Baskadia

Daniel's first impression of moving into the dilapidated apartment complex was its quietness; it wasn't the sugary sweetness of silence in suburban tranquility. To him, it was an unnatural quietness, a numbness that was crushing to the soul. Even as he stepped through the darkened corridors, his own footsteps were muted.

Room 403 was elegantly under-furnished, the manner in which he liked it. The only exception was the old mirror glued to the wall opposite where his bed lay and the item of furniture he could hardly move despite his immense efforts.

The first evening, he heard it-an echo. Not of himself but something-delayed. When he lay down to sleep with a yawn, a gushy exhalation echoed a second later. When he laid his book aside, the sound of it echoed in an almost unnoticeable thud.

He believed that this was because of the acoustics of the old building.

The second night, however, the echo was clearer. When he whispered, 'Hello?' the response wasn't quite his voice. It was a little raspier, like it had been trapped in the walls for way too long.

By the third night, the echo was already pre-empting his actions. When he sat up in bed, he was already able to hear the creaking of the bed under him even before he moved positions. When he stretched his hand to grab his glass of water, the sound of clinking glass came a fraction of a second ahead.

He froze and spun to the mirror. His own reflection sat staring back at him, wide hallow eyes looking up at him.

Then, as he stepped backward, it stood up from the chair.

Not that Daniel screamed-at least, not in this world. But at his reflection advancing, an echoing scream reverberated through the silent apartment.

And then the silence returned.

Room 403 was again empty.