THE MEMORY IN THE MIRROR

CHAPTER 12 - First Clue in the Glass

Night fell over the Thomas home like a slow-moving storm.

The hallway lights stayed off, but the mirror glowed faintly - a soft silver pulse rising and fading like someone breathing on the other side of the glass. Emily stayed close to her parents on the couch, the quilt square wrapped gently in her hands.

Her mother tried to stay calm, but her posture was stiff, her eyes fixed on the hallway.

Her father, normally the rock of the family, looked shaken, exhausted, hollow.

Mrs. Hawthorne sat in the armchair with her hands folded tightly in her lap. "The Whitlock family believed that once the shadow found them, it followed their bloodline through time," she said quietly. "But you aren't the Whitlocks. So it shouldn't want you."

Emily swallowed. "It wants the mirror."

Mrs. Hawthorne nodded slowly. "And the mirror... wants you."

Emily felt her father tense beside her. "That's not comforting."

Mrs. Hawthorne turned to him. "She's the only one who can see Lydia. She's the only one the mirror responds to. That means you don't need to be afraid of Emily being chosen."

Her mother leaned forward. "Then what should we be afraid of?"

Mrs. Hawthorne's voice was gentle. "Being unprepared."

The mirror pulsed brighter.

Emily felt it - the tug - like a soft hand pulling at her chest.

"Mom... Dad... I think it's trying to show us where to go."

Her father stood immediately. "You're not going near it alone."

Emily walked with both of her parents flanking her, Mrs. Hawthorne staying close behind.

The mirror brightened as Emily approached, as if sensing her presence.

She lifted the quilt square toward it.

The glass rippled.

Then-

An image formed.

Not a memory.

A place.

A building with faded red bricks and a large white sign covered in vines.

Her mother squinted. "What is that?"

"It looks like... an old school," her father said.

Mrs. Hawthorne took a slow breath. "It is. That's the original Whitlock Schoolhouse. It closed nearly sixty years ago."

Emily pressed closer. She could see details forming now:
• A cracked bell tower
• Shattered windows
• Overgrown weeds surrounding the playground
• And something else-

A faint glowing spark inside the school.

Emily's heart raced. "The quilt piece is there. I know it."

Her father frowned. "That's an hour away. And completely abandoned."

Emily turned to him, gripping the quilt square tightly. "Dad... if we don't get these pieces, the shadow will keep coming. It's not done with us."

Her mother touched Emily's cheek, voice trembling. "Why can't the mirror just show us everything? Why can't Lydia tell us exactly where the pieces are?"

Mrs. Hawthorne answered softly. "Because the past is scattered. Lydia's memories are broken. The mirror is stitched together with emotions - not maps."

Emily looked back into the glass.

The image shifted suddenly.

A classroom.
Desks overturned.
Dust floating like gray snowfall.
And on one of the desks, unmistakably-

Another quilt square.

Emily gasped. "There it is!"

The mirror zoomed in slightly, revealing the pattern:

A diagonal line
and two circles
forming a different part of the design.

Her father stepped back. "This is insane. We're being asked to go into an abandoned school in the middle of nowhere for a piece of fabric."

Her mother shook her head. "It's not just fabric. It's protection."

Mrs. Hawthorne nodded solemnly. "If the quilt is ever whole again... the shadow can be destroyed or sealed forever."

Emily turned to her parents.

"Please," she whispered. "We have to go."

Her father paced, running his hands through his hair. "Okay... okay. But we need daylight. We need supplies. Flashlights. A plan."

Emily felt hope warm her chest. "So we're going?"

Her father sighed heavily, but nodded. "Yes. Tomorrow morning."

Her mother pulled Emily into her arms. "We'll do it together. As a family."

The mirror pulsed again softly, approving.

But as they turned away, ready to prepare for the coming journey-

The glass darkened suddenly.

All light drained from it.

Then a new image formed, faint, blurry, but unmistakable:

Darkness inside the schoolhouse.
A long hallway.
A small figure standing in the shadows.

Not Lydia.

Emily's breath caught.

This child was different.

Small.
Motionless.
Facing the wall as if hiding.

Her father frowned. "Who is that?"

The child in the mirror turned its head slowly.

Its face was blurred.

Its eyes were dark hollow pits.

And its small voice whispered through the house:

"...Emily..."

Emily stumbled backward into her father's arms.

Her mother gasped and covered her mouth.

Mrs. Hawthorne whispered sharply, "That is not Lydia. That is something else. Something tied to the school."

Emily stared in horror as the child lifted one arm and pointed directly at her, lips stretching unnaturally wide.

And then-

The mirror cracked sharply.
Not breaking - but reacting.

The image vanished.

Emily collapsed into her parents, shaking.

Her father lifted her into his arms. "No more tonight. We're locking this hallway. We're staying together."

Mrs. Hawthorne approached the mirror slowly, fear in her every step.

"This shadow isn't just in the Whitlock house," she whispered.
"It's in their memories."
"It's in the quilt."
"And now... it's inside the mirror."

Emily clutched the quilt square protectively.

"We have to go," she whispered. "Before it gets stronger."

Her father nodded, holding her tightly.

"Tomorrow," he said. "At first light."

Emily looked one last time at the mirror before her father turned off the hallway light.

The glass flickered once.

Silver light shimmered faintly.

And Lydia appeared for a split second - her little hand pressed against the inside of the mirror.

Her lips forming a silent plea:

"Hurry."