Chapter 118: The Watching Glass
Johnny awoke with a scream. His tiny fists clutched the patchwork blanket around him as his eyes darted frantically across the small, wooden room. His breath came in short, panicked gasps.
"Where am I?!" he shrieked. "Where's my mama? My papa?!"
The door swung open, and the farmer stumbled in, half-asleep and confused. "Johnny—what's going on, son?"
Johnny shrank back against the wall. "Don't call me that! Who are you?! What did you do to me?! Where are my mama and papa? I want my mama and papa."
The farmer froze. His mouth opened slightly, but no words came. He stared at the boy—the same boy he'd found alone and crying in the woods, the same boy who'd called him Papa every day for weeks. But now, there was nothing familiar in Johnny's eyes.
"You... you don't remember me?" the farmer asked, his voice trembling.
Johnny's head shook violently. "I don't know this place! I want to go home!" Tears welled up, his whole body trembling.
The farmer backed away slowly, his heart sinking. Something was terribly wrong.
---
That same night, miles away, Albert shot upright in bed, drenched in sweat. His breath came in heavy bursts as he clutched his chest. Janelle stirred beside him, groggy.
"Albert? What is it?"
He didn't answer immediately. His lips moved, forming a whisper, a name that didn't make sense. "Jo...nny…"
Janelle blinked. "What did you say?"
Albert's eyes were wide and distant. "I... I don't remember."
She turned on the lantern beside the bed and reached for his arm. The mark—once a small shadow—was now an ominous shape: two twisted shadows entwined, circling one another like snakes. Janelle's breath caught in her throat.
Albert didn't seem to notice. He stared out the window, lost in thought, or something deeper. There was a strange pull in his chest. A feeling that something was calling to him... someone he hadn't met yet—but should have.
---
As dawn stretched across the village, word of Johnny's strange outburst began to trickle through hushed conversations. But there was something else—something even more chilling.
The mirror complaints.
At first, Elara and Ariella had thought them to be nothing more than superstitious ramblings. Villagers claiming their reflections had moved on their own. One woman swore her mirror-self had smiled mockingly as she cried. A boy said his reflection blinked a moment after he did. Not at the same time—after.
"Whatever's happening," Elara said, rubbing her temple as they sat in their shared room, "It's not normal enchantment. It's deeper."
"I think it's watching us," Ariella added quietly.
That night, Elara placed a tall mirror on the far wall and laced it with a tracking charm—one that would glow if any spell or life energy made contact with the glass.
They went to bed.
Hours later, Ariella's eyes snapped open. The room was quiet, but something was off. She turned toward the mirror.
Her reflection stared back.
Only—her reflection hadn't moved when she did.
She sat up slowly, heart pounding, and turned her head left. The reflection stared forward. Then, almost lazily, it tilted its head right, lips curling into a faint smirk.
Ariella gasped.
"Elara—wake up."
Elara stirred groggily. "What is it—"
The mirror cracked.
Both girls sat bolt upright as a jagged line ran from the top corner to the base. Smoke rose faintly from the charm, now burned black.
They didn't sleep the rest of the night.
---
At dawn, Elara tried summoning the Queens. The ritual had never failed before.
She lit the blue and white candles, murmured the incantations, and closed her eyes.
Nothing.
No wind. No flicker of energy. Just an overwhelming sense of darkness. And then—
Screams.
Distant, agonizing screams. Not loud. But raw.
She opened her eyes, sweat beading on her brow.
"They're not answering," she whispered.
Ariella glanced around the room. "Do you think something's blocking them?"
"Or scaring them."
The two girls looked at each other, and for the first time, neither of them had an answer.
---
Fear bloomed through the village like rot in a garden.
A man stumbled into the square claiming he saw a boy's shadow split in two while passing the farmer's house. People laughed—until another woman swore her baby's reflection didn't blink. Then another man broke every mirror in his house, screaming, "They're watching! Through the glass—they're watching!"
Doors began locking earlier. Curtains remained shut all day. No one dared look in mirrors at night.
---
Janelle watched Albert closely.
He was distant. Distracted. But it wasn't until she caught him murmuring in his sleep—in a voice that was not his own—that her fear took hold.
She pressed her hand over her mouth, trembling in the dark as the voice—deep, guttural—spoke from his lips. Words she didn't understand. A language not from this world.
When Albert woke, he remembered nothing.
The next morning, while he was out fetching water, Janelle quietly placed a line of salt beneath his bed.
She didn't believe in superstitions.
Until now.
---
The farmer sat on his porch, eyes sunken. Johnny hadn't spoken all day. He sat inside, eyes wide, staring into nothing.
"Johnny," the farmer called, softly. "You remember how you used to call me Papa?"
No answer.
"You remember when we found the baby bird with the broken wing? How you cried until we made a little nest for it?"
Still nothing.
Just silence.
And a shadow at Johnny's feet that looked... just a little too long.
---
The mirror in Elara and Ariella's room remained cracked. But that night, they left it uncovered.
They wanted to see.
And as the moonlight filtered in, the reflection in the mirror stood silently again—watching.
Waiting.