In the dead of night, Emma heard a faint, rhythmic tapping from the basement. Assuming it was just the house settling, she tried to ignore it. But the tapping grew louder, more insistent, until it felt like someone—or something—was trying to get out.
Gathering her courage, Emma crept downstairs. The basement door was slightly ajar, and as she pushed it open, the tapping stopped abruptly. Her flashlight flickered as she descended the creaky steps, revealing the dark, cluttered space below.
In the dim light, she saw an old mirror propped against the wall. The tapping had stopped, but her reflection in the mirror was moving on its own, silently pleading for help.
Emma turned around, heart racing, and the basement was empty. She looked back at the mirror, and her reflection mouthed the words, “Help me,” before vanishing.
The next morning, Emma found the mirror shattered on the basement floor, with the message scrawled across it in a dark, unfamiliar hand: “You can’t save me.”
Emma never slept soundly again.