I remember the night it all changed.

I woke up, drenched in sweat, my bladder screaming at me. It was a winter night, but it felt like I was trapped in a sauna, my pyjamas stuck to me like a second skin. And despite my skin burning up, my core still felt like ice.

Forced to leave the comfort of my bed, I teetered through the darkness, the layout of the room and the spread of my organised mess familiar in my mind. I was a sensitive sleeper, so I liked having my room pitch black. My parents, on the other hand, kept the house lit like the midday sun, so it felt like I was exiting a cave when I opened my bedroom door.

The explosion of light was blinding, and I clenched my eyes shut, futilely fighting to stop sleep from slipping away as I blundered through the hallway, seeking refuge in the bathroom. The door a shield against the blinding force, I completed my business in darkness with my brain on autopilot, eyes half closed, trying to preserve the sensation of sleep that would allow me to drift readily into dreams, adding a vignette to my wakefulness. Looking up at the mirror above the sink, the effect took on a frosty quality, perhaps the result of condensation in the frigid air.

I fumbled for a cloth from the towel rack and started haphazardly wiping the surface of the mirror. Mother was very particular about bathroom etiquette, and if she found water on the floor, the toilet seat not down, or in this case, condensation on the mirror, I would get an earful.

The condensation didn't seem to clear so I increased the pressure I applied with the towel, circular motions gradually growing more determined: rougher, harder, faster.

"What on earth?" I murmured to myself, confused. The cloth still felt dry to the touch, and when I moved in for closer inspection, I realised the haze also remained.

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I stood there blinking at the mirror, until, almost imperceptibly at first, a shadow of a reflection emerged beneath the fog.

Had my brain been fully awake, the dry cloth, still misty mirror and shadow would have been dead giveaways that this wasn't normal, but I was still half asleep — suppressing my mind even. In fact, I was in denial, attributing the strangeness to my sleep-delirious self: the cloth could have been really absorbent, the shadow a result of the dark room, and the mist just blurry vision.

I reached out, try—

"—Aaagh!" Air rushed out of my lungs and I jerked backwards, flailing around, stumbling.

The shadow wasn't my reflection, it was the silhouette of a woman. No face, no features, no definition. A dark mass somehow staring at me.

Fear coursed through my veins, and my hands reached for the switch, bathing the room with the light I'd been staunchly avoiding. My head snapped back to the mirror, palms raised as though they'd protect me from the spectre, but the mysterious shadow was gone, leaving only my wide-eyed reflection staring back at me, cowering behind his own arms.

The thrumming of my heart filled the silence of the room, and I forced myself to speak to stop its suffocating effect. "What... was that?" I managed to wheeze.

With a mixture of relief and apprehension churning in my stomach, I cautiously approached the mirror, my weight on the balls of my feet in case I needed to leap back. The mirror was… normal — cool to the touch and moist.

Was it a fever dream, perhaps? I was ill, so that was the likeliest explanation. The alternative… What was the alternative? A ghost? Sleep deprivation? Someone's power? I hadn't changed yet, so it couldn't have been me. My mind raced through the possibilities as I stared at my reflection, my eyes occasionally flitting around the reflective canvas for signs of something supernatural. That's when I heard it: the faint creaking of floorboards, slowly getting louder, getting closer—

Knock, Knock.

I startled hard, my trepidations now targeting the door.

Someone was outside.