Scary Stories For A Rainy Night - Ep. 288 - I Heard Knocking

Summary

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Scary Stories For A Rainy Night – Ep. 288: "I Heard Knocking"

Podcast: Scary Stories and Rain
Host: Being Scared (Dane)
Date: November 14, 2025
Theme:
A collection of unsettling, immersive horror tales recounted with calm narration and layered over a soothing rain ambience—designed for restless nights, insomniac listeners, or lovers of spine-tingling storytelling. This episode features two standout stories: one about growing dread during a night shift in an eerily empty warehouse, and another involving an occult mirror ritual with realities more horrifying than hallucination.

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Main Themes & Purpose

• Evoking dread from the mundane: Ordinary experiences—a night shift; a cabin getaway; a simple ‘mirror game’—are transformed into vehicles for supernatural terror.
• Doppelgängers and liminality: Both stories emphasize the horror found in reflection—both literal and figurative—with the ‘other’ always lurking just beyond perception.
• Isolation and unreliable reality: Settings are marked by aloneness and uncertain perceptions, forcing listeners to question what’s real.

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Key Stories & Discussion Points

1. The Warehouse Night Shift

Timestamps: [02:03] – [19:39]

Story Summary

A temporary Christmas worker at a giant online retailer is lured into the promise of higher pay and a lighter workload on the night shift, only to discover an atmosphere of existential dread and creeping supernatural phenomena.

Notable Insights & Plot Points

• Grind and exhaustion: The “picker” role is described in grueling detail, covering up to 16 miles a shift. The “beepy machine” becomes a hated companion, monitoring productivity with a relentless, lifeless beep.
  • “No sound in history has ever become so irritating as fast as that little handheld.” (A, [04:15])
  • Describes pick rates, deadline pressure, and blisters that burst over 16-hour shifts (“There was blood in my shoes again.”)
• Atmosphere of the night shift:
  • Skeleton crews; supervisors like the strict, cryptic Derek. Sparse lighting is described: strategically-placed spotlights revealing only five feet at a time, turning the warehouse into a “Picker of the Opera.”
• Troubling occurrences:
  • While picking orders, the narrator notices motion-sensitive lights flicking on far down empty aisles—triggered by no visible presence.
  • As tension builds, the lights come on sequentially, as if something invisible is tracking the narrator’s steps.
  • “No time right now, ghosty boy!”—the narrator tries to dismiss the fear, but the sense of pursuit grows. (A, [15:26])
• Climax:
  • Lights flicker toward the narrator, culminating in total darkness, then a monstrous black figure—“A towering, fat black figure blocked the aisle… Hands as big as bin lids fanned out on either side and swam over to grab me.” (A, [17:35])
  • Panic and adrenaline enable escape.
• Aftermath:
  • The mysterious supervisor Derek resets the narrator’s pick rate and, with unexpected sympathy, quietly transfers him back to day shift.
  • “I’ll transfer you to the day shift.” (Derek, [19:35])

Memorable Moments & Quotes

• On the job grind:
  • “You don’t become a major online retailer without knackering a few ankles.” (A, [03:48])
• Creeping dread:
  • “The lamps swayed towards me as if pushed by fierce wind, but the chokingly dry air remained still…. I heard a click and was suddenly plunged into darkness.” (A, [16:49])
• Climax:
  • “Beep… Beep… Beep… Every light in the aisle burst with light, with such power it was almost audible. A towering, fat black figure blocked the aisle and arched over me, nearly blotting out the light above my head.” (A, [17:23])
• Resolution:
  • Derek’s rare empathy: “I’ll transfer you to the day shift.” (A, [19:39])

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2. The Mirror Ritual – “The Mirror Game”

Timestamps: [20:04] – [51:42]

Story Summary

A pair of friends, Melinda and the narrator, experiment with a viral ‘mirror ritual’: staring at their own reflection in near-darkness for 10 minutes, in the hope of confronting weird visual illusions. The experience quickly descends into nightmare as the narrator’s reflection takes on a life—and intention—of its own.

Key Plot Points

• Atmospheric setup:
  • The friends tidy Melinda’s room and dim all lights except for a candle. The only illumination comes from moonlight and the candle, making the reflection and shadows indistinguishable.
  • Mel explains: “You stare at yourself in the mirror for about 10 minutes, like really look, and after a while you’ll start seeing things... there's nothing specific. Some people see their face change, others see shadows...” (Melinda, [32:21])
• Gradual unreality:
  • The narrator experiences slow dysphoria: “I was smiling, obviously, but somehow even that didn’t look right.” (A, [39:19])
  • The narrator’s reflection begins to blink out of sync, and eventually, stops mimicking the narrator’s movements altogether.
    • “My reflection’s expression began to shift from a wide-eyed, stomach-churning stare to a look of morbid disgust.” (A, [40:23])
  • The reflection rises from the chair; the narrator remains seated.
  • A faint hiss—candle goes out; darkness floods the room.
• Terror and invasion:
  • The narrator watches as the reflection retrieves a makeup mirror—one that exists outside the frame.
    • “It was tangible. Real. The other me’s smile stretched… an expression more fit for a shark than anything resembling a human.” (A, [44:28])
  • When the narrator tries to stand, the reflection throws itself back in the chair, causing the narrator’s legs to buckle.
• Possession and pain:
  • A horrifying sequence: both the narrator and the reflection crush a mirror, feeling mirrored injuries; the narrator tastes blood that isn’t theirs.
    • “Though I didn’t understand how, I could taste the metallic blood in my mouth, feel the cuts appearing across my tongue…” (A, [47:00])
  • Physical sensations cannot be explained: “I wasn’t paralyzed, it seemed, but as long as my doppelganger remained seated, I would be, too.” (A, [47:28])
• The entity attempts escape:
  • The reflection tries to physically emerge from the mirror: “Her fingers began to emerge, pulling through the glass that looked more like liquid.” (A, [48:11])
  • The entity “clamped down on my arm—its mouth large enough to engulf most of my forearm...” (A, [49:18])
  • The narrator manages a desperate move—toppling the heavy cheval mirror backward, shattering it mid-crossing—breaking the connection, sustaining injury but restoring autonomy.
• Chilling twist:
  • Melinda returns—but the narrator notices her signature smiley face tattoo is winking with the wrong eye.
    • “I’d been there when Melinda got her tattoo...it had been winking its left eye. When I arrived home...the tattoo was winking its right." (A, [51:17])

