The fog clung to the streets of Ridgemont like a heavy shroud, curling through alleyways and between the towering oaks that lined the town’s winding roads. It seemed to seep into every crack and crevice, muffling the town in an oppressive silence. The group, now scattered in the remains of the library, could feel the weight of the world pressing in on them.

Rachel Barnes stood at the cracked window, staring out into the dense gray nothingness beyond. Her reflection in the glass was faint, blurred by the mist outside. The silence of the room was palpable, as if the fog had infected the air itself, turning every breath into a struggle. Her mind raced, the events of the past few days looping in her head like a broken record.

They had tried everything to understand what was happening. Nick had been pouring over old town records, trying to find some connection, some clue in the history of Ridgemont. But all they had were fragments of strange symbols, mentions of old legends, and stories about disappearances stretching back decades. Dr. Amelia Frost had been experimenting with the little equipment she had left, trying to see if there was something physical in the air or the fog that could explain the madness that had consumed the town. But none of it made sense.

And Rachel—she was waiting. Waiting for the Crawler to show itself again, waiting for the thing that had haunted her for years to make its move.

The fog shifted outside the window, swirling like smoke, and Rachel saw something move within it. A faint shape—familiar, yet wrong. Her breath caught in her throat as she leaned closer to the glass. The shape became clearer, and she realized with a sickening jolt that it was her.

Her reflection, standing in the fog, but different.

Older. Her hair was streaked with gray, her face gaunt and hollow, her skin stretched tight over her bones. The reflection stared back at her with eyes that were cold, distant, as though they had seen too much. Rachel blinked, her breath quickening. She stepped back from the window, shaking her head.

It was just a trick of the light. Just another symptom of the madness that had infected the town.

But the reflection didn’t fade. It remained there, hovering in the fog, staring at her with that empty gaze.

And then it smiled.

A slow, twisted smile that stretched too wide, revealing rows of teeth that were sharp, broken. Rachel’s stomach lurched. She stumbled back, bumping into the chair behind her, her pulse racing.

“Rachel?” Jake’s voice snapped her out of the trance. He was watching her from across the room, concern etched into his face. “You alright?”

“I… I thought I saw something,” she muttered, casting a glance back at the window. But the fog outside was thick again, swirling and shifting, obscuring any sign of the reflection.

She didn’t know how to explain it. How could she? The Crawler had always been tied to reflections, to shadows, to things that didn’t belong in this world. She had learned that much over the years. But this… this was different.

"Everyone needs to stay away from the windows," Rachel said, her voice low but urgent. She could still feel the cold eyes of her reflection staring at her, even though it was gone. "Something's happening."

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Jake frowned but nodded, moving to close the blinds, casting the room in deeper shadow.

Across the room, Nick Harper was hunched over a stack of papers, his hands trembling slightly as he flipped through pages of old records. "I've been going through these old reports—disappearances, weird accidents. Every time something like this happens, there are signs. Small at first. Faces in the fog, strange reflections in windows, mirrors. People start seeing themselves… but not themselves."

"What do you mean?" Amelia asked, her arms crossed as she leaned against the desk, trying to maintain her composure.

Nick paused, glancing at the others. "I mean, people see versions of themselves. Twisted versions. Like how they might look if… if they were dead."

The room went silent. A thick, uncomfortable tension filled the air.

Rachel’s mind raced. The reflection she had seen… was that how she was going to die? Gaunt, lifeless, empty? A shell of herself, consumed by the horrors that had come to Ridgemont?

“We need to get out of here,” Amelia said, her voice steady but laced with urgency. “The fog is playing tricks on us. Whatever it is, it’s affecting our minds.”

As if in response to her words, the dim light from the old standing lamp flickered. Rachel looked down at the polished surface of the table in front of her, her breath catching in her throat.

Another reflection.

This time, the version of herself that stared back was not old—but horribly disfigured. Her face was twisted, contorted, as though it had been burned or melted, the skin sagging in grotesque folds. One of her eyes was missing, an empty, black socket where it had once been. The mouth, twisted in a perpetual scream, gaped wide, teeth jagged and broken.

Rachel gasped, pushing herself away from the table, her heart thundering in her chest. The others turned to her, confusion and fear flashing across their faces.

“What is it?” Jake asked, stepping forward.

“Don’t… don’t look at the reflections,” she managed to say, her voice barely above a whisper.

But it was too late.

Nick glanced down at the reflection in the window nearest to him, and his face went pale. He took a step back, his body trembling. “No… no, no, no…”

“What did you see?” Amelia demanded, crossing the room in long strides.

Nick shook his head, his eyes wide with terror. “It’s… it’s me. But… I’m dead. I’m covered in blood, my face—” His voice cracked, and he turned away from the reflection, unable to finish his sentence.

Jake swallowed hard, glancing warily at the reflective surfaces around them—the window, the glass cabinet, the old mirror on the wall. "It’s messing with us. Showing us things. Things that haven’t happened. Things that could happen."

Rachel forced herself to look away from the table, her mind spinning. The Crawler was playing with them, showing them their deaths, their worst fears. Every reflection was a different version of their fate. Some old, some broken, some horrifically disfigured.

But all of them dead.

The lamp flickered again, and the shadows in the room seemed to grow darker, deeper, as though they were closing in. The faces in the reflections weren’t just images anymore. They were staring at them, watching, waiting.

“We need to cover them,” Rachel said, her voice firm, fighting to keep the panic at bay. “The mirrors, the windows. All of them. Now.”

The others moved quickly, throwing blankets over the reflective surfaces, anything they could find to cover the glass. But Rachel could still feel them—the faces, the reflections, lurking just beyond the surface, waiting for their moment.

Her mind flashed back to the day it had all started. The day she had first seen the Crawler, when her parents had tried to save her life with a deal they didn’t understand. She had been blind then, but she could see now. And what she saw terrified her more than anything else.

The Crawler was getting closer.

She could feel him. He had always been in the shadows, in the reflections, watching her, waiting. And now, as the fog thickened and the faces in the glass multiplied, she knew he was coming.

There would be no escape this time.

And the reflection that would be waiting for her—old, disfigured, hollow—wasn’t just a vision of a possible future.

It was a promise.