Chapter 8: B: Signal Loss

👉 [Previous choice]: You chose Option B – Call 911 on her phone for immediate back-up.

Kincaid lunged, the ceremonial blade glinting. I scrambled back, pressing myself against the damp cellar wall. My phone was still clutched in my hand. Dispatcher training kicked in instinctively. I dialed 911.

“911, what is your emergency?” a calm voice answered.

“Intruder! Armed! My address—” I gasped, trying to relay the information, my voice trembling.

Suddenly, the mirror pulsed with a blinding green light. An ear-splitting shriek ripped through the cellar, a sound that seemed to shred the very air. My phone, hot in my hand, vibrated violently. Sparks flew from its casing.

“Hello? Are you there?” the dispatcher’s voice crackled, distorted, then faded into static.

The mirror’s electromagnetic pulse had destroyed my phone. It lay shattered on the concrete floor, smoking faintly. I was cut off. Alone.

Kincaid, momentarily stunned by the mirror’s outburst, regained his composure. He picked up the ceremonial blade, a triumphant glint in his eye. “Foolish girl. This entity doesn’t answer to your human technologies. It answers to a binding. And now, you’ve given me all the time I need.”

He stepped towards the mirror, speaking in a low, guttural language, waving the blade. The green light intensified, consuming him. I stood frozen, watching him complete his twisted ritual. The ancient mirror, once a source of spectral calls, was now a tool in his grasp. And I was trapped.