Notable Quotes & Moments

• Fear of reflections:
  • “You never know who, or what, is really looking back.” (A, [51:39])
• On the psychological phenomenon:
  • “Your brain like makes up stuff to fill in what it can’t see properly.” (Melinda, [34:10])
• The other side:
  • “I have spent a lifetime staring back at you... attached to this disgusting form. A lifetime whispering that voice at the back of your head, urging you to cut and trim and break yourself.” (Reflection, [49:04])
  • “It’s cold. Always cold inside. You’ll never know warmth again. Just the cold, harsh touch of the mirror.” (Reflection, [50:09])
• Hallucinatory unreality:
  • “I felt something in my head… almost like another user logged in to the same computer.” (A, [45:26])
• Dreadful revelation:
  • “I don’t know how long my friend has been gone... What I do know is that thing that was there with me that night, who invited me to play that game? It was never Mel.” (A, [51:36])

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Timestamps for Key Segments

• [02:03] – [19:39] – Warehouse Night Shift
  Includes detailed build-up, supernatural occurrences, and resolution with Derek.

• [20:04] – [51:42] – The Mirror Game
  From the Moonlight Pines Resort opener into the full mirror ritual horror.

• Quotes and segment notes

  • [04:15] – "No sound in history has ever become so irritating..."
  • [16:49] – Lights flickering toward narrator in empty aisle
  • [17:23] – Giant shadow entity appears
  • [32:21] – Melinda explains the mirror game
  • [39:19] – Dysphoria, self-doubt begins
  • [44:28] – Reflection no longer just illusion
  • [49:04] – Monologue from doppelganger
  • [50:09] – The cold of the other side
  • [51:36] – “It was never Mel.”

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Style & Tone

• Calm, detailed narration: Despite the unsettling nature of the tales, the stories are delivered with a steady, almost hypnotic cadence—amplifying the horror through understatement.
• Darkly comedic: In the warehouse story, quips about “Keanu Reeves on my back,” “pencil munchers,” and life’s drudgery add a sardonic edge that feels relatable and real.
• Claustrophobic and psychological: Attention focuses on physical sensation, creeping unease, and the thin line between imagination and reality.

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Episode Takeaways

• The everyday is fertile ground for horror: Whether through the isolation of night work or casual party games, the mundane conceals the profoundly unsettling.
• Beware of what you see—and what looks back: Reflections and doppelgängers serve as potent, terrifying metaphors for the murky boundaries of self and other… and the things that can slip through.
• Not all friends are what they seem: Sometimes, it’s not just the shadows in the night or things from beyond the glass one has to fear, but the people closest—who might not be themselves at all.

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Memorable Quote to End

“You never know who, or what, is really looking back.”
— Being Scared, [51:39]

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Ideal as a chilling companion on a rainy, sleepless night—if you dare to face your own reflection afterward.

Transcript

[A]

Hey, this is Dane and this is Scary Stories in Rain. Please join my family and follow this podcast on Spotify or Apple. And if you want the ultimate experience, you can get rid of all of the ads and be entered to win all of my giveaways every month by subscribing for just 299amonth. All of the ads gone, every single giveaway automatically entered. And starting now today, every Sunday, I'm going to release the ultimate episode. 6 to 12 hours long ultimate Scary Stories for a Rainy Night Subscriber Exclusive and as a reminder, we are now four months away from my first movie release in theaters. Gale Yellow Brick Road A dark and terrifying reimagining of the wizard of Oz. If you want to check out the first trailer, click the link in the description to this episode and if you're not following my other two podcasts, please go check them out. Scary Stories and Fire and Scary Stories After Dark. The links are in the description. Thank you so much for being here and I really hope you enjoy this episode.

[B]

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[A]

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[B]

Experian.

[A]

