Rating: ★★★★☆ (4/5)
Vote: 5
Silas Monroe had spent his life being stared at—on the streets, in classrooms, in grocery stores. Treacher Collins syndrome had sculpted his face into something the world refused to look at without flinching. But Dr. Alistair Finch had promised him a miracle. A new face. A new life.
When the bandages came off, he barely recognized himself. High cheekbones. A strong jaw. A perfectly symmetrical nose. He ran his fingers over his skin, marveling at the smoothness. No more cruel whispers. No more pitying glances.
But something was wrong.
At first, it was subtle. The reflection seemed… delayed. He’d blink, and his mirrored self would take just a fraction of a second too long to follow. His mouth moved before his words came out. Sometimes, in the dead of night, when the world was silent, he swore he could hear breathing that wasn’t his own.
Then the whispering started.
“Silas…”
The first time he heard it, he spun around, convinced someone was behind him. But he was alone. The apartment was dark. The air was still. His heart hammered. He forced a laugh. Maybe he was imagining things. Maybe it was just the anesthesia wearing off.
The next night, he caught it again. But this time, the voice came from somewhere impossible.
The mirror.
His own reflection was speaking to him.
“Let me out.”
Silas stumbled back, knocking over a lamp. The room plunged into darkness, but the glow of the streetlights illuminated the glass. His reflection—his face—was watching him. Not just staring. Watching. Studying.
His breath hitched. “Who are you?”
The reflection smiled.
A slow, deliberate, hungry smile.
“You.”
Silas didn’t sleep that night. He draped a sheet over the mirror. Refused to look into reflective surfaces. But the whispering didn’t stop. He caught glimpses in the corner of his eye—his reflection moving when he didn’t. Tilting its head when his own remained still.
Then, the final horror.
One morning, Silas woke up and turned to the mirror.
The reflection was already staring at him.
Not mirroring him. Not following his movements.
Watching.
Waiting.
And then, it stepped forward.
Right through the glass.
