In the stillness of the night, where shadows stretch and silence suffocates, terror waits in the most unexpected corners. *Shadows Unleashed* is a chilling collection of short stories that delves into every facet of horror-from spine-tingling encoun...
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Emily Hanson stood in front of the bathroom mirror, scrubbing her face clean of the day’s makeup. The quiet hum of the extractor fan was the only sound in the small, brightly lit room. She splashed cool water on her cheeks, feeling the tension of the day slowly start to melt away. With a towel in hand, she patted her face dry and leaned closer to the mirror, inspecting the fine lines that were beginning to form around her eyes. Thirty wasn’t old, but it wasn’t exactly young either.
“Ugh, I need more sleep,” she muttered to herself, running a finger beneath her eye.
She sighed, pulling her long brown hair back into a ponytail. It had been a long day at work—another nine hours spent at her desk, crunching numbers and dealing with her micro-managing boss. She was exhausted, and all she wanted was to crawl into bed and forget the world existed for a few hours.
Emily glanced back at the mirror, turning away from it to reach for her toothbrush. Just as she was about to squeeze toothpaste onto the bristles, something caught her eye. It was a flicker of movement—small, almost imperceptible, but enough to make her pause.
She frowned and turned back to the mirror, staring at her reflection. It was exactly as it should be: her tired eyes, her pale skin, her loose-fitting t-shirt hanging off her shoulder. Yet, something felt… off.
“What the hell?” she whispered, leaning in closer.
Her reflection stared back, unchanged. Maybe it was the lighting, or maybe she was just overtired. After all, she’d worked late every night this week, and her eyes had been burning by the time she drove home.
Emily shook her head, dismissing the strange feeling and brushed her teeth quickly, eager to get some rest. She turned off the bathroom light and padded down the hall to her bedroom. The bed, with its soft white comforter, was a welcome sight, and she slid under the covers with a sigh of relief.
But sleep didn’t come easily.
Her mind kept wandering back to the mirror, to that flicker of movement she couldn’t explain. It was nothing, she told herself. Just a trick of the light. But that gnawing feeling—that unsettling sense that something wasn’t right—refused to leave her.
By midnight, Emily was wide awake, staring at the ceiling in the dark. She sighed and threw the covers off, slipping out of bed. Maybe a glass of water would help calm her down.
As she made her way to the kitchen, she passed the bathroom and hesitated. The door was slightly ajar, and in the darkness, she could just make out the shape of the mirror inside. It looked normal—just a mirror reflecting the empty room—but there was that feeling again. That strange sense that something was watching her.
She swallowed, her throat suddenly dry, and turned toward the kitchen. “Get a grip, Emily. It’s just a mirror.”
But as she filled her glass at the sink, she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. The house was too quiet, the shadows too deep. And then she remembered something: when she had turned off the bathroom light, she’d left the door closed.
