The apartment was small and dimly lit. The lights flickered as shadows danced across the room.

Lana gripped the edge of her bathroom sink, shivering. Her knuckles turned white against the porcelain.

A skinny, shell-of-a-person looked back at her from the reflection of the mirror and shuddered.

She was losing her grip – she could feel it.

Warning voices echoed in her head.

“Don’t take it Lana – it’s haunted,”

“The past tenant died there, and his spirit roams the house!”

“Choose another apartment, any other apartment will do!”

The first incident had been so subtle, she had been quick to dismiss it. She’d found her bedroom slightly rearranged – the lamp shade was different, and her bed had been moved from its position by an inch or two. She had found it odd, but didn’t give it much thought. She had just returned from a two-day work conference, distracted, exhausted, and easily confused.

The next incident had been more eye opening. She was standing in her living room, with no recollection of getting there. The last thing she recalled was leaving her house in the morning to grab coffee, then … nothing.  The entire day had been a blur. The next thing she knew, she was standing at the door of her living room, feeling hazy, with a small bruise above her left wrist. Her living room had been rearranged. The sofas had been tilted away from the electric fire with a few books in a neat pile on the coffee table. What caught her eye were the books …. they didn’t belong to her.

She had come up with a random explanation, trying to push back the panic bubbling under the surface.

After that, the blackouts became more frequent. Sometimes they lasted hours, sometimes only minutes. There was no consistency. She’d find herself in various parts of the apartment, each time with a fresh bruise and small changes in the rooms, always with a clear indication of someone else being there. Sometimes she’d find the curtains closed in the middle of the day, when she was sure she had opened them. She would find unwashed utensils in her kitchen that didn’t belong to her. Books would be propped up on her dining table, with random drawings done on pages.

Nothing disturbed her as much as the nights. She simply couldn’t shake away the feeling that she was being watched. Shadows randomly danced across the floor, and her bedside slippers were always in a different position each morning.

At times, she would randomly wake up, drenched in sweat. Her heart would be racing, feeling sure that someone was there. Yet, the room had always been empty.

Tonight was one of those nights.

Lana had woken up suddenly, her pulse thundering in her ears.

Feeling sick, she had rushed to the bathroom. She opened the tap and let the cold water run over her fingers.

Suddenly, she felt a cold breath on her neck.

Glancing up at the mirror, she froze.

Right behind her reflection was a twisted shadow lingering at the edge of light, stretched and contorted. Its limbs and torso looked as though they had been pulled too far and left to rot.

Its skin was thin and sagging, peeling in random areas to reveal nothing but rotting, blackened bones underneath.

Where there should have been eyes were open, empty sockets. Its blackened lips were parted, revealing broken, rotting teeth.

Lana turned around, sweating profusely.

There was no one.

She turned back to the mirror.

The shadow seemed to be much closer to her reflection now.

Lana gulped.

The lights flickered and grew dim.

She felt claustrophobic, as if the room was closing in on her.

Suddenly, her mirror cracked as a foul smell emitted.

From her distorted reflection, she saw a charred hand reaching out to her neck.

Lana screamed.