The mirror was already in the attic when the family moved into the old house on Vine Street — tall, standing on its own feet, its frame gone dark with age nobody in the family caused. The reflection looks completely normal at first, until a blink comes back half a second late, then a wave, then a turn of the head, always just barely out of sync. It's easy enough to blame on tired eyes after a long day of unpacking. Except every mirror in the house is doing it now, and once, just once, an entire reflection stood still and watched instead of moving at all.