NOTE: You can listen to these stories at my podcast page, via Patreon (paid subscribers get bonus content and early access), and on YouTube. 

A teenager. 
Phoenix. Twenty twenty-five. October thirtieth.

It started as streaks. The mirror in my room fogged every night even with the window open. I wiped it clean, but the streaks came back, spelling crooked shapes.

Last night, they spelled my name. I pressed my hand against the glass. Another hand pressed back.

Not warm. Not cold. Not even skin. Slick, like touching the inside of your own mouth.

She leaned close. My face, but different. Sharper, hungrier. She mouthed, Tomorrow.

That’s tonight. I covered the mirror with duct tape, cardboard, blankets. Doesn’t matter. I still hear her, tapping from the other side. Counting down.