Sharon woke up in her great-aunt's dusty bedroom, the one she'd claimed as her own the night before. Her head throbed like she'd been hit. The boy's face floated in her mind—black eyes, pale skin, a smile that felt like a threat.
She stumbled out of bed, memories jumbled. Had she dreamed it? The mirror seemed normal now, reflecting her own mess of hair and yesterday's clothes. But her lips felt bruised, like they'd been kissed.
Downstairs, the kitchen was a tomb. Cobwebs hung from the chandelier, and the fridge hummed like a dying breath. She made coffee, wiping dust off a mug. The liquid was bitter, but it cleared her head.
On the counter lay a note she'd scribbled last night: _He's been waiting_. She didn't remember writing it.
The front door creaked open. Wind whipped leaves inside. And on the porch, a single red rose lay, petals perfect, like it'd been placed there deliberately.
Sharon's phone buzzed. _Meet me at the old oak in the woods. Come alone._ The text was from an unknown number, but she knew who it was.
The woods behind the house were dark, trees twisting like skeletal hands. The oak loomed ahead, branches creaking like whispers. The boy waited beneath it, rose in his hand.
"You left this," he said, voice low.
Sharon stopped a step away. "Who are you?"
He smiled, eyes like voids. "I'm what you wanted."
A shiver ran down her spine. "I don't know what you mean."
The boy tilted his head. "You came to the woods, Sharon. You wanted to see me."
She hadn't realized she'd walked here. Fear crept in, mixed with something else—a pull, like he'd said. "Stop playing games. What did you do to me?"
He stepped closer. "I showed you love."
The word felt like a trap. "That's not love."
His eyes flashed blacker. "It's the only kind that lasts."
Sharon's heart pounded. Part of her wanted to run, but another part leaned in, curious. "What do you want from me?"
The boy's smile widened. "Everything."
He reached for her. She tried to step back, but her feet stayed rooted. His fingers brushed hers, cold and electric. Images flooded her mind, Emilia laughing, the mirror whispering, the boy's lips on hers.
She jerked away, breathless. "What was that?"
"Memories," he said. "Yours. Mine. Sharon stumbled back, vision blurring. The woods darkened like a shroud. "This is crazy."
The boy didn't move. "I'm real, Sharon. And I need you."
The word hung there—need. It sounded like a curse.
Suddenly, her phone buzzed again. A message from an old number she'd forgotten: _Run_. It was Emilia's number.
Sharon looked up, but the boy was closer now. "Too late," he whispered.
He pulled her against him, and the world went dark.
***
Sharon woke in a room she'd never seen. Candles flickered, casting shadows on walls. The air was thick, hard to breathe. She was on a bed, silk sheets tangled around her.
The boy sat beside her, watching. "Welcome home," he said.
Her head spun. "Where am I?"
"My place," he answered. "Under the house."
A door in the floor, like a mouth. She remembered now—the knock, the kiss, the darkness.
She scrambled up, but he caught her wrist. "Don't."
The touch burned. Visions flashed—Emilia screaming, the mirror shattering, the boy laughing.
Sharon yanked free, backing away. "What are you?"
He stood, shadows cloving to him. "I'm what lives in the dark. What loves you."
The word _loves_ felt like a lie.
He stepped closer. "You've seen it, Sharon. The mirror showed you. I wait in reflections, in shadows. I take what's given."
Her breath caught. "You killed Emilia."
He tilted his head. "She didn't want to leave."
Sharon's vision blurred with rage. "You killed her."
The boy's smile faded. "She tried to escape. Like you will."
He lunged. She screamed, but his lips muffled the sound. Darkness swallowed her again.
***
She woke back in the bedroom, dawn creeping through windows. The house was silent. Had it been a dream?
But the rose was on her pillow. And the mirror whispered, _He's waiting_.
Sharon stumbled downstairs, phone clenched tight. She needed help—Emilia's message, the boy's words. She dialed 911, but the line was dead. Static hummed instead.
The front door swung open. The boy stood on the porch, moonlight behind him.
"I'll always find you," he said.
Sharon slammed the door, locking it. Trapped.
She backed away, heart racing. The mirror in the hall rippled, like water disturbed.
The boy's voice came from inside it. "You can't hide."
She spun, but he wasn't there. Yet.
The house creaked, walls closing in. _He's coming_.
Sharon ran for the door, but it was locked. The boy stood behind her, breath on her neck.
"Too late," he whispered.
The darkness took her.