Short Story: The Stroke of Midnight

 

The Stroke of Midnight - Part 1

Chapter 1: Six Days Before

Jessie hated Halloween.

Not the way some people said they hated Mondays or Brussels sprouts. She truly, deeply hated it. The decorations that appeared in shop windows from September onwards made her stomach twist. The plastic skeletons, the grinning pumpkins, the fake cobwebs, all of it felt wrong somehow, like the world was celebrating something it shouldn’t.

Her brother Jude thought she was being dramatic. “It’s just a bit of fun,” he’d say, rolling his eyes. “You’re twelve, not five. Get over it.”

But Jessie couldn’t get over it. Especially not this year. Especially not in this house.

They’d moved to St Ives in February, to an old house perched on a hill overlooking the harbour. It was the kind of house that estate agents called “full of character,” which really meant it had wonky floors, draughty windows, and made strange noises at night.

Jessie’s room was in the attic. A long, narrow space with sloping ceilings and a round window that looked out over the grey Cornish sea. She’d liked it at first. It felt private, separate from the rest of the house. But as October crept closer, something had changed.

The room felt different at night. Colder. The shadows in the corners seemed darker, thicker, as if they were made of something more substantial than the absence of light.

And then there was the mirror.

It hung on the wall opposite her bed, an old thing with a tarnished silver frame. It had been there when they moved in, and her mum had said it added to the room’s charm. But Jessie didn’t like looking at it. Sometimes, just for a second, she thought she saw something in the reflection that wasn’t really there. A flicker of movement. A shape that didn’t match anything in the room.

She’d tried to tell her parents, but they’d just smiled and said she had an overactive imagination. Jude had laughed and called her a baby.

So Jessie stopped mentioning it.

But on October 25th, six days before Halloween, something happened that she couldn’t ignore.

It was just past midnight. Jessie had been lying awake, staring at the ceiling, trying not to look at the mirror. The house was quiet except for the usual creaks and groans of old wood settling.

Then she heard it.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

A clock. But they didn’t have a clock in the attic. She’d specifically asked her parents not to put one there because the ticking would keep her awake.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

It was getting louder. Closer.

Jessie sat up slowly, her heart hammering. The sound seemed to be coming from everywhere and nowhere at once. From the walls. From under the floorboards. From inside the mirror.

She looked at it then, unable to stop herself.

The reflection showed her room, her bed, herself sitting up with wide, frightened eyes. But there was something else. Behind her reflection, in the shadowy corner of the mirrored room, something moved.

A figure. Tall and thin, with pale skin that seemed to glow faintly in the darkness. It had no features she could make out, just a blank oval where a face should be. But she could feel it watching her.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

The figure raised one long, spindly arm and pointed at her.

Then it spoke, and its voice was like dry leaves scraping across stone.

“Six more nights.”

Jessie screamed.

The sound shattered the silence. Within seconds, she heard footsteps thundering up the stairs. Her door burst open and her parents rushed in, her mum in her dressing gown, her dad wielding a cricket bat like a weapon.

“What’s wrong? What happened?” her mum cried, rushing to the bed and pulling Jessie into her arms.

“In the mirror,” Jessie gasped, pointing with a shaking hand. “There was something in the mirror.”

Her dad strode over and examined it, frowning. “There’s nothing here, love. Just your reflection.”

“But I saw it! It was right there, it pointed at me, it said—”

“Said what?” her mum asked gently, stroking Jessie’s hair.

“Six more nights.”

Her parents exchanged a look. The kind of look adults share when they think a child is being silly but don’t want to say so outright.

“You’ve been having nightmares about Halloween again,” her mum said softly. “It’s just your mind playing tricks.”

“It wasn’t a nightmare. I was awake.”

“Sometimes when we’re very tired, we can see things that aren’t really there,” her dad added, setting down the cricket bat. “It’s called a hallucination. Perfectly normal.”

But it hadn’t felt normal. It had felt real. Horribly, terrifyingly real.

Jude appeared in the doorway, rubbing his eyes. “What’s all the noise?”

“Your sister had a bad dream,” their dad said.

“It wasn’t a dream!”

“Alright, alright,” her mum soothed. “How about you sleep in Jude’s room tonight? Would that help?”

Jessie wanted to say yes, wanted to run from the attic and never come back. But Jude was already groaning.

“Mum, she’s not a baby. She can sleep in her own room.”

Pride mixed with fear. Pride won, but only just.

“I’m fine,” Jessie muttered. “It was probably just… just a trick of the light or something.”

Her parents seemed relieved. They tucked her back in, checked the room once more, and left, closing the door behind them. Jude lingered for a moment.

“You know Halloween’s just made up, right?” he said. “Ghosts and monsters and all that, it’s not real.”

“I know,” Jessie lied.

After he left, she lay in the darkness, staring at the ceiling, refusing to look at the mirror. But she could feel it there, watching. Waiting.

And very faintly, so quiet she might have imagined it, she heard it again.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

Six more nights until Halloween.

Six more nights until something happened.

Something bad.

Chapter 2: Five Days Before

Jessie didn’t sleep for the rest of the night. She lay rigid under her duvet, eyes fixed on the ceiling, listening to every creak and groan of the old house. The ticking had stopped, but the memory of it echoed in her head.

