CHAPTER ONE : THE MAN IN THE MIRROR(Part One)
Rain has a way of making London feel haunted.
dramatic haunted—but ordinary haunted. Quietly haunted. The kind that slipped between shadows and settled into the spaces between strangers on crowded trains.
It was the kind of rain that blurred streetlights, turned windows into mirrors, and made lonely people feel alone.
Twenty-five-year-old Jay Cole hated London rain.
His coat clung damply to his shoulders as he pushed through the narrow street near his flat in East London. Neon lights reflected off puddles beneath his trainers. Somewhere behind him, a siren wailed before disappearing into distance.
A drunk man laughed so loudly near a kebab shop.
Someone argued in a language Ethan didn’t understand.
The city breathed around him.
Alive.
And Ethan was exhausted.
Exhausted that settled inside bones.
He worked in customer operations for a finance company he despised, spending nine hours daily apologizing to angry people for problems he didn’t create.
His boss, Gary, had perfected disappointment as an emotion.
Gary looked disappointed when you arrived late.
Disappointed when you arrived early.
Earlier that afternoon, Gary had leaned over Ethan’s desk and sighed like humanity itself had failed.
“Ethan,” he said, rubbing temples dramatically, “I need more energy from you.”
Ethan had stared.
“More energy?”
“Yes.”
Gary nodded.
“You seem tired.”
Ethan almost laughed.
Tired?
He commuted two hours a day.
Ate microwave dinners.
Slept badly.
And got paid barely enough to survive London expenses.
Tired was optimistic.
He was spiritually buffering.
Now, soaked and irritated, Ethan climbed the narrow stairs to his tiny flat above a restaurant that permanently smelled of fried onions and regret.
His landlord described it online as:
“Cosy London apartment with character.”
Translation:
Small.
Cold.
Slightly cursed.
The kitchen was basically decorative.
And there was exactly one good thing about the place:
It was cheap.
Sort of.
He unlocked the door and immediately groaned.
Silence.
Cold silence.
“No heating,” Ethan muttered.
“Brilliant.”
He kicked off wet trainers and tossed keys onto cluttered counter.
His phone buzzed.
A message.
From Sophie.
Ethan paused.
Then opened it.
Sophie:
I think we should stop forcing this.
He was puzzled.
He stared.
No hello.
No explanation.
Just death.
Clean.
Ethan blinked once.
Twice.
Then laughed.
A hollow laugh.
“Fantastic.”
He nodded to nobody.
“Actually fantastic.”
Three dates.
Two expensive dinners.
One accidental emotional attachment.
Finished by text.
Beautiful.
He opened fridge.
Nothing useful.
Half milk.
Spoilt cheese.
A lonely packet of spinach nearing death.
He sighed.
Microwave pasta it was.
Three minutes later, the microwave beeped.
Ethan opened it.
Cold.
Still freezing.
He stared at it.
“You had one job.”
He pushed buttons aggressively.
Beep.
Cold.
He narrowed eyes.
“You know what?”
He pointed dramatically.
“You’re doing this on purpose.”
The microwave blinked innocently.
Outside, thunder rolled.
Ethan grabbed bowl anyway.
Cold pasta tasted like punishment.
After forcing down several miserable bites, he stood up heading towardsthe bathroom.
Shower.
Sleep.
Try not to cry dramatically over text message.
The bathroom was tiny.
A cracked mirror hung above sink.
Light flickered faintly overhead.
Ethan splashed cold water onto face.
Rubbed eyes.
Exhaled.
“You’re fine,” he muttered.
“You’ve survived worse.”
He looked up.
Stopped.
Something felt wrong.
Not obvious.
Just—
Wrong.
His reflection stared back.
Same messy brown hair.
Same tired eyes.
Same dark hoodie.
But…
Something felt delayed.
Like bad internet lag.
Ethan frowned.
His reflection frowned.
Normal.
He leaned closer.
Reflection leaned closer.
Fine.
He turned tap off.
