The message had been simple, but it chilled Eliot to the bone: “The mirror.”

He hadn’t slept since receiving it, his mind spiraling into dark places as he tried to understand what it could mean. Now, standing on a narrow, snow-covered street on the outskirts of Philadelphia, Eliot clutched his coat tighter against the cold, the winter wind biting at his skin.

The city felt empty and abandoned, as if everyone had fled, leaving only ghosts behind. Streetlights flickered weakly, casting faint halos on the ground that seemed too dim to pierce the gloom. This part of the city had long been forgotten, just like Ida.

Eliot checked the address scribbled on a scrap of paper in his hand. The message, sent from the same unknown number, had included this location, an address he didn’t recognize.

He looked up at the dilapidated building in front of him. It had once been a grand brownstone, but now it was crumbling, sagging beneath the weight of decades of neglect. Ivy climbed its walls like veins, and its windows were broken, gaping holes that peered into the dark like empty eyes.

He hesitated, his breath a puff of white in the freezing air, before pushing open the rusted gate. It creaked loudly in the silence, the noise echoing off the surrounding buildings, too loud in the stillness of the night. Eliot’s heart pounded as he approached the entrance, his footsteps crunching in the snow.

There was no doorbell, no knocker. Just a door, barely hanging on its hinges. He knocked once, tentatively, and the sound reverberated through the empty halls beyond. For a moment, there was nothing—just the sound of the wind whistling through the gaps in the broken windows.

Then, the door creaked open slowly, revealing a dark interior.

“Come in,” a voice rasped from the shadows.

Eliot swallowed, his throat dry, but stepped forward, crossing the threshold.

—

The interior of the house was a ruin, much like the exterior. Dust coated every surface, and the air smelled of damp wood and decay. Faded wallpaper peeled from the walls, and old furniture sat broken and forgotten. The place felt heavy with the weight of time as if it had been trapped in a moment of stillness for far too long.

From the shadows, a figure emerged. An old man, hunched and frail, shuffled toward Eliot. His skin was pale, almost translucent, and his eyes were sunken, their color a washed-out gray. He wore a long, tattered coat that brushed the floor as he moved, his steps slow and deliberate.

“You’re the one looking for her,” the old man said, his voice a low rasp as if it hadn’t been used in years. “Ida, yes?”

Eliot nodded, his pulse quickening. “You know her? You know what happened to her?”

The old man gave a small, humorless smile, his lips barely twitching. “I know many things. But what you seek is dangerous. You’re meddling with forces you don’t understand.”

“I don’t care,” Eliot said, his voice firmer than he felt. “I need to find her. I’ll do whatever it takes.”

The old man regarded Eliot with a penetrating gaze. His eyes seemed to see straight through him as if weighing his resolve, measuring his soul.

“The Forgotten,” the old man said, almost to himself. “They are ancient, older than this world. They thrive in the spaces between, in the gaps where memory fades and reality unravels. Once they’ve claimed someone, they leave nothing behind. No trace. No memory. Just… absence.”

Eliot’s heart pounded in his chest. “But there has to be a way to bring her back.”

The old man narrowed his eyes. “There is always a way. But nothing comes without a cost. To meddle with the Forgotten is to invite danger upon yourself. Once you cross into their realm, you risk being erased too—just like her.”

“I don’t care about the risk. I just want to find her,” Eliot said, desperation creeping into his voice.

The old man studied him for a long moment, then nodded slowly. “Very well. But understand this—once you step into their world, there is no guarantee you will return. And if you do… you may not be the same.”

Eliot’s hands clenched at his sides. He had come too far to turn back now. “Just tell me what I need to do.”

—

The old man led Eliot to a back room, small and dimly lit, with only a single flickering candle illuminating the space. The walls were lined with books—ancient, dusty tomes filled with forgotten knowledge. In the center of the room was a table, and on it was a tarnished, old mirror.

“The mirror is the key,” the old man said, his voice low. “It is a threshold between worlds. Through it, you can cross into the realm of the Forgotten. But be warned—their world is a shadow of our own—a twisted reflection. Once inside, you cannot tell what is real or a trick in your mind. They will try to confuse you, to make you doubt yourself. But you may find her if you hold on to your purpose.”

Eliot nodded, his throat tight. The old man’s words filled him with a deep, gnawing fear, but he had no choice. He had to try.

“How do I open the doorway?” Eliot asked.

The old man gestured to a small, ancient-looking dagger on the table beside the mirror. Its blade was thin, curved like a crescent moon, and its handle was wrapped in leather worn smooth by age.

“You must perform a ritual,” the old man explained. “The dagger will act as a conduit between this world and theirs. You must cut your palm and press your blood to the mirror. Only then will the doorway open. But remember—once you cross, there is no going back until you find what you seek.”

Eliot picked up the dagger, its weight heavy in his hand. He stared at the blade for a long moment, then steeled himself, drawing it across his palm quickly, sharply. Pain flared, hot and bright, and blood welled up from the cut. He pressed his hand to the mirror, smearing the blood across its surface.

For a moment, nothing happened.

Then, the mirror began to ripple like its surface had become liquid. The reflection twisted and distorted, the image of the room warping into something dark and unrecognizable. Eliot’s breath caught in his throat as the room around him seemed to fade, the world dimming, until only the mirror remained, shimmering before him like a portal to another world.

The old man’s voice cut through the silence. “Go now while the doorway is open. But be careful. The Forgotten do not give up their prey easily.”

With one final glance at the old man, Eliot stepped forward, his hand reaching toward the mirror. The moment his fingers brushed the liquid surface, a strange coldness surged, pulling him in.

—

The world on the mirror’s other side was a twisted reality. Eliot stumbled forward, disoriented, his breath fogging in the air. It was still Philadelphia, or at least some shadow of it, but everything was wrong.

The buildings loomed higher, their edges blurred and distorted, their windows dark and hollow like empty eyes. The snow on the ground was a sickly gray, and the sky above was a swirling mass of black clouds, heavy and oppressive.

The city felt abandoned and lifeless, as though all the people had been wiped away, leaving behind only echoes. Eliot’s footsteps echoed unnaturally loud in the silence, and the shadows seemed to stretch and shift as he moved, following him like silent watchers.

“Ida!” he called, his voice swallowed by the thick, oppressive air. “Ida, can you hear me?”

There was no answer—only the wind, howling through the streets, carrying the faintest whisper of her name.

Eliot’s heart pounded as he moved deeper into the city, searching for any sign of her. The old man had warned him that the Forgotten would try to confuse and trap him in their world. He couldn’t afford to lose focus. He had to find her. He had to—

A voice, soft and distant, cut through the silence. “Eliot…”

He froze, his heart skipping a beat. It was her. Ida’s voice. Faint but unmistakable.

“Ida!” he shouted, spinning around, searching the darkened streets. “Ida, where are you?”

The voice came again, closer this time but still distant. “Eliot… help me…”

Eliot’s pulse raced. He followed the sound, his footsteps quickening as he moved through the twisted streets. The voice was drawing him deeper into the heart of the city, into the shadows that seemed to grow darker with every step.

But something was wrong.

The further he went, the more the world around him shifted. Buildings twisted and stretched, their shapes warping unnaturally. The sky darkened, the clouds swirling faster, like a storm was about to break. And the shadows were moving now, creeping toward him, curling around his feet like tendrils.

To Be Continued …

Read Part I here.

Read Part II here.

Read Part III here.

Read Part IV here.

Read the entire book on Kindle here.