Episode 1: The Boy in the Mirror
The rain began at exactly 11:47 p.m.
Elan Smith knew because she had been staring at the clock for almost twenty minutes, waiting for the sound of footsteps that never came.
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
Three knocks sounded against her bedroom window.
Elan froze.
She lived on the second floor.
There was no balcony outside her window, no tree close enough for its branches to touch the glass, and certainly no reason for anyone to be standing outside her bedroom in the middle of a storm.
Yet the knocking came again.
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
“Elan.”
She stopped breathing.
The voice was familiar.
Too familiar.
“Elan, open the window.”
Her fingers tightened around the blanket covering her legs.
“No,” she whispered.
A pause followed.
Then the voice spoke again.
“Come on. It's cold out here.”
Elan slowly turned toward the window.
A young man stood on the other side of the glass.
His dark hair was wet. His black shirt clung to his shoulders, and water ran down his face in thin, silver lines. His eyes were fixed on her with an expression she knew better than her own reflection.
Sadness.
Impatience.
And that irritating little smile he always wore whenever he knew she was about to do something stupid.
Zion Alison.
Her best friend.
The boy who had promised never to leave her.
The boy who had been dead for three years.
Elan screamed.
The bedroom door flew open.
“Elan!”
Her mother rushed inside, switched on the light, and hurried toward the bed.
“What happened? What is it?”
Elan pointed at the window.
“He's there!”
Her mother looked.
Outside, the rain battered the glass. The garden below was empty, and the security lights illuminated nothing except the wet pavement.
“There is nobody there,” Victoria Smith said.
Elan shook her head violently.
“No! He was standing right there!”
“Who?”
Elan opened her mouth.
The name caught in her throat.
She could still see Zion's face. She could still hear his voice. She could still remember the way he had tilted his head whenever he wanted to tease her.
But admitting what she had seen felt like stepping off a cliff.
Her mother sat beside her.
“Elan, look at me.”
Elan reluctantly turned.
“You're exhausted,” Victoria whispered. “You've barely slept this week. The nightmares are getting worse.”
“It wasn't a nightmare.”
“Then what was it?”
Elan stared at her.
How could she explain that the dead boy who had haunted her childhood had just knocked on her bedroom window?
How could she tell her mother that the last time she had seen Zion, he had been standing beside a black coffin while rain poured over his funeral?
And how could she explain that, three years after his death, she still spoke to him every night?
“I don't know,” she whispered.
Victoria pulled the blanket around her shoulders.
“Try to sleep. I'll leave the hallway light on.”
She stood, walked to the door, and paused.
“Elan?”
“What?”
Her mother looked toward the window again.
For one brief moment, the expression on her face frightened Elan more than the knocking had.
It wasn't confusion.
It wasn't concern.
It was recognition.
Then Victoria blinked, and the expression disappeared.
“Nothing,” she said. “Goodnight.”
She closed the door.
Elan waited until her footsteps faded down the hallway.
Then she climbed out of bed.
She approached the window slowly, expecting to find a handprint or a scratch in the glass.
There was nothing.
She pressed her palm against the cold surface.
“Zion?”
Only the rain answered.
She lowered her head.
“Please don't do this to me.”
A soft laugh sounded behind her.
“You always did talk to yourself when you were scared.”
Elan spun around.
Zion sat on her desk, swinging one leg over the other.
He looked exactly as she remembered him: twenty-one years old, dark-haired, annoyingly handsome, and wearing the black shirt she had last seen him in on the night of his funeral.
Except for one detail.
His feet didn't touch the floor.
Elan stumbled backward.
Zion's smile faded.
“Okay,” he said quietly. “That's not the reaction I was hoping for.”
She pressed herself against the wall.
“Stay away from me.”
He stared at her.
“Elan—”
“Don't say my name!”
Her voice cracked.
For three years, she had imagined what she would do if she ever saw him again.
She had imagined hugging him, crying against his shoulder, demanding to know why he had left her.
She had never imagined being terrified of him.
Zion slid off the desk.
Or tried to.
His body flickered.
For a fraction of a second, his face became distorted, his eyes turning completely black.
Then he was himself again.
Elan covered her mouth.
He saw her expression.
“What did you see?”
“Your face.”
“My face?”
“Your eyes!”
Zion touched his eyelids as though he expected to find something wrong.
“That's new.”
“New?” Elan repeated. “You think this is funny?”
“No. Actually, I think it's terrifying.”
“You're dead!”
The words escaped before she could stop them.
Silence filled the room.
Zion lowered his hand.
For the first time since appearing, he looked genuinely hurt.
“I know.”
Elan's eyes filled with tears.
“Then why are you here?”
He looked at her for a long moment.
“I don't know.”
She stared at him.
“What do you mean you don't know?”
“I mean I woke up somewhere dark, heard your voice, and followed it.”
“Where?”
Zion shook his head.
“I don't remember.”
“What do you remember?”
He looked down at his hands.
“Rain.”
Elan's heart began pounding.
“What about the rain?”
“It was raining when I died.”
She gripped the edge of her desk.
“Zion…”
“I remember running. I remember someone calling my name.” He pressed his fingers against his forehead. “Then I remember you screaming.”
