Chapter 5: The Lost Self
Clara's footsteps echoed down the empty hallway as she fled the library, her heart pounding so loudly in her chest that she could hardly hear anything else. The figure she'd seen between the shelves—the faceless version of herself—haunted her every thought. It hadn't spoken. It hadn't even moved. But it was there. Watching her.
And it wasn't her.
The air outside was cold and sharp, biting at her skin as she stepped onto the sidewalk, but the chill did nothing to ease the terror building inside her. Clara's hands were shaking. Her breath came in uneven gasps. She needed to think, but the more she thought about what Harper had said, the more everything blurred into a nightmare she couldn't wake from.
The Hollow One.
It wasn't just a shadow anymore. It wasn't even just a reflection. It was something far darker. A piece of her. A part of herself that had been torn away and twisted into something else entirely. Something hungry.
And it was waiting for her.
Clara's phone buzzed in her pocket, pulling her from her spiraling thoughts. She dug it out, and saw Harper's name on the screen. She didn't want to pick up. She couldn't handle another conversation about the thing that was hunting her. Not now.
But she knew she had no choice.
She answered, her voice strained. "Harper…"
"I saw it, too," Harper said, her voice unsteady. "I—Clara, it's not just your shadow anymore. It's everywhere."
Clara paused, her pulse quickening. "What do you mean?"
"After you left," Harper continued, "I saw it. The reflection… It wasn't just in the mirror. It was in the windows, in the puddles on the ground, in the streetlights. It's spreading."
Clara's blood ran cold.
It's spreading.
She spun around, scanning the street, but everything was the same as it had been before. Cars passing, pedestrians walking. But the longer she looked, the more she swore she could see it—faint, like a smear at the edges of the world.
Her shadow wasn't just hers anymore. It was in the world, like a virus, taking root in anything reflective. It was crawling into her surroundings, creeping into the cracks.
"What do we do?" Clara asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Harper was quiet for a long moment. When she spoke again, her voice was low, almost resigned. "We need to find the source. The reason it crossed over. It wasn't supposed to leave. If we can figure out how it got through, maybe… maybe we can shut it down."
Clara's stomach twisted. "Where do we even start? How do we stop it?"
"You need to confront it," Harper said softly. "You need to face it head-on. You're the only one who can pull it back. But you can't do it alone. I'll help you."
Clara nodded numbly, even though she felt as though she were sinking deeper into something she couldn't escape. "Where do we go?"
Harper was silent again, and Clara felt her heart race as she waited for the answer.
"Back to where it started," Harper finally said. "The mirror."
They returned to Clara's apartment together.
It felt wrong to walk through the door again. But Clara couldn't escape the pull. She needed answers. She needed to understand how the thing that had been a part of her had turned into something so monstrous.
The apartment was darker than it had been earlier. The air was thick, almost suffocating. As soon as they entered, Clara could feel it—the weight of her own shadow pressing against the walls, as though it were watching her, waiting.
She stepped into the living room and froze.
There, in the corner, the mirror was back. The cloth had been torn away, leaving the glass exposed.
It shimmered faintly.
A voice—her voice—whispered from within it.
"Come closer."
Clara recoiled, but something about the voice was irresistible. It wasn't just her voice. It was distorted. Twisted. It had a hollow sound to it, as though it was speaking from the other side of a wall.
Harper stepped forward. "We can't let it pull you in, Clara."
But Clara didn't listen. She couldn't. Her feet were moving before she even realized it. She was drawn to the mirror, to the darkness within it.
The voice grew louder, sharper. "Come closer."
Harper grabbed Clara's arm, pulling her back. "No!"
But Clara's eyes were fixed on the mirror. There was something there. Something pulling at her, something that knew her—better than she knew herself.
It wanted her. It wanted all of her.
"I have to see it," Clara whispered, almost to herself.
Harper's grip tightened. "No. It's a trap. It's not you."
But Clara was already stepping forward, reaching for the glass. The reflection in the mirror shifted. Her face distorted. Her eyes blackened, her mouth stretching into a grin she had never made.
And behind her, in the reflection—it.
The Hollow One.
It stood taller than her, its form stretching and bending like the shadow of something that shouldn't be. Its face was hollow, empty, but in its eyes—if they could be called eyes—Clara saw the echo of herself.
A part of herself.
"Come to me," it whispered.
Clara gasped. It wasn't just speaking to her. It was calling to the part of her that had been left behind, that had been twisted and turned into something else.
It wants to take me.
"No," Clara whispered, pulling away, but it was too late.
The shadow behind her moved.
It reached out.
And it wasn't her shadow anymore.
It was alive.
It gripped her wrist, dragging her back toward the mirror, toward the glass, toward the place where it had been born. The room warped around her, the walls stretching, the floor tilting.
Harper screamed, but Clara couldn't hear her.
All that mattered was the cold, empty reflection that was pulling her in.
And the face—the face that was hers, but not hers—that smiled back from the dark.
To be continued…