redeyedryu:

It is deep into the evening when you wake, the house bathed in darkness and the silence that always accompanies the hour. Sleep clings heavy upon your psyche, eager to welcome you back within its grasp, but nature calls. You pad your way to the bathroom, a guiding light unneeded—you know this place and everything within like the back of your hand.

You pay the crawling, coiling shadows flitting from corner to corner no mind, dismiss the peculiar chill in the air; the tired mind often conjures the strangest of things.

The figure in the mirror, however, roots you to the spot.

It is a simple glimpse from the corner of your eye—a passing acknowledgement not to worry, that is just you—that sets your hair raising and a chill racing down the length of your spine.

Don’t look! your mind warns but it is too late. Stood before your reflection it is as if everything else has faded away.

It appears to be you but the clothes, the oppressive darkness that drapes their face…

Stop looking! your mind pleads once more but you cannot tear your gaze away. The darkness is too commanding—too alluring.

The figure reaches towards you and, unthinkingly, you mimic the action.

Their fingers thread between yours and then they pull.