They say mirrors reflect the truth. I never realized how true that was until I saw her message.
It had been a year since my sister, Lily, died suddenly. I moved into her old apartment to feel closer to her, hoping for peace. But strange things started happening—keys moving, lights flickering, noises at night. I thought it was just my imagination. Then, I saw her face in the hallway mirror, just for a second. I brushed it off as grief, but deep down, I knew something wasn’t right.
The next morning, after a shower, the bathroom mirror fogged up. As I wiped it, a message appeared: “HELP ME.” My heart raced. Was it Lily? Was she trying to reach me from beyond?
I began looking through Lily’s things, searching for answers. In her old messages, I found one that chilled me: “Something’s wrong. I don’t feel safe here.” How had I missed it? That night, I sat in front of the mirror again, waiting. Her reflection appeared, and this time, she pointed toward a corner of the room.
I followed her gesture and found a loose floorboard. Beneath it, hidden away, was her journal. The entries were frantic, describing strange things—footsteps, cold drafts, the feeling of being watched. The last entry was the most terrifying: “If anything happens to me, it wasn’t an accident.”
Lily knew something was wrong. And as I sat there, I saw her in the mirror again, mouthing two words: “Get out.”
I ran, clutching the journal. Whatever was in that apartment wasn’t just grief. Lily tried to warn me, and now, I’m warning you.
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