When dawn finally crept through her round window, painting the attic in shades of grey and gold, she felt exhausted but relieved. Daylight made everything seem less threatening. The mirror was just a mirror again, reflecting nothing more sinister than her rumpled bed and tired face.

At breakfast, her mum studied her with concern. “You look awful, sweetheart. Are you feeling alright?”

“Didn’t sleep well,” Jessie mumbled, pushing her cereal around the bowl.

“Still worried about Halloween?” her dad asked, looking up from his newspaper.

“I’m not worried about Halloween,” Jessie said, which was technically true. She wasn’t worried about Halloween itself. She was worried about whatever was counting down to it.

Jude snorted. “Yeah, right. You’ve been weird about Halloween since you were little.”

“I have not.”

“Have too. Remember when you were eight and you cried because someone put a plastic spider on your desk at school?”

“That was different.”

“Or when you were ten and refused to go trick-or-treating because you said the costumes gave you nightmares?”

“Jude, that’s enough,” their mum said sharply. “Everyone’s allowed to dislike things.”

But Jessie could see it in their faces. They thought she was being childish. Oversensitive. They didn’t understand that her fear of Halloween wasn’t about plastic spiders or costumes. It was deeper than that. More instinctive. Like some part of her had always known that Halloween meant danger.

And now, in this house, that danger was becoming real.

School was a blur. Jessie couldn’t concentrate. Her teachers kept having to repeat questions, and her best friend Anya asked three times if she was okay.

“I’m fine,” Jessie said automatically.

“You don’t look fine. You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

The word made Jessie flinch. “I’m just tired.”

But as the day wore on, she started to notice things. Small things. Strange things.

Every clock she passed showed a different time. The one in the corridor said 3:15. The one in the science lab said 9:47. The one in the library said midnight, even though it was the middle of the afternoon.

When she pointed it out to Anys, she just shrugged. “They’re always broken. Budget cuts, innit?”

But Jessie didn’t think they were broken. She thought they were being affected by something. The same something that had appeared in her mirror.

By the time she got home, her nerves were frayed. She dumped her bag in the hallway and headed straight for the kitchen, planning to make tea and avoid her room for as long as possible.

Her mum was at the table with her laptop, working from home as usual. “Good day?”

“It was fine.”

“Homework?”

“I’ll do it later.”

She made her tea and was about to escape to the living room when her mum said, “Oh, by the way, I cleaned your room today. It was getting a bit cluttered.”

Jessie’s stomach dropped. “You went in my room?”

“Well, yes. I am allowed, you know. I’m your mother.”

“Did you… did you touch anything?”

Her mum frowned. “I tidied up, put some clothes away, made your bed. Why?”

“The mirror. Did you touch the mirror?”

“I gave it a polish, actually. It was looking rather tarnished. Why are you so worried about that old mirror?”

Because you shouldn’t touch it, Jessie wanted to scream. Because something lives in it, and now you’ve disturbed it, and tonight’s going to be even worse.

But she couldn’t say that. So instead she just muttered, “No reason,” and fled upstairs.

Her room looked different. Neater, yes, but also wrong somehow. The mirror gleamed on the wall, its silver frame shining. And as Jessie stood in the doorway, she could have sworn she saw it ripple, like water disturbed by a stone.

She didn’t want to go in. Every instinct screamed at her to turn around, to sleep on the sofa, to do anything but spend another night in that room.

But what would she tell her parents? That she was scared of a mirror? They already thought she was being ridiculous about Halloween. This would just confirm their belief that she was being a silly child.

So she went in. Did her homework at her desk, keeping her back to the mirror. Had dinner with her family, barely tasting the food. Brushed her teeth and changed into her pyjamas, moving as quickly as possible.

By 8 PM, she was in bed, lights off, duvet pulled up to her chin. Her parents had said goodnight. Jude had made a joke about checking for monsters under the bed. The house had settled into its nighttime rhythms.

Jessie stared at the darkness and waited.

8:30 PM. Nothing.

8:45 PM. Still nothing.

Maybe it had been a one-off. Maybe her dad was right and it had just been a hallucination. Maybe—

Jessie fell into a deep sleep, not moving and slightly snoring, until...

11:59 PM.

The temperature dropped. Jessie suddenly jumped, startled, she yanked the duvet up to her chin. She could see her breath misting in the air. Her heart began to race.

Midnight.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

The sound filled the room, impossibly loud, like a giant clock striking the hour. Jessie wanted to cover her ears, but she couldn’t move. She was frozen, paralysed by fear.

In the mirror, the reflection of her room began to change. The shadows grew darker, deeper, spreading like ink in water. And from those shadows, the figure emerged.

Taller than before. More defined. She could see its face now, or the suggestion of one. Hollow eyes. A mouth that was too wide, stretched in something that might have been a smile.

It stepped forward, and this time it didn’t stay in the mirror. It pressed against the glass from the inside, as if the mirror were made of something flexible, something that could be pushed through.

“Five more nights,” it whispered, and its voice was clearer now, almost human. Almost.

Jessie tried to scream, but no sound came out. She tried to move, but her body wouldn’t obey. Her brain froze in pure fear.

The figure pressed harder against the mirror. The glass bulged outward. Cracks appeared at the edges of the frame, thin lines spreading like spider webs.

“Five more nights, Jessie. Five more nights until you understand. Until you remember. