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 retiree
Brighton. Twenty twenty-five. October twenty-fifth.

I live alone. Widowhood makes silence heavy. The bathroom mirror became company. You nod at yourself, say good morning, pretend it answers.

One morning, it did.

Not words. A nod, just a fraction too slow. Like an echo in the body instead of the ear.

Now it waits for me. Smiles before I do. Raises the teacup a beat late. It’s polite, in its way. Patient.

But sometimes I catch it looking past me, eyes fixed on something over my shoulder. I turn. Empty hallway. When I face the glass again, it’s smiling wider.

It isn’t company anymore. It’s a guest I never invited.