Dark circles bruised the skin under her eyes until she looked like a corpse. Every time her eyelids grew heavy, panic jolted her upright — because the woman came closer each time.

First at the end of the hallway, just a shape in the dark.

Then beside her bed, close enough that Jessica could count the cracks in her gray lips. Close enough to smell mildew and rot and something sweet underneath, like rotting flowers.

Then inches from her face, those black eyes inches from her own, breath like grave dirt on jessica’s lips. Whispering, “Almost.”

Meanwhile, the mansion started changing. Jessica would wake up to find every mirror spiderwebbed with cracks, all radiating from the center like something had pressed its face against them. Whispers slithered through empty rooms saying her name when she was alone. _Jes-si-caaaa._ She’d walk past old photographs and swear the faces turned to watch her go.

One afternoon, she picked up a framed photo of herself on the staircase. She’d taken it the day she moved in. She was smiling. Her fingers went numb.

Behind her in the glass — stood the pale woman. Smiling. A needle-thin, hungry smile. One bony hand resting on jessica’s shoulder.

Jessica dropped the frame. Glass exploded across the floor. She stumbled back, sobbing, shards biting her heels. She tore through the diary, pages ripping under her nails, desperate. She had to know. Had to end it. “Tell me how to stop you!” she screamed at the empty house.

She found the truth scribbled in desperate, uneven lines, the ink smeared like the writer had been crying:

_Years ago, a girl named Alice was locked inside Blackthorn House by her own family after they believed she was possessed. They left her in the attic with no food, no light. For 40 days. Alone in darkness, she clawed at the walls until her fingernails bled, then slowly lost her mind and died staring into that same mirror, begging it to let her out._

_But her hatred remained. Now her spirit fed on fear and dreams, trapping souls inside endless nightmares. She doesn’t want company. She wants to replace you._

jessica’s vision blurred with tears. She sank to the floor, hugging the diary. “I’m sorry,” she whispered to the empty room. “I’m so sorry, Alice. Nobody should die like that.” The house creaked in response.

The final diary page made her blood freeze. The handwriting was different. Newer.

_“When she appears behind you, never look into her eyes. She sees through them. If she sees through you, she can walk through you.”_

A cold breath touched jessica’s neck. Soft. Deliberate. Like someone leaning in to tell a secret.

She froze. Every hair on her body stood up. Goosebumps raced down her arms. Her pulse roared in her ears so loud she thought her head would split. The room temperature dropped twenty degrees in a second. Her breath fogged.

Slowly, against every instinct, against every screaming nerve, she turned toward the tall mirror across the room. Her reflection stared back, pale and terrified, tears cutting clean lines through the dirt on her face.

Alice stood directly behind her.

Not in the mirror. In the room.

Her black hair brushed Jessica’s shoulder. Her head tilted, studying her like a doll. Her skin was translucent — Jessica could see the outline of the wall through her cheek. She was smiling. That same needle-thin smile, stretching too wide, splitting at the corners.

Jessica tried to scream. No sound came out. Her throat had closed. Alice lifted one hand. Her fingernails were black and broken. She reached for jessica’s face.

The lights blew out. Bulbs popped like gunshots. Sparks rained down.

Darkness swallowed everything — the room, the mirror, her voice. The only thing Jessica could hear was her own breathing, and then… it wasn’t hers anymore. It was slower. Wetter.

And from somewhere inside the blackness, right against her ear, Jessica heard her own voice whisper back to her:

_“Don’t wake up.”_

Then, softer, from the dark: _“Now you’re the one in the mirror.”_

Aarav stopped. The fire popped. The eight friends in Mr. Armaan’s mansion hadn’t moved. Ananya was gripping Meera’s arm. Dev had his hands over his mouth.

Silence.

Then thunder crashed outside, and everyone jumped.

Meera asked what happened then, Aarav said whatever happens after the lights go off.

“Okay,” Kabir said, voice shaking. “Who’s next?”

Everyone was looking at each other, then Meera said I will tell you the story.

***THE MIRROR***

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