The first time it happened, Clara thought it was a trick of the light. She had been walking through the old part of town, where the cobblestones were worn smooth by centuries of footsteps and the air smelled faintly of damp wood and forgotten secrets. The sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows that stretched like fingers across the street. She paused at the corner of Elm and 12th, watching the clock tower tick with an odd rhythm—too slow, as if time itself was holding its breath. Then she saw it: a man standing on the other side of the street, dressed in a suit that looked decades out of date. His face was familiar, though she couldn’t place it. He raised a hand to wave, and for a moment, the world around her seemed to blur. When she blinked, the man was gone, and the clock tower now read exactly the same time as it had when she first arrived. But something felt wrong. The buildings around her had shifted slightly, their windows now facing the opposite direction, and the trees along the sidewalk stood taller than they should have. Clara didn’t mention the incident to anyone. She told herself it was just fatigue, the kind that made your brain play tricks on you. But the anomalies kept coming. Sometimes, she would step into a room and find it unchanged, yet the clock on the wall showed a different time. Other times, she’d hear voices from the past—murmurs of laughter, the creak of a swing set, the distant chime of a bell that hadn’t rung in years. These whispers always came from the same alley behind her apartment, where the bricks were cracked and moss clung to the walls like a living thing. One evening, she decided to investigate. The alley was quiet, the air thick with the scent of rain that never fell. She stepped inside, her boots crunching on broken glass and old leaves. At the end of the passage, there was a door she had never noticed before. It was small, wooden, and weathered, with a rusted knob that turned easily under her touch. Inside, the space was larger than it should have been, lit by a single flickering bulb that cast long, wavering shadows on the walls. On the far wall, a mirror stood alone, its frame ornate and gilded, as if it belonged to another era. Clara approached it cautiously, her reflection staring back at her—but not quite. The woman in the mirror smiled, then tilted her head, as if looking past Clara. A cold shiver ran down her spine. She reached out, but the mirror remained untouched, its surface unbroken. Then, without warning, the room filled with the sound of a ticking clock. Not the soft, steady beat of a normal clock, but something deeper, more deliberate, like the pulse of a living thing. The mirror began to ripple, and for a brief moment, Clara saw herself standing in a different version of the alley—one where the buildings were taller, the sky darker, and the moon hung low and full. In that vision, she was not alone. A figure stood beside her, watching her with eyes that mirrored her own. She stumbled back, gasping. The mirror returned to normal, and the ticking ceased. The door behind her slammed shut with a force that rattled the entire building. Clara ran, heart pounding, back through the alley and into the safety of her apartment. She locked the door and pressed her forehead against it, trying to catch her breath. In the days that followed, the anomalies grew worse. Clocks stopped, only to start again minutes later. People she knew spoke to her in voices she had never heard before. And the mirror—she could no longer look at it without feeling the weight of something watching her from the other side. One night, she found herself back in the alley, drawn there by an unseen force. The door was open, and the mirror was waiting. This time, she didn’t turn away. She reached out, and the surface rippled once more. This time, she stepped through. On the other side, the world was silent. No sounds, no wind, no movement. The buildings were still, frozen in time, and the sky above was a deep, endless blue. She turned, and there she was—herself, standing in the same position, but looking at her with a knowing smile. “Why are you here?” the reflection asked, her voice echoing strangely, as if spoken from another place. “I don’t know,” Clara whispered. The reflection tilted her head. “You always come back.” And with that, the mirror went dark, and Clara was left standing in the silence, wondering if she had ever truly left.