Hello friends. Guess who? That's right, it is I, the Replacer. Once again, I've been called on so you can play the new Call of Black Ops 7 with three expansive modes, 18 multiplayer maps, and the tastiest zombie gameplay you've ever freaking seen. Call of Duty Black Ops 7 available now. Rated M for Mature There was blood in my shoes again as I sat in the staff room waiting for my heart rate to return to Not Deadly. Seriously, had I known that making some extra Christmas money was going to be this intense, I would have just bought a big bag of macaroni and glitter and made everybody calendars. I had seen advertisements for temporary Christmas staff for a major online retailer. I won't say which one just in case they see this, but you might have seen people droning on about their latest innovation if you're still in doubt. During the training period, I was informed by a manager with a puffed up chest that the warehouse had its own public road built by the local council just to accommodate them. As I say which retailer a major one. The role was a picker. As the Christmas orders flooded in, it was my job to dash around the shelves picking them up and bringing them back for packing. I had worked in Target based environments before, so I thought I had known what I was getting myself into. But no, I guess you don't become a major online retailer without knackering a few ankles. I took a pedometer to work one day out of curiosity and was amazed to see that I covered nearly 16 miles in a single shift. The job was monotonous, but what was worse was the sheer pressure of the roll. I had a handheld little beepy machine that I had to use to scan all the items I was picking. And man, no sound in history has ever become so irritating as fast as that little handheld. The world over there are babysitters violently shaking infants and thinking that at least they don't have to carry this thing thing for a daily half marathon. Every few hours I would have to check in with the supervisor who would check my pick rate. He could even set it to start beeping if it got too low, like I was the bus in speed, charging around the aisles with an imaginary Keanu Reeves on my back, making sure I don't go below 50 items per hour. Every shift was the same. Beep. One Direction beep. Pokemon X Beep. Game of Thrones Beep. Breaking Bad. Complete box set Beep. Hunger Games poster Beep. Hopes Beep Dreams Beep. Legend of Zelda Premium Wii U gift set. It didn't take long for the physical demands of the role to come to the fore. The skin at the base of my nails was broken and peeling from being caught on 50 books and CDs an hour. My knees ached and popped from doing more squats than an Olympic wannabe. But the worst was the blisters. I would check my feet after each shift and see raw, red, irritated skin. I would check again in the morning and try to gently roll a sock over the big skin bubble of protective fluid that had developed overnight. The worst though, was spending a day running on it, feeling the pressure of your steps stabbing at the periphery of the blister, feeling it bulge and wane with every step, feeling the pressure separating the layers of skin, then finally feeling that one short jolt of pain followed by a warm seeping damp that collects under the arc of your foot. It was another shift down and there was blood in my shoes again. Beep beep beep beep. Still, the money was alright, and it was only temporary. What really stepped up the game was when I offered a night shift. The night shifts were a different animal. People said they had better pay. Lower pick rate targets, Fewer supervisors, fewer orders coming through the whole lot. They were massively coveted for anyone whose personal timetable wasn't tied to the school run. So if you were offered one, you took it. I was offered a fortnight's worth of shifts, and the extra money would mean I could quit a few shifts earlier, before Christmas. It was nothing short of a godsend. My first shift was a week later. It was stripped back alright, but even I wasn't ready for just what a skeleton crew they had running the graveyard hours. The pickers were out in force still, but everything else was pared right back to the bone. It was just us and a scant few supervisors in a warehouse that normally housed thousands plus. It was the night supervisors, a strange, mythical breed. Mine was Derek. Derek was ambiguously old. Old enough that being contracted to such an antisocial shift begged questions about his personal life that he was too old for anyone to dare ask. He was a narrow man with narrow eyes in front of narrow opinions. He wielded his clipboard and tally sheets with all the macabre glee of an executioner just waiting for you to slip so he could take the minuscule amount of power he'd been afforded and promptly get drunk on it. Even the utilities were stripped back, the fierce halogen overheads turned off in favor of motion detecting spotlights once every five feet or so that only lit the immediate area around you. It made charging around the corridors quite fun at first, watching the rippling lights follow you along the aisles like spotlights at a theater performing the world's dullest rendition of Picker of the Opera. However, it was here that I realized I had been sold a lie. Sure, the pick rates were lower, but there was a reason the night orders were more complex and needed picking from much further flung corners of the warehouse. The extra running meant that a lower target was instantly just as difficult to maintain. Soon I was charging up and down the corridors with as much urgency as I did on any day shift, riding the ripples of motion tripped light like some kind of weightless surfer. It was those lights that first got me. I was putting down a pic that was thankfully mostly CDs. Taylor Swift and Imagine Dragons. I charged over to aisle 15, trying to speed hop to avoid popping the big blister on my right heel and scanned the first with the usual beep. Then, some way down the aisle, another light came on. I squinted into the dark towards the newly lit patch, but I couldn't see anyone who could have triggered the light. I shook it off. Probably just some stock falling over on a shelf. I headed off to pick up Imagine Dragons, scanning the shelf again. Beep. And again down the aisle another light came on. I stood squinting into the dark to try and see what could have set it off, but there was nothing. There wasn't even any stock on those shelves that far down. I called out to see if anyone was near enough to have set them off. Hello? Beep Beep. Beep. Crap. I had paused too long and my pick rate had dropped below target. Ugh. Derek would try to narrow me to death if I don't get it back up. I charged off to get back on target. Another order. Games. I dashed away to try and regain some time. First game Grand Theft Auto V. PlayStation 3 top sellers. Isle 43. Go. The Little Red light on my scanner stayed red as I collected it, still under Target. Next game Call of Duty. Xbox One. New releases. Isle 48. Still below target. This went on until two picks later I got a lucky break with two items on adjacent shelves that I was finally above target again. Just before I had to check in with Derek before my break. A Christmas miracle. Derek's narrow little eyes narrowed on his narrow little clipboard. Dipped below target. For a while there, kid, he said with a mean grin, not wanting to miss a chance for a dig. Yeah, I got it back though, I retorted. His grin sagged a little. Yeah, well be careful. I went to the little staff room to drink a Blue Bear, my Christmas savings plan not stretching as far as a genuine Red Bull. It was a bare dank little room room all painted and faded, smudged off white color with hard cold plastic chairs like those you would find stacked up at a school parents evening. There was a machine labeled Complimentary Coffee, which was only half right. Natalie, another girl on the night shift, was there too. She was sat under a corkboard covered in laminated safety information and curling advertisements for long sold cars and single moms selling amateur pet grooming services. She stared at a coffee sat next to some caffeine pills with the mindless stare of a lobotomized PTSD victim. Natalie? I asked. She looked up, bewildered at this communication thing that had broken her stupor. She seemed confused for a moment before shaking her head a little and returning to earth. Sorry was miles away there. What's up? Have you had any problems with the lights? Yeah, all the time. I've lost count of how many times I've barreled down those aisles in the dark because the motion sensors didn't, you know, sense motion. I'll break my leg one day. Watch. What about coming on when there's no one there? Uh, not happen to me, but it wouldn't stop. Surprise me. I think Paul mentioned that a few times. It's a proper crap system. Surely they can't be saving that much by just keeping the lights on. Sodding pencil munchers. Pencil muncher. That was a new one. Natalie's scanner beeped. Oh, already. She stood and left. Soon the fake energy from the fake energy drink was stabbing into my muscles and begging to be burnt off. My scanner started to beep, indicating the start of round two. The first pick was a crappy one. A little bit of everything from all over the warehouse. Some chocolates, a toothbrush, some CDs, some weird American sweets, couple of books, and some gardening equipment, of all things. I must have been above target when I finished, but I wasn't by much, and this pick was going to put me on the back foot. I charged off for the chocolates first. Aisle eight. Beep. Toothbrush. Beep. Books. Beep. CDs. Beep. I headed out for the American Suites, but I hit a nightmare and instead they weren't there. They were showing as in stock, but there's none on the shelf. This is a nightmare scenario. There's nothing in the Target to account for misplaced inventory. You just have to suck it up, find it, and work harder. Afterwards, I looked on the surrounding shelves and then heard the fateful beep beep beep beep to let me know I was now under target again. Beep.

[B]

Beep beep.

