"The Mirror Game"


The thunder cracked like a whip.
Eli flinched as the sky tore open above the hills.

"Remind me again, Zane," he muttered, pulling his coat tighter around himself, "why are we spending the weekend on a thunder-blasted hilltop in a possibly haunted mansion?"

Zane Faulkner didn’t answer immediately. He was standing by the iron gate of the old manor, his black overcoat fluttering in the wind, hair tousled by the storm. A faint smile played on his lips — that signature mix of amusement and mischief that made Eli nervous every time.

“It’s not every day you get a personal invitation from Lady Myra Delacroix,” Zane finally said, tapping the rusted nameplate of the house. “She claims the house plays a game with anyone who enters.”

“A game?” Eli raised an eyebrow. “Like... chess?”

Zane’s smile widened. “No, my dear Eli. A mirror game.”

Just then, the wind howled and the gate creaked open on its own. Eli jumped back.

“I swear this place is straight out of a horror film,” he grumbled. “We should’ve gone to that cabin in Scotland like I suggested.”

Twelve Hours Earlier

It had all started over coffee — or rather, over Lyra’s refusal to drink it.

“I don’t trust beans,” she had said, arms crossed.

“Beans?” Eli blinked.

“Coffee beans. You never know which country they’ve come from. Or what rituals they’ve been through.”

Zane had chuckled. “She’s still mad about that Sumatran incident.”

Lyra ignored them both and handed Zane a slim cream-colored envelope. “This came for you. Sealed with red wax and no return address.”

Zane opened it, his expression shifting slightly as he read.

“Lady Myra Delacroix,” he murmured. “I haven’t heard that name in years.”

“Who is she?” Lyra asked quickly, her tone suddenly emotional — like she had a bad feeling.

Zane looked up, his voice calm but eyes serious. “An old friend of my mother’s. She owns a manor in the highlands, near a forgotten hill station called Darnwick. She says... the mirrors in her house are behaving strangely. People see things they shouldn’t. Some refuse to look in them at all.”

Eli snorted. “And I suppose the local baker is turning into a werewolf too?”

Lyra didn’t smile.

Zane folded the letter neatly. “She says the house is choosing victims.”

Now, back in the storm,

Zane pushed the front door open with one gloved hand. A low creak echoed through the halls.

The interior was colder than outside — silent, except for the occasional groan of old wood. A crystal chandelier hung above, its arms coated in cobwebs. The lightning flashed through stained glass windows, casting eerie colored patterns on the walls.

“I feel like we just stepped into a trap,” Eli whispered.

Zane grinned. “Then let’s spring it.”

Footsteps echoed above them. Lyra emerged at the top of the staircase, wearing a long coat over her usual lab wear. Her face was unreadable, but her eyes met Zane’s for a moment longer than necessary.

“You came,” she said softly.

“You look like you haven’t slept in days,” Zane replied, walking up to her.

“I haven’t,” she whispered. “There’s something wrong with this house, Zane.”

She led them to the main drawing room where Lady Myra — a frail woman with snow-white hair and a shaking voice — sat before a fire that provided no warmth.

“They call it The Mirror Game,” she said, staring into the flames.

“Who plays it?” Zane asked gently.

“The house chooses,” she replied. “One mirror each night. One person is called. And if they look long enough, something... looks back.”

Later that night,

After dinner — a quiet, tense meal — Zane and Eli sat by the fireplace in the library. Books lined the walls from floor to ceiling, and a grandfather clock ticked slowly in the corner.

“What do you make of it?” Eli asked.

Zane didn’t answer immediately. He was holding a piece of old glass in his hand — a shard from a broken mirror they’d found in the hallway. On its surface, faint symbols were etched, barely visible under normal light.

“These symbols,” he murmured. “They’re not from any known language. Not Latin. Not Greek. Not even Sanskrit.”

Eli leaned in. “Then what?”

Zane looked up, his smile gone. “I don’t know. And that bothers me.”

Thunder cracked again. The fire dimmed for a second.

Then Lyra entered, her voice trembling.

“Come quickly. It’s happening again.”

