A sharp click from the lock.
It wasn't a hallucination. It was the cold, mechanical sound of metal. Aiden's heart nearly leaped into his throat as he watched the brass doorknob turn, deliberate and final, until the bolt retracted.
The door was open.
A wave of air, thick with the scent of damp soil and decaying leaves, flooded the room, carrying a piercing chill. Standing in the doorway was the same little girl he had seen from the window. She wore a thin white nightgown, and her bare feet were stained with black mud.
But she was no longer the pitiful child crying on the church steps.
Her face was a blank mask. Her eyes, which should have been innocent, were now two pools of bottomless ink, staring calmly at Aiden. Her head was tilted at an impossible angle, as if the bones within had snapped.
"You saw me," the girl stated in that cold, mechanical tone. It wasn't a question; it was a verdict. "You heard me. You broke the rules."
Aiden stood frozen, backing away step by step until his back hit the cold wall. He forced himself to think, his mind racing. What rule had he broken? The Guidebook never said you couldn't look or listen. This was a deeper, unwritten rule—observation itself was a form of contact.
"I... I didn't speak to you," Aiden managed, his voice dry and hoarse, trying to defend himself with the rules he knew.
The corners of the girl's mouth slowly pulled upward into an exaggerated, grotesque smile, the arc so wide it seemed it would tear her cheeks. "But you were *thinking* of me," she said. "Your thoughts... they touched me."
With that, she took a step forward.
The movement exposed her unnatural essence. Her leg didn't bend. It lifted stiffly, like a marionette's, and came down hard on the floor. With each step, the room's temperature dropped further. The strips of birch wood in the corners began to release an anxious, potent fragrance, as if desperately fighting back against the invading cold.
Fear, like a thousand icy needles, pricked at Aiden's skin. He knew running was useless, and begging was out of the question. He had to find a way to deal with this thing.
The salt circle? The sacred line around the radio. But this creature had come through the door. Would the salt even work? Aiden's gaze darted to the corner of the desk, where a small pile of coarse salt lay, spilled from when he'd reinforced the circle. He lunged for it, grabbed a handful, and threw it at the girl with all his might.
The crystals traced a desperate arc in the dim light, striking her nightgown perfectly. But the burning, the screaming, the dissipating... none of it happened. The grains of salt passed through her as if she were smoke, or perhaps were repelled by her frigid aura, clattering uselessly to the floor. The spark of hope in Aiden's heart was extinguished by the cold reality.
The birch wood! Yes, the birch wood. The scent in the room was now almost tangible, no longer a calming aroma but a frantic, aromatic alarm, a desperate warning. It was an invisible barrier forming in front of the girl.
Her advance did pause for a moment. Her tilted head straightened slightly, and her vacant eyes flickered toward the wood strips in the corner, a flicker of discomfort on her rigid face. But the reaction lasted only a second. She seemed to have merely confirmed the source of the scent before dismissing it and resuming her stiff, unnatural walk.
With every step she took, the rich fragrance wavered like a disturbed lake, only to be suppressed and scattered by the deeper cold emanating from her. It could weaken her, but not repel her. The final line of defense was crumbling.
Just then, Jack's words flashed in his mind. *"Because most of the threats in this place are afraid of reflection. A mirror isn't just for communication; it's a tool of protection."*
The mirror.
Aiden's eyes scanned the room, finally locking on the oval, ornate mirror on the wall. But the girl was between him and it. He needed something more portable.
His hand instinctively dove into his pocket and closed around a small, cold, smooth object—the signal mirror Jack had given him.
The girl took another step, now less than ten feet away. She slowly raised her hand. It was pitifully small, but her fingernails were unnaturally sharp, tinged with an ugly, bluish-black color.
There was no more time to hesitate.
Aiden ripped the small mirror from his pocket, clutching it like a lifeline. He didn't dare shine it directly at her, afraid of provoking the unknown entity. He needed an opportunity, a chance for it to see its own reflection.
"What are you?" Aiden shouted, trying to draw its attention as he subtly shifted his position, adjusting the angle between himself and the large mirror on the wall.
"I am the forgotten child," the girl's voice droned, devoid of emotion. "All who break the rules but are not immediately erased will see me. I am the final warning."
She closed in again. Aiden was now pressed against the wall, right beside the large oval mirror. He could feel its cold glass against his back.
The girl raised her hand to touch him.
Now!
With all his strength, Aiden flipped the small mirror in his hand, holding its reflective surface up in front of his face. He squeezed his eyes shut, unwilling to witness whatever might happen next.
The expected attack never came.
Instead, an indescribable shriek tore through the air. The sound was not human, not animal. It was filled with an ultimate agony and terror, as if it had just witnessed the most horrifying thing in existence.
A blast of force threw Aiden against the wall. The temperature in the room instantly shot back up. He trembled as he opened his eyes and saw the "girl" convulsing, staring at the small mirror in his hand.
In its reflection, there was no girl.
There was an amalgamation of flesh, a writhing mass of countless twisted, weeping faces. Each face was screaming silently, its eyes and mouth stitched shut with coarse black thread, forming a grotesque and tragic whole.
The large mirror on the wall showed the same image.
The monster saw itself in the mirror. It saw its true, cursed form.
"No—!!"
The amalgamation let out another, more harrowing scream. Its entire body began to melt and dissipate like a wax figure thrown into a fire. Black smoke poured from it with the stench of rot, and within seconds, it had vanished completely.
The room fell silent.
Drained of all strength, Aiden slid to the floor, gasping for air. He looked down at the small mirror in his hand. Its surface was as pristine as ever, as if the terrifying scene had never happened.
He had won. He had survived again, finding life in the cracks of the rules.
Aiden pushed himself up and walked to the large oval mirror. He needed to be sure he was still himself. The man in the reflection was pale, his eyes filled with lingering fear and exhaustion, but at least his features were intact, his limbs whole.
He breathed a sigh of relief.
But then, he noticed something on his left cheek.
There, just below the cheekbone, was a faint mark, almost invisible unless you looked closely. It was a slender, silvery-white crescent, like a tattoo drawn with moonlight.
It wasn't a birthmark, nor was it a scar. Aiden was absolutely certain that mark had not been on his face before he came to Blackpine.
He reached up and gently touched it. His fingertips met a faint, cool sensation, as if he were touching not skin, but some kind of flowing energy.
What was this? A curse, or... a price?
Aiden stared at the man in the mirror, the man with the lunar mark on his face, and an undeniable thought surfaced:
He had used the rules to defeat the monster. And now, the rules had begun to leave their own mark on him.