[A]

Yes, I get it. Why don't you tell me where they are? Pencil muncher. It was 2:03 and I was shouting weird insults at a handheld scanner. Screw Christmas. I carried on frantically searching the shelves. Other sweets were everywhere. Oreo Pop Tarts. Who the heck cares about Pop Tarts? Online. Kinder eggs, Milky Ways Cola cubes. I could see the red glow of the below target light burning into my peripheral vision like a sun too low for the car visor. Further down the aisle again. Another light came on. No time right now, ghosty boy. I shouted. I'd already shouted at my scanner. I didn't see the harm in shouting at thin air. I kept searching. The light down the aisle flicked off. Then the next closest one came on. Then the next, then the next. I momentarily forgot about my search for Jolly Ranchers and turned to face this creeping light. Whatever it was paused about 50ft down the aisle. I stood frozen to the spot. It charged. The next light came on. The next. The next light after light flicked on as this invisible force raced down the aisle towards me. I still couldn't move. The lights flicked on one after the other like a wave of falling dominoes. The lamps swayed towards me as if pushed by fierce wind, but the chokingly dry air remained still. The wave continued until it was just two lamps away from me. Just one dead light separated me from the bright puddle where whatever it was had stopped. I heard a click and was suddenly plunged into darkness. I had been too still for too long. The lamp above my head had turned off. I stood in a sea of black, facing off against this little puddle of light above my invisible foe. I was still rooted to this spot. Then, too, the opposing light turned off. I stood in a sea of oil. Nothing but pure black surrounded me. The oppressively tall shelves on either side may well have been miles away for all I could see. I could feel my heartbeat in my eyes. I could feel the stink of the shift's sweat starting to infect the air around me. But I saw nothing. There was nothing. Somewhere. Every few heartbeats, a second hand ticked. Beep. Beep. Beep. Every light in the aisle burst with light, with such power it was almost audible. A towering, fat black figure blocked the aisle and arched over me, nearly blotting out the light above my head. He swayed and grew. Pulsed like he was a cloud of ink swimming in unseen water. Hands as big as bin lids fanned out on either side and swam over to grab me. Beep. Beep. Beep. The final beep was enough to break through my fear and get my feet moving. I sent every ounce of adrenaline and blue bear strength to my calves and started running with enough force to rupture every blister on my feet. My socks swam with blood and fluid. The torn bubbles of skin rubbed and ripped and squeaked over the open wounds, but I couldn't even feel it. I just kept pounding my feet down the solidly lit aisle, my scanner beeping wildly to tell me that my pick rate was slipping. Lights ahead of me wouldn't turn on, but my long pulsing shadow in front of me showed that behind me something was setting them and following me. I didn't dare stop running until I nearly broke the door into the staff room. No one was there but Derek. He squinted at me, and then a strange look spread over his face, a soft expression I had not seen before. Sympathetic even. He stood up and entered a small code into my scanner. The small red warning light turned green and my pick rate reset. I'll transfer you to the day shift.

[B]

This is a real good story about Bronx and his dad Ryan Ryan United.

[A]

Airlines customers We were returning home and one of the flight attendants asked Bronx if he wanted to see the flight deck and meet Kath and Andrew.

[B]

I got to sit in the driver's seat.

[A]

I grew up in an aviation family, and seeing Bronx kind of reminded me of myself when I was that age.

[B]

That's Andrew, a real United pilot.

[A]

These small interactions can shape a kid's future.

[B]

It felt like I was the captain.

[A]

