MIRROR

Every night at exactly 3:03 AM, Kane’s bathroom mirror shows a reflection that isn’t his.

It looks like him—but it moves differently, smiles at the wrong time, and sometimes mouths words he isn’t saying.

Last night, it mouthed one chilling sentence:

“Break me before they come.”

Shocked, Kane ran to his parents and told them what the mirror had said.

But they didn’t believe him.

“It’s just a dream, son. Don’t be scared,”

his father said, brushing it off as sleep talk.

A few nights before, Kane had tried showing them the strange behavior in the mirror.

But when they looked, it was normal. Silent. Ordinary.

Kane was alone with the reflection.

That night, after his parents tucked him in and left the room, the voice returned.

“Kane, come to me. I will help you. Break me, or they will hunt you.”

Fear gripped him like ice.

He grabbed a small wooden cabinet from his room, crept into the bathroom, and started smashing the mirror.

Cracks formed across its surface like veins. The reflection rippled in pain.

And then—another voice echoed inside his mind.

“Boy, don’t break it.

If you break it… they will die.”

But Kane ignored it.

He kept hitting the mirror until it shattered completely, shards scattering across the floor.

“It’s over now,” he whispered.

“Nothing’s going to happen.”

Relieved, he climbed into bed and fell into a deep sleep.