Brooke Jennett

How could it be steamed over?

Then it occurred to me, the only other way to get fog on a mirror is if someone had breathed on it.

And just then, some unseen force was writing the word five in the fog.

Water droplets rolled down the glass from the newly formed letters.

My legs felt like jelly.

From inside my original room, I heard the muttering start up again.

It was still unintelligible, but it was more aggressive, more agitated than it had been before.

A drawer from the dresser was pulled open by some unseen force.

That's when I caught a glimpse of a shadowy figure in the mirror.

They were reaching out for me.

I snapped my head around and didn't see anything behind me.

I wanted to run, but I felt paralyzed.

I turned back to the mirror, and the figure was gone.

But something more unsettling had replaced it.

A reflection.

I hesitate to call it my own because even though it looked like me, it didn't match my movements.

It stayed perfectly still, eyes stalk forward, staring dead at me.

And then, it shot me a toothy grin.

My mirror self mouthed something.

The word, five.