The streetlights gave off an eerie glow in the fog, a halo of yellow light framing the bulbs. A man was walking home, clutching his wool coat closer to his body, shivering in the damp. His name was Tom Cavanaugh. It wasn’t the most important part about him. What was important in that moment was that he had spent the night at a party with a woman who wasn’t his wife. He shouldn’t have kissed her; he knew that. But Tom had a weak will. He was pretty sure it ran in the family.
They all thought I was insane.
I’d been hearing the noises for a while, and I was beginning to question my sanity as well.
They started one day when I was in my bedroom. Suddenly I heard three taps coming from the mirror bolted to my wall. Several clicking noises followed them, leaving an uneasy feeling tugging at my insides. Despite the anxious fear creeping in, I disregarded the sounds.
I continued to hear them over the next few weeks. They were sporadic: a click here, a few taps there, and an occasional hiss. I tried my best to ignore them.
But one night, I suddenly awoke, anxious fear coursing through my veins.
A light was shining from my mirror, dim and glowing as if someone held a flashlight against the opposite side. It didn’t look supernatural, but more like an old flashlight with nearly dead batteries.