Elan felt the room tilt.
She had screamed that night.
She remembered the ambulance lights. The rain-soaked pavement. The paramedics pushing her away from something she couldn't bear to look at.
But she had never told Zion about the screaming.
Not even in her nightmares.
“Who called your name?” she asked.
His face tightened.
“I don't know.”
“Was it a man?”
“I don't know.”
“A woman?”
“I said I don't know!”
His sudden shout made the light above them flicker.
Both of them fell silent.
Zion looked horrified.
“Elan, I didn't mean to—”
The light went out.
Darkness swallowed the bedroom.
Elan screamed again.
Something brushed past her shoulder.
A cold hand caught hers.
“Don't move,” Zion whispered.
She could barely see him.
His outline shimmered faintly in the darkness, as though moonlight had been trapped inside his skin.
“What is happening?” she whispered.
Zion didn't answer.
He was staring at the bedroom mirror.
Elan followed his gaze.
The mirror stood beside her wardrobe, its dark wooden frame decorated with silver flowers. Her grandmother had given it to her when she was twelve.
In the reflection, Elan stood beside Zion.
But something was wrong.
Zion's reflection was facing the mirror.
His real body was facing the wardrobe.
And reflected behind them stood a woman wearing a long white dress.
Her hair covered her face.
Elan stopped breathing.
“Zion…”
“I see her.”
The woman slowly lifted her head.
Her face was pale, her lips black, and her eyes looked like empty holes cut into the reflection.
Then she smiled.
The mirror cracked.
A sharp sound split the room.
Elan stumbled backward, dragging Zion's hand with her.
The woman raised one finger to her lips.
Shhh.
Then she disappeared.
The bedroom light came back on.
The mirror was whole again.
Elan stared at it, trembling.
Zion stood perfectly still beside her.
Neither of them spoke for several seconds.
Finally, Elan whispered, “What was that?”
Zion's face had lost every trace of humor.
“I don't know.”
“Stop saying that!”
He turned toward her.
“Do you think I want this? I don't even know why I'm here! I don't know why I can touch you sometimes and disappear other times. I don't know why I remember your voice but can't remember my own death!”
His voice broke.
“And I definitely don't know why something in that mirror was looking at you like it had been waiting for you.”
Elan felt tears slip down her cheeks.
Zion looked at her, and his expression softened.
“Hey.”
She shook her head.
“Don't.”
“Remember what you used to tell me?”
“No.”
“You're a terrible liar.”
Despite everything, a small, broken laugh escaped her.
Zion smiled.
“There she is.”
For a moment, the room felt almost normal.
Almost.
Then he reached toward her face.
His fingers brushed away one of her tears.
Elan felt the cold touch against her cheek.
She closed her eyes.
“I missed you,” she whispered.
Zion's smile vanished.
“I missed you too.”
She opened her eyes.
“Then don't leave again.”
He looked away.
“Elan…”
“Promise me.”
He said nothing.
She caught his wrist.
“Promise me, Zion!”
He looked down at her hand.
Then he looked into her eyes.
“I promise.”
The words should have comforted her.
Instead, a strange expression crossed his face.
Fear.
Not fear of the woman in the mirror.
Not fear of whatever had brought him back.
Fear of the promise he had just made.
Elan released him.
“What aren't you telling me?”
“Nothing.”
“Look at me and say that again.”
He met her gaze.
“I'm not hiding anything.”
The mirror behind him made a faint clicking sound.
Both of them turned.
A thin line had appeared across its surface.
Then another.
Then another.
The cracks formed letters.
Slowly, impossibly, words appeared in the glass.
HE DIDN'T COME BACK ALONE.
Elan felt every muscle in her body tighten.
“Zion…”
He was staring at the message.
For the first time since his return, he looked completely helpless.
“Get away from the mirror,” he whispered.
Elan took a step backward.
The words changed.
ASK HIM WHAT HE DID TO YOU.
Her blood turned cold.
She looked at Zion.
“What does that mean?”
He didn't answer.
“Zion, what did you do to me?”
His eyes moved from the mirror to her face.
Something flickered behind them.
Recognition.
Guilt.
Then the bedroom door slammed shut.
The handle began turning.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Someone was trying to enter.
Elan backed toward Zion.
“Is that my mother?”
He shook his head.
“Then who is it?”
The handle stopped moving.
A woman's voice came from the other side of the door.
“Elan, sweetheart?”
Victoria.
Elan almost cried with relief.
“Mom!”
She rushed toward the door.
Zion caught her wrist.
“Don't open it.”
She turned on him.
“That's my mother!”
“No.”
His fingers tightened around hers.
“Elan, listen to me.”
The voice outside spoke again.
“Elan, darling, open the door.”
Then it laughed.
It was Victoria's laugh.
But beneath it, Elan heard another voice.
A man's voice.
A voice that sounded exactly like Zion's.
“Let me in. I'm the one who killed you.”
Elan froze.
Zion's face went completely white.
From the other side of the door, the voice whispered one final sentence.
“Elan, your best friend is lying to you.”
The lights went out.
And something began scratching at the inside of the wardrobe.
To be continued...
End of Episode 1
