The Last Phone Call

Marcus first noticed his reflection was wrong on a Wednesday night in the bathroom. He stood before the mirror brushing his teeth, and in the moment he lowered his head to spit, his peripheral vision caught the reflection in the mirror—it hadn’t bent down. That Marcus remained upright, eyes wider than his own by twice the normal size.

He spun around. Behind him: only the white fluorescent tube and the blackening grout between tiles. When he turned back, his reflection had returned to normal, watching him with a confused expression.

He told himself it was an illusion from exhaustion. Four consecutive days of overtime last week, less than three hours of sleep.

The second night, he saw it again in the bathroom—this time clearer. He hadn’t bent down either, but the reflection continued brushing longer than he did.

The third night, he didn’t go to the bathroom at all. He lay in bed staring at the ceiling, listening to the building’s nighttime sounds. At 3 AM, his phone rang. Unknown number.

He answered. A voice, his own voice, said: “Stop looking in the mirror.”

The call ended. Marcus put down the phone. Walked to the bathroom. Turned on the light.

The mirror was cracked. A spider web pattern spreading from a center point.

In the center of the crack, a tiny piece of glass had fallen out, leaving a hole just large enough for one eye.

The reflection was watching him through that hole.