Allowing my son to see the flight deck will stick with us forever. That's how Goodley's the Away the crisp autumn air filled my lungs as I stepped out of my car, the scent of pine needles mingling with the promise of relaxation. The Moonlight Pines Resort, nestled in the heart of the dense forest, beckoned with its promises of escape and tranquility. It seemed like the perfect, perfect getaway from the stresses of everyday life, an oasis of serenity in the midst of nature's embrace. The resort's grand entrance greeted me with towering pine trees lining the driveway, their branches reaching out like ancient fingers ready to weave tales of the forest's secrets. The main lodge stood ahead, its architecture blending seamlessly with the natural surroundings. As I approached, the heavy wooden door swung open, revealing a warm, inviting interior. A friendly receptionist named Emily handed me a brass key with a small pine cone shaped keychain. Room 237, sir. You'll find it on the second floor overlooking the forest. Enjoy your stay at Moonlight Pines. With a smile, I thanked her and headed towards the elevator. As the doors closed, I couldn't shake the feeling that I was being watched, but I dismissed it as a byproduct of my overactive imagination. The hallway on the second floor was dimly lit, casting eerie shadows along the walls. Room 237's door creaked open as I inserted the key, revealing a cozy and well appointed suite. The large window offered a breathtaking view of the pine forest below, the moonlight casting an ethereal glow on the swaying branches. The first night at Moonlight Pines was peaceful. I fell asleep to the soothing whispers of the wind rustling through the trees. However, as the days went by, a slight, subtle unease began to settle over me. The atmosphere shifted from tranquil to tense, as if the forest itself held secrets it wished to share. One evening, as I strolled through the resort's expansive grounds, the pines seemed to whisper in a language only they understood. The wind carried words that sent shivers down my spine, though I could not decipher their meaning. I tried to dismiss it as a trick of my imagination, but the feeling of being watched intensified. That night, as I lay in bed, the room took on an oppressive aura. Shadows danced along the walls, and the wind outside howled like a mournful spirit. Just as I was about to dismiss it all as paranoia, a faint tapping echoed through the room. It was rhythmic, deliberate, and seemed to come from the window. Reluctantly, I approached the window and pulled back the heavy curtains. The moonlit forest greeted me, but something was off. Among the pines, dark figures moved silently, their shapes undulating like shadows. Panic set in, and I stumbled back, my heart racing. The next day, I decided to explore the resort in search of answers. Moonlight Pines, once a haven of peace, now felt like a labyrinth of secrets. The staff seemed oblivious to the unsettling undercurrents, their smiles masking an unease that lingered just below the surface. In my quest for understanding, I stumbled upon an old photograph in the resort's library. Dated decades ago, it depicted a group of people clad in outdated clothing, their eyes hauntingly familiar. Among them was a figure that sent a chill down my spine, a man who bore an uncanny resemblance to me. The library's ancient books held tales of an ancient curse whispered to be tied to the very soil on which Moonlight Pines stood. Legend spoke of a vengeful spirit, wronged in life and seeking retribution from those who dared intrude upon its domain. Determined to uncover the truth, I delved into the resort's history. It turned out that Moonlight Pines had been built on the remnants of an old village long forgotten by time. The village had fallen victim to a mysterious affliction, and its inhabitants had vanished without a trace. With a sinking feeling, I realized that the physical the figure in the photograph bore the same name as mine. A distant ancestor, perhaps. The curse seemed to have latched onto my connection to the village, weaving a web of darkness around me. As the days passed, the whispers and the pines grew louder, their voices reaching a fevered pitch. Shadows danced with malevolent intent, and the tapping on the wind window became incessant. Sleep became a distant memory, replaced by haunting dreams that blurred the lines between reality and nightmares. My desperation drove me to seek the help of A local historian, Mrs. Thompson, who knew the secrets of Moonlight Pines. Without a knowing gaze, she shared the tragic tale of a wronged spirit seeking redemption trapped in the endless cycle of revenge. Mrs. Thompson guided me to a hidden chamber beneath the resort where ancient symbols adorned the walls. The air was heavy with the weight of the past, and a sense of foreboding clung to the space. She explained that the curse could only be broken by appeasing the restless spirit, allowing it to find peace at last. Armed with newfound knowledge, I embarked on a journey to unravel the mysteries of the ancient village. Guided by the whispers and the pines, I discovered a hidden burial ground deep within the forest. The gravestones bore the names of the long forgotten villagers, their souls trapped in limbo. With each step, the forest seemed to come alive, revealing memories of a time gone by. The spirit of the wronged man from the photograph led me through the shadows, recounting a tale of betrayal and tragedy that had condemned him to an eternity of torment. In a clearing surrounded by gnarled trees, I uncovered the truth behind the curse, A solemn ritual that had been performed centuries ago, sealing the fate of the village in its inhabitants. I stood motionless. Oh my God. The spirit, once a man of flesh and blood, had been betrayed by those he trusted most. Driven by a newfound purpose, I embarked on a quest to break the curse and free the tormented souls. The ancient symbols in the hidden chamber served as a guide, and with each carefully executed step, the air crackled with energy. The whispers in the pines reached a crescendo, echoing the agony of the past. As the final symbol was etched into the stone floor, the forest fell silent. The shadows retreated and the wind ceased its mournful wail. A blinding light enveloped the clearing, and for a moment yet time itself seemed to stand completely still. When the light subsided, the forest appeared different, revitalized, as if the curse had lifted. The spirits of the long lost villagers, finally at peace. Fading into the ether, the wronged man, his eyes filled with gratitude, nodded before dissipating to the air. Returning to Moonlight Pines, the once oppressive atmosphere had lifted. The pines whispered words of gratitude, and the shadows that once clung to the corners of the resort retreated. The staff, once trapped in a facade of normaly, now wore genuine smiles, their eyes reflecting a newfound serenity. As I checked out, Emily, the receptionist, handed me a small pine cone shaped keychain. This is a token of our appreciation for what you've done. Thank you. So much, sir. Moonlight Pines is so grateful. Her words carried a weight of sincerity, and as I left the resort, the whispers in the pines seemed to echo a chorus of thanks. Driving away, I glanced back at Moonlight Pines, the grand facade now bathed in the warm light of a new beginning. The ancient