In the hallway,

A mirror at the end of the corridor was glowing faintly — a soft silver light pulsing like a heartbeat. Zane approached it slowly, his steps echoing in the silence.

“This wasn’t glowing earlier,” he said.

“No,” Lyra replied. “It only started after midnight.”

Zane raised his hand toward the glass, and just as his fingers touched it — the reflection flickered.

Not a normal flicker. It was as if another version of him had blinked.

“That wasn’t me,” Zane whispered.

He stepped back.

“I saw it too,” Eli said, wide-eyed. “It blinked before you did.”

Lyra looked pale. “Zane, this isn’t hallucination. I tested the electromagnetic field around this mirror earlier — it’s like nothing I’ve ever seen. The air around it... it’s vibrating.”

Zane narrowed his eyes. “We're not dealing with ghosts.”

“Then what are we dealing with?” Lyra asked.

He turned slowly, his coat swaying behind him like a cape. “Something... old. Very old. And possibly not from here.”

In the hours that followed,
Zane examined every mirror in the house. Each one had a faint humming vibration, but only one — the mirror in the hallway — responded to human presence.

“We need to map the room,” Zane said, bringing out his small laser measurer and notes.

Eli helped, though his hands shook every time thunder rumbled.

Lyra stood by the mirror, scribbling readings. She didn’t speak much, but every now and then, she’d glance at Zane — as if trying to say something she couldn’t put into words.

At 3:04 AM, it happened.

Lady Myra screamed.

They rushed to her room.

The large oval mirror on her wall had shattered — not outwards, but inwards. As if something had been pulled into it.

And Myra... was gone.

Not a trace of her. No struggle. No footprints. Just a faint silvery mist on the floor.

Zane crouched down and touched it with a gloved hand. It evaporated.

“She’s gone,” Lyra whispered. “Taken.”

“No,” Zane said calmly. “She was chosen.”

                         ***********

The silence that followed Lady Myra’s disappearance was deeper than before.

Zane stood slowly, his face now unreadable.

Eli whispered, “What the hell just happened?”

Zane didn't reply. He moved to the shattered mirror and examined the jagged edges. He touched one of the shards with the tip of his pen. It hissed and shimmered.

Lyra’s voice trembled. “This is not broken glass… it’s like the boundary between two—”

“—worlds,” Zane finished, without looking back. “She was pulled through.”

“By whom?” Eli asked.

“Not whom,” Zane said, rising and dusting off his gloves. “What.

Back in the drawing room, lightning lit the windows. Zane had laid out sketches, mirror fragments, notes, and the symbols he’d traced earlier from the broken glass.

“There’s a logic to it,” he said, pointing to the chalkboard he’d set up. “Every mirror activates between 2 and 4 a.m. The house selects one person — alone, vulnerable — and the mirror... connects. Almost like it’s reaching through a veil.”

Eli raised a hand like a nervous student. “Are we seriously saying these mirrors are some kind of… portals?”

Zane looked at him. “Yes.”

Lyra added, “I ran a quantum field density scan — the energy around these mirrors isn’t just electromagnetic. It’s bending light and time. Like they’re windows to a place that exists... parallel to ours.”

Zane walked to the window. Outside, the storm continued, howling through the trees. “And tonight,” he said softly, “it wants one more player.”

1:57 a.m.

Eli, now deeply regretting ever joining the detective business, found himself holding a bundle of copper wire and standing beside a tall Victorian mirror in the hallway.

“You sure this won’t blow up?” he asked nervously.

Lyra smirked faintly. “Only if you blink.”

“Not funny.”

Zane entered with a calm stride. He was holding a small, custom-built gadget — a fusion of tech and mirror fragment. It pulsed with faint blue light.

“We’re going to bait it,” he said simply. “This mirror wants connection. It feeds off attention. So we give it exactly what it wants — but on our terms.”

Lyra frowned. “You’re going to look into it, aren’t you?”

Zane tilted his head slightly. “I’m going to challenge it.”

2:08 a.m.

The house held its breath.

Zane stood before the mirror, Eli beside him with the copper wire, and Lyra by the console they'd rigged up using parts from her lab.