Drip.
Drip.
Then—
The reflection smiled.
Ethan wasn't.
Everything inside him stopped.
Cold spread slowly through chest.
His mouth stayed frozen.
The reflection’s smile widened.
Friendly.
Wrong friendly.
Ethan stumbled backward.
“What the hell—”
The reflection tilted its head.
“You look tired.”
Ethan screamed.
Ugly scream.
The kind that leaves dignity behind.
Upstairs, someone stomped violently.
“SHUT UP!”
Ethan ignored them.
Heart hammering.
Breathing hard.
The reflection laughed softly.
“Oh,” it said.
British accent.
Calm.
“This is going to be fun.”
Ethan grabbed towel rack like weapon.
“You’re not real.”
“Oh?”
Reflection raised eyebrow.
“You’re not real!”
“You’ve said that twice,” it replied. “Feels insecure.”
Ethan backed toward door.
Phone.
"Where is my phone ethan said"
Police?
Therapist?
Priest?
Exorcist?
He didn’t know.
The reflection sighed.
“Oh don’t leave yet.”
Its smile sharpened.
“We’ve only just met.”
Then—
Black.
Bathroom light died.
Darkness everywhere .
Ethan swore loudly.
“No no no no—”
Click.
Light returned.
Reflection normal.
Perfectly normal.
No smile.
No movement.
Just Ethan.
Breathing hard.
Terrified.
He stood there shaking.
Then whispered:
“…What the hell?”
Thirty minutes later, Ethan sat wrapped in blanket watching conspiracy videos he absolutely did not believe in.
Fine.
Temporarily believed.
Rain tapped windows.
Television glowed softly.
Every mirror in flat now faced wall.
He refused negotiations.
At exactly 2:13 a.m., his phone buzzed.
NOAH CALLING
Thank God.
Ethan answered instantly.
“You awake?”
“You sound deranged,” Noah replied immediately.
“Good evening to you too.”
Noah Bennett had been Ethan’s best friend since university.
Funny.
Sarcastic.
Unreasonably calm in emergencies.
He also treated seriousness like an allergy.
“You okay?” Noah asked.
“No.”
“That dramatic, huh?”
“My mirror talked.”
Pause.
“…Right.”
“It talked!”
“You drunk?”
“No!”
“High?”
“No!”
“Emotionally unstable?”
“Yes, but unrelated.”
Noah sighed.
“Mate…”
“I’m serious!”
Silence.
Then:
“What did mirror say?”
Ethan hesitated.
“…It said I looked tired.”
Long pause.
Then Noah burst laughing.
“Oh my God.”
“THIS ISN’T FUNNY!”
“Your demon sounds concerned about your wellbeing!”
Ethan groaned.
“I hate you.”
“You love me.”
“I might murder you.”
“No, you’re too emotionally fragile.”
Then Noah’s voice softened.
“You actually scared?”
Ethan looked toward bathroom door.
Quiet.
Still.
Cold somehow.
“…Yeah.”
That answer surprised even him.
Noah sighed.
“Alright.”
“I’ll come tomorrow.”
Ethan blinked.
“What?”
“We’ll investigate your haunted IKEA mirror.”
Despite everything—
Ethan smiled.
“Thanks.”
“Try not to die before breakfast.”
Click.
Call ended.
The flat grew quiet again.
Too quiet.
Outside, rain continued.
Slow.
Patient.
Ethan stared toward bathroom.
Nothing moved.
Nothing breathed.
Still—
Something felt wrong.
Like being watched.
After long hesitation, he stood.
Carefully walked toward bathroom.
Light off.
Mirror dark.
Silent.
He swallowed.
“Hello?”
Nothing.
Stupid.
Obviously stupid.
He turned away.
Then—
From darkness behind him—
Softly.
Almost affectionate.
A whisper.
“Sweet dreams, Ethan.”
He ran.
IF YOU GUYS WHANT ME TO DROP CHAPTER 2 PLS LET ME KNOW 🤭
