It came from a comment.
A username I didn't recognize.
No profile picture. No prior posts.
> *"She's in my sister now. She keeps looking into blank screens. Even when they're off."*
I tried to reply.
The comment disappeared.
Then came the email.
**From:** [[email protected]](mailto:[email protected])
**Subject:** Please help us
**Attachment:** A 12-second video
I watched it.
I wish I hadn't.
A girl, maybe 14, sat in front of a turned-off TV.
Her eyes didn't blink.
She whispered something.
When I enhanced the audio, I caught it:
> *"We looked away. Now we are seen."*
Her voice wasn't hers.
When she turned toward the camera, her reflection in the black screen turned *slower*.
But it smiled first.
---
More emails followed.
From Manila. From Oslo. From Cairo.
They said she was moving.
Not just in mirrors.
In phones.
In video calls.
In eyes.
One message read:
> *"I covered every reflective surface in my house. It didn't work. She showed up in my eyes. In my partner's pupils. She's already here."*
Another wrote:
> *"I think she's looking for something. And she's using us to find it."*
I tried disconnecting.
Turned off everything.
But my laptop lit up by itself.
One line appeared:
> **"This is not a warning. This is a return."**
She never left.
We just stopped seeing her.
---
I returned to Pak Ketut's home.
He was gone.
But on his shrine was a bundle:
A mirror shard.
A feather.
A note in Balinese script.
I had it translated. It said:
> *"The one who first saw must become the one to seal. If not, the eyes multiply."*
The one who first saw\...
That's me.
---
I went home.
Sat in the center of the room.
Turned every screen to black.
And spoke.
> *"If you're here to be seen, I see you.
> If you're here to be heard, I hear you.
> But if you're here to speak—use me, not them."*
Everything fell silent.
Still.
I opened my laptop.
I typed.
Words poured out.
Not mine.
Hers.
A story.
Not horror—memory.
Painful.
Clear.
True.
When I stopped, I uncovered the mirror on my desk.
It reflected clearly.
No shadow.
No delay.
Just me.
Or who I was... before.
---
**If your screen flickers. If your mirror feels too quiet—don't look away.**
Let her speak.
She doesn't haunt.
She remembers.
And through us, she returns.
---
**Follow for Chapter 13. And if y
our screen blinks tonight, don't turn away.