Evelyn sat in her apartment, the broken mirror laid out on her kitchen table like a puzzle from another world. Beatrice was free — she could feel it — but the sense of unease wouldn't lift. That scream. That presence. Whatever had tried to attack her wasn't just a remnant of the ritual. It was something older. Something waiting.
She opened her laptop and connected the camera. The final photo — Beatrice, beneath the arch, smiling faintly as if released from centuries of pain — made Evelyn's eyes sting with tears. But then she noticed something.
In the far background of the image, behind a cracked window, was a shadow. No shape. No eyes. Just darkness, standing unnaturally still.
She zoomed in.
The pixels blurred, but the blackness remained solid. It hadn't been there in real life.
Evelyn leaned back, mind racing. If the mirror rites were true, and cameras really could capture what the eye couldn't… then she had photographed something she was never meant to see.
She emailed the image to a contact: Professor Lin, a folklore specialist who had once helped her with a documentary on Malaysian spirit beliefs. He replied almost immediately.
> "You need to leave the house alone, Evelyn. That's not a ghost. That's a watcher. They are drawn to those who open doors. Once they notice you, they don't look away."
Her stomach dropped.
---
That night, Evelyn dreamt of mirrors.
Endless halls lined with them, each one showing her reflection — until one did not. In its place stood the shadow. It tilted its head slowly, as if acknowledging her. Its face was a swirl of fog and ink. Then it stepped forward. Right through the glass.
Evelyn woke up screaming, drenched in sweat.
The locket on her nightstand was open.
She hadn't touched it.
She slammed it shut and backed away.
But it was clear: something had followed her home.
---
The next day, Evelyn returned to the mansion. She had no choice.
She brought salt. Chalk. Candles. She no longer doubted the spiritual — now, she simply wanted to survive it.
In the ballroom, where the rituals had once taken place, she recreated the circle she had seen in the attic vision. Salt and chalk, just as Beatrice had stood within. She placed the locket in the center.
"Show yourself," she whispered, lighting the final candle.
The flame flickered, and from the corner of her eye, she saw it — the watcher.
It emerged from a cracked mirror, its form blacker than shadow, its limbs long and unnatural, like something half-forgotten by the world. It did not move. It simply watched.
Evelyn stepped inside the circle, camera around her neck. "What do you want?"
The creature's body rippled, and suddenly she saw visions — of every soul trapped in the mirror over the decades. Not just Beatrice. Dozens. All locked in place by rituals gone wrong. All feeding the thing that lived between the glass and the lens.
Evelyn's camera clicked. Flash.
The thing flinched.
She clicked again.
Flash.
Its body twisted. Smoke peeled from its form.
One more.
Flash.
The creature let out a shriek so sharp it cracked a nearby pane of glass — and then vanished in a swirl of black mist.
Silence.
The candles died out.
And in the center of the circle, the locket had melted into silver dust.
Evelyn stood alone in the dark.
But she knew now — she had burned its tether. Broken its prison.
For now.