forest, once a realm of darkness, now held the promise of renewal. As the pines waved farewell in the gentle breeze, I couldn't help but feel a sense of accomplishment, knowing that the curse that haunted Moon Moonlight Pines had finally been laid to rest. I just really hope it stays this way. My heart skipped about anxiously, and I took another deep breath to calm my steadily rising nerves. While Melinda set the room up for our game, I sat at the center of Mel's bedroom, feeling every bit the part of a lab rat. The room had been tidied, the floor cleared of any obstructions as she fumbled to set up the old mahogany cheval mirror that we had managed to fumble down from her attic a few feet in front of me. The room was dim, intentionally so, casting us in an unusual, usually oppressive sort of darkness. The only light, with the exception of the candle we were using in the spirit of the game, was the moonlight streaming in through the window, which Mel had left open for the crisp night air. I shivered, both from the chill of the house made frigid by the Illinois fall weather, and the dark mass of anticipation swelling within me at the prospect of the game ahead, which particularly at that moment, felt far more like an experiment than a game. Mel turned to face me, then the mirror again, checking to make sure that my reflection was perfectly aligned at the center of its large surface. Finally satisfied with everything's place, she turned to face me. Okay, she said, clasping her hands together and shooting me a wide, excitable grin. You ready? Her eyes gleamed with nervous yet enthused anticipation. You get what we're doing, right? I shrugged. The video she had sent me had given a brief explanation of the game ritual, whatever. It was enough that I had a basic understanding. Still, as I sat in almost complete darkness, only the light of my phone illuminating the mirror, I couldn't help but feel a steadily creeping sense of unease at the prospect. Like so many strangling vines tightening around me, it wouldn't hurt to hear it all explained again, if for no other reason than to just buy myself a bit more time. Just. But explain it one more time. Like which part? What the game is or how to play it? I nodded, smirking a little. She shot me a look of mild irritation, lips pursing into a tight frown but obliged with a sigh. Okay, well, we're playing the mirror game, obviously. She gestured to the mirror behind her. I caught a glimpse of myself in it and couldn't help but frown, pulling my sweater tight around me. It's simple. You stare at yourself in the mirror for about 10 minutes, like really look at yourself and after a while you'll start seeing things. Things? I asked, the rising waters of reluctance audible in my voice. She shrugged. Things? She responded back. There's nothing specific. Some people see their face change, others see shadows or colors. It really depends on the person. As her words painted eerie pictures in my mind, I found my gaze wandering back to the mirror and felt a cold chill down my back like an icy caress. I closed my eyes, taking a deep breath and letting my mind drift towards the sounds of the night around me. From the open window I could hear the sounds of the surrounding woodland, the chirp of crickets and the croak of distant toads from the bog paired with the breeze moving through the leaves to form a soothing melody. I let myself focus on it, trying to quell my uneasiness. What? I paused, considering what I was asking. How is that possible? She scoffed again, arms hanging at her side in an expression fit for a frustrated child, not a 17 year old. I don't know. Science stuff. Your brain like makes up stuff to fill in what it can't see properly. Something like that. Did you even watch the video? I nodded. Relax. I tried it already. I saw some weird shadows. My face did some weird stuff in the mirror, but it wasn't too bad. I thought that over for a second. And we're in the dark because at that a slightly mischievous grin slipped to her face. She scratched her head, the tattoo on her arm flexing as she did so. My eyes lingered on it, it a little smiley face, right eye winking almost conspiratorially. That, she began, was my idea. Thought it added a little atmosphere. She waved her hands like some budget magician at the word atmosphere and we both laughed for a good bit after. After a moment her expression settled, smile fading. You ready? I guess, I muttered, sighing and casting a glance at the sky outside, littered with the distant stars like flecks of white cast across a dark canvas. I'll set the stopwatch. You should be done around the 10 minute mark, but you should start seeing things at 5. Nothing bad should happen. But obviously if you need anything, I'll be right outside the door. My stomach felt knotted with a sort of anxiety that I had previously only known being strapped down to the seat of some terrifying amusement park ride as a child. It's the sensation you get having locked yourself in for an experience that promises discomfort, at least horror. And maybe fate's far worse, at most. I simply nodded, stepping steadily, burgeoning nerves robbing me of my voice for a moment. Mel nodded back, and after setting up her phone to record me leaning in against the back of her desk, which sat to the side of the old mirror, she made her way to the bedroom door. Have fun, she chirped, casting a final look my way. And good luck. All I could manage was a nod in response, the faint tingle of unease gnawing at my gut. As the door shut behind her, I felt a small surge of that animal panic one only feels alone in the dark. It was a strange, contradictory sort of terror, both utterly isolating, yet feeling as though every snap of a twig or rustling leaf might harbor some unseen, unseen threat lingering just out of sight. I shuddered once more in my seat, this time having less to do with the temperature, frigid as it was. It's cold, I thought. This is stupid. I should just My mind began running through every reason to abandon our experiment outright. Still, I had agreed to try this. It had sounded interesting before. I was actually sitting in the dark by myself, and I knew Melinda wouldn't let me hear the end of it. Besides, once it was done, it would be her turn to try, which was a funny enough thought, given her jumpiness, to stir some motivation. I sighed, locking eyes with myself in the mirror a few feet ahead, taking stock of my appearance as I settled in for 10 likely very boring minutes, I grimaced. I had never been much of a fan of my appearance. I knew I wasn't ugly, but it had always bothered me how my nose felt just a tad too big for my face, or how bushy my eyebrows were. I never spent too long looking at myself for fear of whatever impressed perfection I might discover next. Still, Mel had spent almost an hour convincing me I looked fine and that perhaps it might help to see a crazier version of me, if anything, and my resolve faded as curiosity struck a twitch from just between my eyes derailed my train of thought. I paused, staring at the space, though there was nothing. For a moment I was certain I had seen something moving, crawling down between my eyebrows, across my nose. Still, whatever it was, it was gone as soon as it had appeared. I sucked in a breath, trying to still my heart. I was already questioning myself whether I had actually seen anything or, in my nervousness, convinced myself