Elias had always been a man of logic, but the old mansion he inherited from his great-uncle Silas felt like a direct challenge to reason. Tucked away in the misty woods of Blackwood, the house was a labyrinth of creaking floorboards and dust-covered memories.
On his third night, Elias found it—a tall, ornate mirror tucked away in the attic. Its silver frame was carved with weeping angels, and the glass had a strange, milky tint. As he wiped away the dust, he didn't see his reflection. Instead, he saw a flickering candle behind him, even though his own candle was steady.
A cold breeze swept through the windowless room, and a voice, thin as a thread, drifted into his ear: "Look closer, Elias. The reflection is more real than you are."
Startled, he stumbled back. The mirror didn't show his fear; it showed a man who looked exactly like him, but with hollow, dark pits for eyes. The reflection smiled, but Elias's lips hadn't moved.
He realized then that Uncle Silas hadn't left him a house. He had left him a cage, and the thing in the mirror was waiting for its turn to walk the halls of the living.