Chapter 9: B: Broken Glass Nightmare

👉 [Previous choice]: You chose Option B – Try to physically shatter the mirror with an iron rod.

Kincaid staggered back, his face a mask of terror. The mirror’s green glow intensified to an unbearable brilliance, filling the entire cellar. Within its depths, the swirling shadow coalesced further, not into a reflection, but into a gaping, inky void.

“No! This isn’t how it’s supposed to work!” Kincaid shrieked, his voice cracking.

His dropped blade lay by his feet, but my eyes darted to a heavy iron rod leaning against a support beam. Clara’s notes hinted that iron could disrupt certain bindings. My dispatcher training screamed for direct action, a physical solution.

With a surge of adrenaline, I grabbed the iron rod. “I’ll smash you to pieces!” I yelled, raising it high.

Kincaid’s eyes widened. “Don’t! You’ll release it!”

But I didn’t listen. With all my might, I brought the heavy iron rod down onto the surface of the mirror.

The glass didn’t shatter into shards. Instead, it imploded inwards with a sound like a thousand screams, a cacophony of breaking sanity. A wave of pure, cold psychic force exploded outwards, knocking me off my feet.

From the gaping hole where the mirror once stood, a torrent of shadowy entities poured out, formless and screaming. They didn’t have bodies, but they had presence. They clawed at the air, at the walls, at Kincaid, and then, at me.

Kincaid shrieked, a high-pitched wail as the shadows enveloped him. I felt their icy touch, heard their whispers. They were everywhere, inside my head, tearing at my memories, at my very perception of reality.

The cellar spun. Clara’s face, Kincaid’s face, my own face, flashed before my eyes, distorted, screaming. The shadows pressed in, stealing my breath, my thoughts, my identity. I curled into a ball on the floor, my hands pressed against my ears, but it did nothing. The haunting was absolute, overwhelming. My mind was breaking.