In the dim light of the candle-lit room, Evelyn could feel the weight of the night pressing against the walls. Shadows danced around her, flickering in a chaotic rhythm as the flames flickered uncertainly, casting elongated silhouettes that appeared to stretch and distort. It was a place where her mind often wandered – the attic of her grandmother’s old house – where dust motes hung like a curtain between her and the mysteries that lurked beyond the thin veneer of reality.
Her grandmother had often told her tales of the Voidwalkers, creatures that slipped through cracks in existence, voids between worlds. They were said to be shadows of those who had ceased to be, drifting eternally, searching for something they could never grasp. Evelyn had always dismissed it as simple folklore, stories spun to keep children away from the old cellar or to warn them against straying too far from home. But she could not deny that something about the stories had ignited a fascination within her.
It was on this night, with the wind howling like a restless spirit outside, that Evelyn decided to venture into the depths of the attic. The air was thick with the scent of mothballs and ancient wood. She rummaged through the sea of forgotten trinkets, her fingers grazing the handle of a tarnished mirror she had never seen before. It was peculiar – out of place amidst the dusty relics. The frame was wrought iron, intricate and whimsical, twisting around itself as if trying to escape.
As she lifted it from the pile, a chill ran down her spine, the kind that hinted at the presence of something just beyond comprehension. There was an inexplicable allure to the mirror, and despite her better judgement, she carried it to the centre of the room, the flickering candlelight creating an almost hypnotic effect as it bounced off the glass.
She held her breath, staring into the mirror. At first, her reflection met her gaze, a girl of eighteen with wild, curly hair and eyes full of curiosity. But the image began to waver, the surface undulating like the surface of a disturbed pond. Just for a moment, she caught a glimpse of something shifting behind her – a shadow that seemed to breathe, to pulse. She spun around, heart racing, but found only the quiet solitude of the attic.
Evelyn hesitated. Perhaps it was merely an illusion created by too much candlelight and imaginative thoughts. But as she turned back to the mirror, the vague outline was now clearer – a figure, tall and skeletal, shrouded in darkness, its eyes glimmering like embers in the night. It beckoned with an outstretched hand, the gesture both alluring and terrifying.
Compelled by a force that thrummed just beneath her awareness, Evelyn reached out. Touching the cold surface of the mirror felt like stepping onto the threshold of another world. The room around her blurred, the attic fading into an amalgam of shapes and colours. The next moment, she was standing in a vast emptiness, a boundless void that stretched endlessly in all directions.
Panic set in as she spun around, her heart pounding in her ears. There was no light here, no sound save for the whisper of her own breath. The fear of the unknown began to claw at her sanity. Desperately, she sought the mirror, willing it to manifest in whatever form it had taken. “Hello?” she called out, her voice a mere whisper in the suffocating silence. A chill wrapped around her as the shadows stirred, like wisps of smoke coming to life.
And then she heard them – the whispers. Faint at first, as if carried from the distant crevices of unfathomable realms. They surrounded her, an ethereal cacophony of voices, weaving in and out of coherence, speaking in an unintelligible language. Yet beneath the discord, a singular word echoed, resonating deep within her: “Return.”
In that moment, she felt a tug deep in her core, an unyielding pull back towards the mirror. Before she could comprehend what was happening, she lunged toward the void, arms outstretched. An explosion of light engulfed her, blinding her for a heartbeat before she found herself tumbling back into the attic, gasping for breath, fingers clutching the glass of the mirror.
But she was different now. That encounter etched something unfathomable within her. The attic felt colder, the shadows more pronounced. And in the silence that enveloped her, she sensed they were watching. The Voidwalkers were no longer mere figments of folklore; they were real, and they had slipped into her world.
The days that followed were a haze of disturbed nights and unsettling dreams. Evelyn began to notice peculiarities – objects moved in her periphery, whispers taunted her at the edge of her consciousness, and the corners of her eyes were populated by fleeting shapes. She sought comfort in books and the company of friends, but no solace could erase the uncanny feeling of being pursued.
Then came the night she could no longer deny that the Voidwalkers had taken a particular interest in her. She lay in bed staring at the ceiling, her heart racing as a profound sense of dread enveloped her. She could hear them then, distinct voices permeating the darkness. Their words were incomprehensible, yet she could feel the urgency in them—a longing that resonated deep within her. Evelyn pulled her blanket tightly around her, willing herself to drift into a dreamless sleep, but the shadows were unrelenting.
By dawn, she was determined to rid herself of the mirror, the conduit that had drawn them forth. She wrapped it in old newspapers, her hands trembling, and took it to the garden where her grandmother had once cultivated vibrant flowers that stood in stark contrast to the dismal sky overhead. There, she dug a small grave, the earth cold and unyielding, and buried the mirror deep, silencing the whispers that clamoured for her attention.
But as the sun dipped below the horizon, a palpable stillness fell upon her. The world around her faded, and Evelyn could feel the weight of their hunger. The Voidwalkers were not content to remain trapped in the shadows; they had tasted her essence and would not relent until they could possess her wholly.
The ensuing nights were a battle against encroaching darkness. While the world slumbered, she roamed her house, certain that they were within the very walls, waiting to claim her. Her friends grew concerned, but no one could understand the gnawing dread that tainted her every thought. Evelyn began to wear the shadows like a shroud; they whispered secrets, beckoned her to engage with them. It was intoxicating, this dark allure – but she had to resist.
One evening, exhausted and desperate for reprieve, she found herself back in the attic, where the air felt charged with energy. There, beneath the eerie glow of the candlelight, she found her grandmother’s journal. Fingers trembling, she leafed through the yellowed pages until she stumbled upon the tale of the Voidwalkers: how they could be appeased, how to sever their ties.
The method was as old as the tales themselves; an offering must be made to free her from their grasp. A piece of her own essence, woven in the strands of her hair, combined with the essence of the mirror she believed to be long gone. With a trembling hand, she snipped a lock of her hair and began an incantation her grandmother had inscribed next to an ominous sketch of the creatures.
As words spilled from her lips, the shadows thickened, swirling around her, a tempest of dark energy. Their whispers solidified into a singular, monstrous roar, a cacophony of hatred and desperation. Evelyn felt their claws of despair snagging at her, pulling her towards the void, and yet she stood firm, anchored by the promise of freedom.
With a final, defiant shout, she slammed her offerings against the dusty floorboards, and dark tendrils began to dissipate, reluctantly retreating into the depths from whence they came. The shadows twisted, shrieked, and then vanished into the ether, leaving behind an echo of their presence.
Silence fell, thick and profound. Evelyn trembled as relief coursed through her veins. She had faced them, narrowly escaping their grasp, but she now knew that the Voidwalkers would always linger, waiting for another crack, another weakness to exploit.
Yet, as she climbed back down the stairs, returning to the thin veil of the mundane world, she realised she was changed forever. Beneath the surface, in the depths of her consciousness, she carried a flicker of understanding: the void would always beckon those who dared to wander too close. And she would be forever haunted by the memory of their dark allure, a reminder that in the shadows, nothing is ever truly gone.
After all, a part of her had walked with them, and it would never truly return.