that I had. Just relax. If you Freak out. Mel will never let you hear the end of it. It's just a game. My attempts to reassure myself helped a bit. But as the seconds passed, my eyes locked on their counterparts in the mirror. I couldn't help but feel the distinct sort of unease one feels when they lock eyes with an eerie stranger. As the seconds passed, I began to question myself. Had my eyes always been so beady? Did I always appear so angry? Perhaps it was the lighting, I thought, or the angle at which I sat. But I couldn't help but notice how upset I looked. My eyebrows seemed to curve, creating a permanent glare. Lips rested in something nearing a sneer. It seemed almost sinister, somehow. It didn't feel right. I shifted, swallowing hard as I forced a smile. I smiled until I was squinting, watching with a mild unease in the mirror as my face shifted in response. Somewhere in the depths of my gut, I felt a distant, almost perceivable twinge of dread. I was smiling, obviously, but somehow even that didn't look right. I ran my fingers across my face, an odd sense of dysphoria taking hold as I did so. I couldn't explain it, but I felt almost disconnected from what I was seeing before me. Even my smile looked wrong. Sarcastic, almost. Is this what she was talking about? The illusions? The thought was both comforting and slightly unnerving. If this was the effect, a strange, mild shift in my expression, I supposed it wasn't anything too bad, though there was some. Something deeply disconcerting about it. I blinked. Wait. Did I blink? I felt my mind beginning to race, a mild undercurrent of panic beginning to set in. I had seen myself blink, but for some reason, I couldn't remember doing it. It's an instinct. You blink without realizing it. Just relax. My reasoning was sound, though somehow, deep down, I remained unconvinced. I had seen my reflection blink. There was no way for that to be possible. Unless I hadn't. With every passing moment, it felt like. Like the mirror was fading away, falling into the background, and my reflection growing more prominent, more pronounced. It's difficult to explain even now. You'll start seeing things. It's different for everyone. Mel's words played in my head, abating some of the growing panic with a much needed reminder. This was supposed to happen after all. There was no specific thing I was supposed to see, but the whole point was to see whatever illuminated illusion my mind conjured up. I guess mine was as imaginative as blinking. The thought almost made me laugh when I noticed something. It was strange, difficult to even put into words at First I could see that there was something wrong with my reflection. Yet for a while I couldn't tell what. It felt as though. Though my eyes were adjusting. Yet with every second, my own face seemed less familiar than before. Seconds passed with my eyes locked on my reflection, a silent, eerie tension in the air. It took a moment before I could tell exactly what felt off about it. My expression. Or rather the expression of my reflection. My face. My reflection was staring at me. Its face a placid mask of something like surprise or shock. Eyes wide and unblinking, my heart threw itself against my ribs, thudding with such intensity I could feel it in my ears. As initial confusion quickly began to give way, the slow trickle of panic grew to be a torrent. I began to make exaggerated expressions in the mirror, my mind desperately trying to make sense of the situation. The me in the mirror was unmoved. It took me several seconds to process the impossible reality of the situation. This is okay. This is supposed to happen. The reminders did little to escape assuage the swelling sense of animal panic, a primal sort of instinct that screamed for me to stop, to cover the mirror and get as far from that room as possible. I wouldn't let myself do it though. It was nothing more than an illusion after all. And knowing Mel was on the other side of the door made the idea of bursting out in a panic a reluctant one. My reflection's expression began to shift from a wide eyed, stomach churning stare to a look of morbid disgust. I felt my stomach flip as I watched its face shift with an unnatural speed and countenance, its brows arching angrily with an almost cartoonish exaggeration, a sneer of unwavering disgust peeling across cross its lips. Slowly it began to rise from its my chair. Its expression somehow only growing more hostile. Nothing more than an illusion. I tried my hardest to remain convinced of that. Yet as the reflection rose to full height, standing over me in my chair, it all seemed full. Far too intricate for any illusion that wasn't from some substance. My jaw twitched as I teetered on the verge of calling out for Melinda. The more this progressed, the less I found myself worried about seeming terrified I was. The other me raised a finger as if to indicate patience, and a cold dread swept through my chest as I watched it reach somewhere out of the mirror, its hand disappearing from view. For several moments, my heart pounded as it watched me, eyes gleaming with a look of malice that made my blood curdle. Nothing more than an illusion. It's nothing more than. There was a faint sound from the side of the mirror, a familiar hiss of wood. The candle flickered, then went out, plunging me into a darkness that seemed to move in on me. My eyes strained through the sparse light, only the moonlight oozing through the clouds and open window to illuminate the scene before me. I felt my mouth fall open in a silent question as I watched the drawer Mel used for her makeup supplies on the desk that sat beside the mirror. It slid open with a slow, deliberate sort of motion. From within, I could hear movement. My eyes darted between my reflection and the desk, my mind reeling as it refused to make the impossible connection until I saw what was in her my hands. It was a small handheld makeup mirror. I'd seen Melinda use it dozens of times. I'd even borrowed it on occasion. Realization struck with the force of a sucker punch, and I quickly realized I was shaking. Despite my best attempts, this was more than a mere illusion. Somehow, someway, the thing in the mirror was more than just the effect of light reflecting back off of a surface. It was tangible, real. The other me's smile stretched and stretched and stretched impossibly wide until I could see all of its teeth in an expression more fit for a shark than anything resembling a human. I tried to stand, but as I did, it threw itself back into the chair, eyes locking with mine. I felt something in my head. It's difficult to describe, almost like having another user log in to the same computer. For a split second there was the feeling that I was momentarily, somehow locked to it. My knees buckled and I fell back into the chair with a painful thud, my back landing awkwardly against it. The holidays mean more travel, more shopping, more time online, and more personal info in more places that could expose you more to identity theft. But LifeLock monitors millions of data points per second. If your identity is stolen, our US based restoration specialists will fix it, guaranteed. Or your money back. Don't face drained accounts, fraudulent loans, or financial losses and alone. Get more holiday fun and less holiday worry with LifeLock. Save up to 40% your first year. Visit LifeLock.com podcast Terms apply this episode.

