Slowly, Cassidy pushed back the quilt and sat up on the edge of the bed.

With his eyes never leaving the mirror, he stood and walked over to it. The writing was, once again, in something that looked like lipstick. It was too light to be blood, something that seemed more evident in the low light than before. He couldn't have taken notice of the colour previously, which surprised him. Something like that, a message out of nowhere, should have meant he'd have taken in all aspects of it.

The colour didn't matter, anyway. Why fixate on something so trivial? The fact it was there at all was the main thing. There again.

But was it really? Could he be... no. It wasn't an apparition. It wasn't all in his mind. He reached out and ran his finger over one of the letters, just as he had the first time. He could feel the slightly raised surface. He could see how the 'ink' spread under his touch and between his fingers. It was real.

He asked his smart speaker to turn on the main light, or 'big' light. The sudden illumination made him blink. When his eyes focussed once again on the message, it was intact. He couldn't see where he'd rubbed at it, yet there were still the remnants on his finger and thumb tips. He frowned and raised his hand, his index finger was poised next to the 'H.' Was he going mad to be treating this as reality? Was he still asleep, dreaming? Had the previous message been nothing more than a dream?

He remembered something. If you thought you might be dreaming, you couldn't be. The mind accepted what it saw as genuine. If he was curious about his wakefulness, surely that meant he must be awake, didn't it? Wasn't that the same with insanity? If you thought you might be crazy, you had to be sane? Cassidy wasn't sure. He did think, though, that he couldn't be asleep if he was questioning it.

OK.

He pressed his finger to the mirror and moved it across, cutting through each letter and dragging the lipstick sideways. By the time, a fraction of a second, he'd cut through the 'O,' he could see the fragments of the 'H' moving back into place. Then the rest of the word.

"No!"

He tried again, faster. Again, the word was re-formed. He attempted to erase it a third time, now swiping from side to side, scrubbing the message into a mess of cosmetics.

Hello.

He knew there was no one else in the house. No one was standing beside him, rewriting as he obliterated. Just him.

Hello, the message said.

OK.

"Hello," he said.

And the message was gone. Vanished. Cassidy hadn't blinked. He hadn't looked away. It was no longer there. The mirror was clean, apart from the mark across the top, the window wiper of a greasy hand. The residue was gone from his fingers.

"Hello?" he repeated.

"Hello!"

The glass remained free of any further markings. After a few minutes of standing in front of it, Cass went back to his bed. He laid curled up, his hands between his thighs. His eyes didn't leave the mirror.

Sure he would be awake for the rest of the night, he told himself to stay vigilant. He'd keep watch for any further changes. The forming of another message. He'd keep watch. He'd keep...

He awoke an hour or two later and wearily asked for the light to be turned off. He was asleep again before he could wonder about anything untoward.

When he opened his eyes again, he was facing the opposite way. His back was to the door and the wardrobe, and he watched a spider drift down on its web until it was past the edge of the bed. He had no issue with spiders. If he saw one, he would usually leave it where it was, unless it was directly above his pillows. Then it would have to go. He would gently catch it in a piece of tissue, then set it free out of the window.

"Kill it!" Elise used to scream at him.

He'd nod, take some tissue, either toilet or kitchen roll, and pick the arachnid up. Elise would back away as he walked past her, telling him to throw it in the wheely bin outside. She didn't want dead spiders in the kitchen one, in case they came back to life and strayed into her mouth while she was sleeping. He would make a show of going outside but, when he opened the bin's lid, he dropped the still living creature by the side of it. It would scurry off and he would wish it luck for its remaining life.

"It's dead, isn't it? You killed it, didn't you?"

He'd nod again and she would sigh with relief.

With a jolt, he remembered what he was supposed to be doing. Staying awake and watching the... He spun around, dragging the cover with him.

Hello Cassidy.

There was no such thing as ghosts. There was no one in his house. He was not imagining things. Despite all of that, messages were appearing on his bedroom mirror.

How to react? What to do? Search the house again? What was the point? He knew it would be fruitless. Seek the aid of a medium to hold a séance? Why? They were frauds preying on the desperation of the grieving or weak willed. See a psychiatrist? They'd say he was crazy, when he knew he wasn't. So, what should he do?

Play along? Run from the house screaming?

The latter wasn't the best idea. It wouldn't give the right impression to the neighbours. He didn't have any inclination to impress them, preferring people to take him as he was, rather than putting on a façade. He wanted to make them think they lived next to a lunatic, either. All he could do was play the, somewhat warped, game.

Was the message a response to him? He had spoken to the mirror, or the air or the spiders, whichever was listening. There'd been no vocal comeback. Perhaps whoever it was couldn't speak. Maybe they were mute. Maybe they were invisible! In a world where superhero movies and comics were not just commonplace, but some of the most popular media ever, could it be possible there really was someone out there with superpowers?

No. There was not.

Cass wasn't ready to accept a supernatural explanation. He just didn't have another one. Until he did, there was only one course of action. Feeling foolish, he licked his lips and swallowed. His throat was suddenly dry. Going back to his bed and retrieving his drink of water meant moving away from the mirror and possibly disconnecting from whoever had just used his name. He'd live with it for now.

"Hi," he said.

His voice sounded flat, as if it knew he was being an idiot and didn't want to put any effort into the task. Let him show himself up on his own. He cleared his throat and spoke again:

"Hello. I'm Cassidy."

Oh... They knew that, clearly. They'd written it.

He didn't expect an answer. To do so wouldn't just make him feel foolish, it would make him be foolish. He was pleased there was no one else with him. They'd be laughing at him, and it made him feel exposed. Cold, with the eyes of an empty bedroom on him.

Of course, no riposte was forthcoming. It wouldn't be. There was no one to give one. Speaking out only served to demonstrate why he shouldn't have said anything. He would return to his bed. Go back to sleep, or try to. Treat tomorrow as a new day. In fact, treat tomorrow as the first day. None of this happened. It would be stricken from the record, and, eventually, stricken from his memory. Life would go on, as it was prone to do.

Could he sleep again? It seemed to be all he was doing. Yes, he was tired due to the move and the stress. Yes, an empty house meant no interactions to fill his time. He was used to activity. Conversations. Sex. Now, he had none of those, the closest to either being talking to a silver backed pane of glass or the roll of tissue paper in his bedside drawer. He could only try. Close his eyes and listen to a thunderstorm. Watch a reality television show filled with non-celebrities. It would work in the end.

If it didn't, he'd remain awake for the rest of the night and, in the morning, be exhausted. It wouldn't be the only time. He'd recover quickly and his body would reset itself in time for the next night. He would put it behind him, locking it in a mental box, stored in its very own compartment. It'd then be shoved at the back of his mind with all the other old memories he didn't want to remember. And, life would go on.

OK. Let's do this.

Cassidy shrugged, both to demonstrate his new found indifference and to indicate he didn't know if all that was even close to being the truth. He thought it was, but he'd been known to lie to himself in the past. He'd find out.

He took a step towards the bed. Another. He could feel something pulling him back. Not a hand or command, more a need. He ignored it, using another step to show he was his own boss. The compulsion grew, however.

Turn back. Look. See!

They were voiceless words, but the meaning was clear.

No! He would not! Lift one foot and put it down. Lift the other and put it down, each time moving closer to the bed. Lift and down. Lift and turn. Lift and look. Lift and see.

"For fuck's sake!" he exclaimed in exasperation.

Fine!

He turned back to the mirror.

"What?"

But he could see what.

I'm Amy.

https://youtu.be/J_Q0ki3WP68