As I drew closer to the sound, my eyes were pulled toward the mirror I had retrieved from the storage room.
The glass was glowing with an eerie, rhythmic light.
In a surge of panic, I glanced at Mom and Grandma, checking to see if they heard it too, but they remained sound asleep.
[Am I the only one who can hear this? Is the light just a trick of my exhaustion?]
I couldn't look away. As I watched, the surface of the glass began to ripple like disturbed water. Still caught in the haze of half-sleep, I watched as a pale, unfamiliar hand emerged halfway through the silver threshold.
I gasped, a primal instinct urging me to reach back.
Through the glare, I saw the blurred figure of a man, his features indistinct and ethereal. He looked utterly unreal.
Without a second thought, my hand moved toward his, meeting the pale palm he offered from beyond the glass.
[It's a dream,] I told myself. [It has to be a dream.]
I never imagined—not once in my entire life—that I would be the one to cross the impossible.
I was a mere hand's breadth away from crossing into the impossible. Deep down, I knew this choice would alter the trajectory of my life forever; in that moment, my resolve was forged.
I clung to his pale hand, my heart hammering against my ribs.
I turned my head one last time, gazing at the peaceful, sleeping faces of my mother and grandmother.
Is this actually possible? I wondered, my mind racing.
Have I stepped into some kind of historical fantasy?
I hesitated, the weight of the threshold pressing against me. I stopped for a heartbeat to reconsider, whispering promises to the silent room.
"I'll be back," I breathed.
"It's just a dream, after all. I'll see you both in the morning."
I didn't let myself look back a second time. With a final breath, I stepped through the surface of the mirror and crossed the divide.