It was a quiet Thursday evening, the kind that drapes itself in orange and gold as the sun slips behind the trees. Maya had just settled into her usual spot by the window with a book and a cup of ginger tea, letting the silence of her small countryside home soothe the week’s stress.
A knock broke the stillness. Three sharp loud knocks against the wooden door.
Maya got scared. She wasn’t expecting anyone. No deliveries, no friends scheduled to visit, and she lived far enough from the main road that random passersby were rare. She placed the cup down slowly and approached the door.
Through the peephole, she saw someone, a tall man in a dark coat, hands in his pockets, face unreadable under the shadow of a wide-brimmed hat.
"Can I help you?" she called through the door.
His voice was calm and polite. “I’m sorry to intrude. My car broke down a few miles back. There's no signal, and your house was the only one I saw. May I use your phone?”
Though it was a normal scenario, something about him made her hesitate. Maybe it was the fact that his shoes were too clean for someone who had walked through mud, or how his coat didn’t seem to have a speck of dust despite the breeze.
Still, she couldn’t deny a stranded traveler. She opened the door slightly, the chain still latched.
“There’s a landline. I can pass it to you through the door, if that's okay with you."
He nodded, stepping back respectfully. “Thank you.”
She closed the door, fetched the cordless phone, and returned, only to find out that he was gone.
There were no footsteps. No retreating figure. Just the quiet whistle of the wind.
Confused, Maya stepped outside, scanning the fading light, looking for traces or clues.
And then she saw it.
A pair of wet footprints on her porch. Barefoot.
She looked down. The man had been wearing shoes. The footprints led not away from the door, but into her house.
Her heart started pounding, she turned.
The door was ajar. She had never opened it fully.
Inside, the tea was still warm, the book still open, and next to it, on the windowsill, lay a small silver pendant she had never seen before, shaped like an eye. She picked it up, and for a moment, everything in the room flickered. Lights dimmed. Walls shimmered.
Then, silence again.
Only now, outside the window, stood the man in the coat, staring in.
But his face… it was hers.
Maya stumbled back, dropping the pendant. It hit the wooden floor with a sound too loud for its size like a bell tolling underwater.
The figure outside didn’t blink, didn't move. It just watched, her face pressed against the glass like a wax doll coming to life. The eyes were wrong. Too wide for a human, Too empty!
She ran to the door and slammed it shut, bolting every lock.
Breathe, Maya. Just breathe. This isn't real.
She picked up the phone to call someone, anyone, but the line was dead. Not a dial tone. Just silence. Then, a sudden click.
Now she could hear someone.
Heavy, rasping, wet breathing on the other end.
She threw the phone. The lights flickered again. This time, they didn’t stop flickering. The house pulsed with a strange hum, like a heartbeat she couldn’t place, or maybe it was hers, or maybe it wasn’t.
In the mirror across the hall, her reflection was smiling.
She wasn’t.
It lifted a hand, slowly, and waved.
She backed away in horror, but the reflection stayed rooted, grinning wider until its jaw cracked and dangled open unnaturally, black sludge pouring from its mouth like spilled ink.
Then, the lights went out.
Complete darkness.
There was silence, but not for too long.
The sound of footsteps, bare feet on cold wood, came from the kitchen. Then, the living room. Then, the hall.
It kept coming closer and closer.
Maya held her breath.
Something brushed past her cheek, cold, slimy, and whispering,and it whispered in her voice.
"You're already gone, Maya."
A sickening realisation spread through her.
She never saw the man leave… because she had left. Whatever stood inside the house now wasn’t her anymore. And she? She turned toward the window.
There, in the glass, she stood, outside. Watching. Silent. Forgotten.
The pendant was her prison. The man had passed it on. Now it was her turn.
A car approached in the distance.
It's headlights cut through the fog as it slowed near her house. The driver got out, confused, heading towards the porch.
Maya watched from behind the glass, screaming with no mouth, her voice swallowed by the cursed silver eye.
Another knock at the door.
Three sharp raps.
The cycle begins again!
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