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I felt a scream rising in my throat as the panic reached a fever pitch, mouth already agape Mel's name on the tip of my tongue when it crushed the mirror, I cried out, my right hand searing with pain, my flesh burning with the unmistakable sensation of glass, the digging deeper into my palm. At a glance I could see no blood, but the palm of my hand burned a deep red, several gashes visible beneath the skin. Our eyes locked. A primal horror gripped me as I took a shuddering breath and it glared back at me with that smile. Before I could call out, scream for Melinda's help, it raised its bleeding hand to its face, stretching its mouth open, slowly releasing the contents inside. The effect was immediate. Dueling sensations of warmth and cool coated my tongue, and though I didn't understand how I could taste the metallic blood in my mouth, feel the cuts appearing across my tongue as it smoked, smiled at me. Sticky ribbons of scarlet saliva trailed from my lips as I was too afraid to even risk swallowing while my mouth filled with the rancid taste. I waited with a pounding heart for the excruciating pain in my throat, Struggling to stave off nausea, unsure of what might happen if I accidentally swallowed. I took small, deliberate breaths through my nose. But the pain never came. It watched me, its utterly inhumane appearance somehow seeming satisfied as it took in my reaction. It isn't trying to kill me yet. The understanding emerged suddenly from the milestrom of horror and panic, something in its expression resonating. It just wanted me quiet. It's not done with me. The thought was like venom in my mouth, my mind spinning with the unnerving possibilities of just what that could mean. None of them were good. I tried to stand again, but found my muscles felt locked in place, the attempt making my legs seize with painful cramps. Oh, crap. I tried moving my feet, keeping my eyes locked on the mirrors, and I could feel my toes moving. So I wasn't paralyzed, it seemed, but as long as my doppelganger remained seated, I would be, too. My mind spun as I tried to think of some way, any way to call it out. Its eyes were changing, shrinking until only the pupils were left. I wanted to run, to scream, but I knew I could do neither. The sensation of the phantom glass shifting in my mouth as its sinister grin stretched served as a warning. Despite its inhumane appearance, its expression was unknown, unnervingly familiar. It was a nightmarish version of the look I would get right before doing something I shouldn't. A grin that usually spoke of mischief, now one of unspeakable bloodlust. I knew I had to act, but whatever came next would surely be devastating. I couldn't have expected what was going to happen. She rose to her feet in an instant, and my every muscle shrieked out in searing pain as I repeated the act unwillingly. Her teeth began to chatter with what I can only assume was excitement, giving that nightmare smile an even more otherworldly effect, those pinprick eyes peering through me. Slowly, she. We raised our hands to the corner of the mirror. My heart throbbed painfully with dreadful anticipation as they approached the corner, growing closer, closer, until the tips of my fingers touched the surface. It wasn't cool as glass should be. Instead, I felt a warmth beneath, as though I were merely touching the window. Window of some warm room. It was then that the glass began to. To move. The sensation sent A sickening chill down my back, raising goose flesh in its wake, the warm glass beginning to swell outward where my her fingers touched. I knew immediately what it was doing, and the icy claws of terror sunk deeper into my mind with the understanding. It' sit's trying to get out, I thought, my stomach churning with a nausea bred from adrenaline. It's trying to get out of the mirror. I was right, and as if to confirm my realization, I watched in horror as one by one, her fingers began to emerge, pulling through the glass that looked more like liquid now. With notable effort, it brought to mind the image of an animal reaching through an amniotic sac, and the thought made me want to vomit. Its flesh was impossibly cold, like ice to the touch, corpse like, and I wanted nothing more than to pull away. But I was stuck, my legs locked in the standing position, one arm. Arm locked at my side, while the other began to grasp the hand reaching out to the mirror. Her grip began to tighten around my fingers with an impossible strength. I felt something crack in my index finger and a dull yet searing pain radiated through my hand. My vision spun with the pain. I wanted to scream but held it back, my mouth clattering open and shut in unison with its own, the painful shift of glass palpable every time. I watched terror washing through me like floodwaters as slowly her hand began to emerge. It pushed upwards, as though moving through the surface of solid water. Gripping my wrist with impossible strength, it pulled me closer, closer, drawing its face nearer as it tried to press its way forth. Ear close to the surface, I could hear its voice. It was the hiss of death and decaying things, the whisper of dead fall leaves as winter's chill, cold hand left the world barren. I have spent a lifetime staring back at you, watching the pathetic life you lead attached to this disgusting form. A lifetime whispering that voice at the back of your head, urging you to cut and trim and break yourself. Its face slowly began to push through the glass, warping and splitting as it emerged. The center of its face emerged from the glass, and for a moment I could see what it truly was. Its skin was pale, the inhuman gray of a corpse with divots running through its skull almost like a pumpkin. Where there should have been a nose, there is nothing but skin. The only thing that remained was that smile, stretched impulse impossibly wide, dripping with murderous intent as it began to pull its top half through. Its form quickly returned to the mirror version of my own. And you brought me here. Now you'll watch. From behind the glass, I knew Immediately what it intended. Goosebumps charged along my back as I. I pictured myself trapped somehow within the mirror. If this is what was coming from the other side, I couldn't imagine what lurked there. I had to do something. Screaming was out of the question, as was running. Any attempt would at best result in nothing, and at worst my collapse. I worked my grand grip nervously around the corner of the mirror. She. It was so close I could feel the unnatural chill radiating from her skin and smell the rancid scent of decay heavy on its breath. I noticed quickly how its nose leaned to the right, the reverse of my own, an odd detail that my mind seemed to grasp, and what I felt might be my final moments. It's cold. Always cold inside. You'll never know. Warmth again. Just the cold, harsh touch of the mirror. It giggled, a cackling sound that made it evident that it never made such a noise before. It was then that an idea emerged from the midst of the milestrom of terror, a Hail Mary from somewhere in the panicked recesses of my mind. Burning anxiety coiled around my heart at the thought of what I was going to do, knowing that failure meant certain death or worse. Still, it seemed that or a fate worse was almost sealed. I. I had no other choice. I gripped the mirror for dear life, gritting my teeth despite the pain. The other me was a little more than halfway out. Its body with gray skin almost reptilian in appearance. In the brief seconds before it regained my own, I could feel its hot breath on my ear, taste the rot that seemed to spill from its very pores. It ran its tongue along my cheek, unnaturally long and forked, covered in small barbs. It's so cold and dark. Misery. Until the moment some wretched, weak thing comes to stare at you. Don't worry, I'll visit often. Every time I pass past a mirror, it was pulling me forward, my face nearing the surface of the mirror over its shoulder. I prayed my Hail Mary found its target, and with a final breath I tried to step back. My legs locked, and instead I found myself slowly tipping backward. There was a split second as me and the mirror rocked. It stuck in my grip where the thing peered down, then back at me, confusion plain on its face. In an instant, as I slowly began to rock backward, it was replaced with a fury that made me want to leap out of my skin. No. It snarled, its every feature twisted in a mask of animal rage. It clamped down on my arm, its mouth large enough to engulf my most of my forearm. I felt it digging in dull teeth slowly sinking through my flesh. The pain was excruciating, yet it was almost dulled by the realization that it was too late. As we began to careen backward, it released its grip, emitting a shriek that haunts my nightmares until this day, an odd cross between the haunting wail of a mountainous lion and the sound of metal in a car crash. I hit the ground with a thud that sent white waves of pain through me. The sound of shattering glass immediately followed, and through blurred vision I watched as it shattered with the mirror. Instantly the pain in my mouth was gone, replaced by the sharp ache of my skull and back, back as I lay amongst the glass. The door flew open and in a panic I struggled to stand, cutting my hand on some of the glass. Mel stared back at me from the open door, her expression equal parts shocked, confused, and horrified. What the hell happened? She almost screamed, taking in the sight of my bloodied form amongst the glass. She quickly crossed the room, careful to avoid the worst of the mess as she extended an arm to me. I was about to explain, panic still clinging to me like a stubborn fume, prepared to tell her everything, when I paused. My eyes lingered for a moment on her arm, on the smiling tattoo she had gotten at the end of our junior year. My stomach turned. I couldn't understand how I had missed it before. You okay? She asked, still appearing shocked. Yeah, I. I tried to stand up. I. I got dizzy, I offered, pulling my sleep sleeve down to hide the clear bite marks on my arm. I. I think I should get going. I don't feel the best. Should I drive you? She asked, making her way towards her dresser for her keys. I can if you. No, no, no, I'm fine. It'll clear my head, I said, and before she could dispute, I was making my way to the door. I exited the house, trying not to seem overly eager. Mel's lingering presence in the background made my heart pound with nauseatingly familiar anxiety as I pulled away. My eyes did not leave the house or her standing in its front yard until they were long out of sight. When she was, I hit the gas, speeding home and locking every door and window upon arrival. She has called me several times in the past few days, even stopped by. I told my parents not to answer. I'm not planning on answering her calls either, you see. It wasn't until the moment she offered me her hand that it clicked. Perhaps my paranoia had raised my perception a bit, or I was just willing to acknowledge what might have seemed an odd mistake before. But now I know for sure. I'd been there when Melinda got her tattoo, holding her hand as the design was drawn into her skin. It had been something simple, just as simplistic. Smiley face, winking its eye. When I arrived home that night after locking myself in my room, I hurried to my phone, scrolling through old photos for one in particular, praying that I was mistaken. It was taken the night she got the tattoo. When I saw it, cold confirmation settled in in the image on my phone, the tattoo was winking with its left eye. No matter how hard I rack my mind from every memory I have of her that night, it had been winking. It's right. I don't know how long my friend has been gone, swapped with her doppelganger from beyond the glass. What I do know is that thing that was there with me that night, who invited me to play that game? It was never Mel. I guess if there's anything to be taken from this, it's to be wary of your reflection. I don't really spend much unnecessary time looking in the mirror anymore. You never know who who or what is really looking back.