The mirror shimmered — the way hot air dances over a fire.

Zane stared into it. He didn’t blink.

And then… the reflection changed.

It was him — Zane Faulkner — but standing differently. Stiff. Unsmiling. Eyes colder. Lips curled into a faint sneer.

“I don’t like this,” Eli muttered.

The mirror-Zane raised his hand.

Zane raised his in perfect sync.

Mirror-Zane smiled wider.

Then moved first.

“That’s impossible,” Lyra said under her breath. “It’s not a reflection. It’s a copy.”

“A challenge,” Zane whispered. “A game of identity.”

The mirror suddenly flashed — and the room twisted.

Eli blinked, nearly falling over.

They weren’t in the hallway anymore.

Inside the Mirror

It looked like the same house — but wrong.

Everything was mirrored, literally. The furniture, the staircase, the lighting — reversed. And there was no color. Everything was shades of gray and white. Silent. Frozen.

“Zane… I think we’re in it,” Lyra said, her voice barely a whisper.

Zane stepped forward. “This is the game board. And it’s not finished playing.”

A sound echoed down the corridor. Footsteps. But mechanical. Calculated.

They turned.

It was Mirror-Zane — walking toward them, but alone now.

“You’ve crossed the boundary,” the copy said. Its voice was the same, but hollow.

Zane smiled. “How original. Evil twin routine.”

“I am not evil,” the double said. “I am pure. You are diluted by choices. Emotions. Attachments.”

It glanced at Eli and Lyra. “These… weaken you.”

Eli stepped behind Zane. “I have no problem being considered a weakness.”

Zane took a slow step forward. “You took Myra. What did you do to her?”

“She chose to stay.”

“Liar.”

The copy tilted its head. “Play the final move. Or stay here forever.”

Zane’s Gamble

Zane looked around — mirrors were embedded into the walls of this realm. Endless corridors. Infinite versions of themselves, stretching outward.

And then he saw it — a ripple in one of the mirrors. A doorway.

He leaned to Lyra. “If I distract it, can you power the mirror anchor?”

She nodded, eyes intense. “But you have sixty seconds, max.”

Zane turned back to his double. “Alright then. One last move.”

And he charged.

The two Zanes collided with brutal precision. Fists, elbows, knees — a dance of mirrors. But the real Zane had unpredictability on his side. He feinted, then slammed his double against the mirrored wall.

It shattered.

And the fake Zane screamed — not in pain, but like a modem crashing — a digital, collapsing noise.

The house shook.

“Now, Lyra!” Zane shouted.

She activated the anchor.

The Real World

With a burst of silver light, the real Zane, Eli, and Lyra tumbled back into the hallway of the real house.

Eli coughed. “Remind me never to agree to any plan that involves dimension-hopping again.”

Zane stood slowly. His coat was torn at the shoulder, and his gloves were smudged, but his eyes were shining.

Lyra was already scanning the mirror. “It’s dead,” she said. “The portal’s closed.”

Zane nodded.

But then, from down the hallway — a faint sound.

Footsteps.

Lady Myra appeared. Disoriented, but alive.

“I saw... so many versions of you,” she whispered to Zane. “But only one smiled kindly.”

Zane touched her shoulder gently. “The game is over now.”

Later, as dawn broke,

Zane, Eli, and Lyra stood outside the manor. The storm had passed. Sunlight filtered through the mist.

Lyra was quiet, but then turned to Zane. Her eyes shimmered.

“I didn’t think you’d come back.”

He looked at her, a hint of softness behind his usual smirk. “It would take more than a parallel dimension to keep me away.”

She looked down. “You shouldn’t say things like that.”

“Why?”

“Because I might believe them.”

Zane said nothing — just adjusted his coat and turned toward the hills.

Eli walked beside him. “So what now?”

Zane grinned. “Now? We find the next mystery. Preferably one that doesn’t involve evil versions of myself.”

Eli laughed. “You mean there's a version more arrogant than the original?”

Zane winked. “Hard to imagine, isn’t it?”

THE END


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