Jake had lived in the same house his whole life. He knew every corner, every creaky floorboard, and every hiding spot. Or so he thought.
One night, while searching for an old baseball glove in the basement, his flashlight flickered over something strange—a door.
It was small, wedged between two shelves, and covered in dust. He frowned. That door hadn’t been there before.
His stomach tightened, but curiosity pushed him forward. He reached out and turned the handle.
The door swung open without a sound.
Behind it was not another room, but a tunnel. The air that seeped out was cold and stale, carrying a faint whisper.
Jake swallowed hard. Every instinct told him to shut the door and walk away.
But he didn’t.
He stepped inside.
The tunnel stretched further than it should have. The deeper he walked, the more the air changed—thick, heavy, electric. Shadows danced along the walls, and the faint whispering grew louder.
Then, he saw it.
A mirror stood at the end of the tunnel. Tall and narrow, with an antique silver frame, it looked ancient. But what sent chills down his spine wasn’t the mirror itself.
It was his reflection.
It was smiling.
Jake wasn’t.
His breath hitched. He lifted a hand—his reflection didn’t move. Instead, it stepped forward.
His pulse pounded in his ears. He turned to run, but the tunnel had changed. It was no longer a hallway, but an endless black void. The door was gone.
He whipped around, heart racing.
His reflection was still there. Watching.
Then, in a slow, deliberate movement, it lifted a hand—palm facing out.
A whisper filled the air.
“Your turn.”
Before Jake could react, his reflection pressed its palm to the glass. The mirror rippled like water—
And pulled him in.
Darkness swallowed him whole.
The next morning, Jake’s parents found the basement door wide open.
The baseball glove was still on the shelf.
But Jake was nowhere to be found.
And the mirror?
It showed nothing at all.
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