Kenji didn't move.
The reflection remained.
Him.
The shop.
The shelves.
Everything exactly where it should have been.
Except for the thing standing behind him.
The crimson silhouette hadn't disappeared.
It stood motionless inside the reflection, head slightly tilted, as though it had been waiting for him to notice it.
The old woman was gone.
The hallway outside sat empty.
No footsteps.
No closing doors.
Nothing.
Just silence.
Kenji slowly turned around.
Nothing stood behind him.
The hallway remained deserted.
When he looked back toward the reflection, the silhouette was still there.
Watching.
His stomach tightened.
For the first time since waking up in the hospital, something close to fear found its way through the numbness.
Not because of what he saw.
Because of what he didn't.
The silhouette existed in reflections.
Windows.
Mirrors.
Shiny surfaces.
But never in reality.
At least not yet.
Kenji closed the door.
Locked it.
Then locked it again.
Not because a lock could stop whatever this was.
The action simply felt human.
Normal.
And right now, normal was the only thing holding him together.
The pressure inside the apartment remained.
Subtle.
Constant.
Like someone standing just outside a room, listening through the wall.
He walked back toward the living room.
The television screen was black.
The unplugged clock remained dark.
The glass sat exactly where he'd left it.
But something else had changed.
The book from the shop.
The old leather-bound book now rested on the table.
Open.
Kenji was certain he had left it closed.
His eyes narrowed.
Slowly he approached.
The pages shifted by themselves.
One page.
Then another.
Then another.
As though an invisible hand searched for something.
Finally, the movement stopped.
The book settled on a single page.
Words covered the paper.
Not printed.
Written.
Fresh.
Wet.
Like ink had been placed there seconds ago.
Kenji stared.
The first line read:
You saw it.
The second line appeared moments later.
You acknowledged it.
His pulse slowed.
Not quickened.
Slowed.
The same unnatural calm that had followed him since the hospital settled over him again.
A third line emerged.
Now it knows where you are.
The lights flickered.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
The apartment groaned softly.
Somewhere upstairs, a pipe rattled.
Then everything went still again.
Kenji continued reading.
More words surfaced.
Not all at once.
One sentence at a time.
Like a conversation.
The dead should remain dead.
You crossed back.
Something crossed with you.
Kenji's jaw tightened.
"Who are you?"
The question escaped before he realized he was speaking.
The page remained blank for several seconds.
Then:
Not who.
What.
The temperature in the room dropped.
A thin layer of frost appeared along the edges of the window.
Kenji stepped back.
The silhouette returned in the glass.
Closer now.
Much closer.
Standing directly behind his reflection.
Its head slowly lowered until it rested near his shoulder.
Like it was reading the book with him.
The page shifted again.
Do not let it touch you.
Kenji immediately looked toward the window.
The silhouette smiled.
Not a human smile.
Not even a face.
Just the feeling of a smile.
Something wrong.
Something ancient.
Something hungry.
Then the lights died.
Darkness swallowed the apartment.
This time, something moved inside it.
Not behind a reflection.
Not inside glass.
Inside the room.
A single wet footstep echoed across the floor.
Then another.
Then another.
Coming closer.
And for the first time
Kenji heard breathing that wasn't his own.