The air in the house had changed.


It wasn't just colder—it felt... aware. Like the walls were listening. Like the floors had secrets they whispered when no one was looking.


Zoe had barely slept since finding the photo. The edges of the memory were still sharp: a girl in the photo, standing behind her five-year-old self—smiling, though no one had ever been there. She had tried rationalizing it: bad editing, a trick of the light, even a prank. But deep down, something primal whispered, You remember her.


This morning, she stood in the hallway staring at the antique mirror that had come with the house. She hadn’t paid much attention to it before. Now, she couldn’t look away.


It wasn’t the mirror’s beauty that held her. It was the fact that her reflection had blinked… before she did.


Her heart slammed against her ribs.


She stepped back. Slowly. Measured. The mirror was old, sure. Maybe warped. Maybe the light hit it weird. Maybe she was sleep-deprived and jumping at nothing. But as she turned to walk away—


A whisper. Soft. Delicate.

Like a voice wrapped in lace:

“Still pretending you don’t know me?”


She froze.


Goosebumps chased down her spine. She whipped around. The hallway was empty. Silent. Still.


Then… a flicker. In the mirror.


A second reflection. A girl. Same height. Same build. But not her.


The girl wore the same dress Zoe remembered from her sixth birthday. The one she swore her parents had thrown away after it got ripped. Her hair was braided the same way her mother used to do it before school. But her eyes—they were darker. Older. Too aware.


Zoe stared at the image. Her knees went weak.


And then it smiled.


Not friendly. Not kind. But familiar.


“You were never supposed to leave me behind,” the girl in the mirror said, though her lips didn’t move. “But you did.”


Zoe stumbled back, knocking over a vase. It shattered on the floor, but she barely registered the sound.


This wasn’t possible.


This was insane.


She ran to her room and grabbed her phone. She needed to call someone—anyone. But when she looked at the screen, it wasn’t her lock screen photo.


It was the girl. Smiling. Waving.


And beneath her photo, one text message.


From: Unknown

"Roommates don’t leave."


Zoe screamed and dropped the phone.


Her vision blurred with tears, panic rising like a tide.


She’s not haunting the house, Zoe realized.

She’s haunting me