I touched the mirror. My fingers went through.
They told me not to go back. Not to the house on Vermillion Street. But the dreams wouldn't stop—the same dream where I'm twelve again, and the floorboards creak like a whisper: "Come play." Incident in a Ghost Land
On the other side, the little girl I'd buried—the one who learned to laugh while bleeding—reached out and pulled me through. I touched the mirror
The door swung inward on its own, greeting me like an old wound that never healed. Inside, the furniture was draped in sheets that looked like ghost gowns. But that wasn't the worst part. Incident in a Ghost Land
The worst part was the mirror at the end of the hall.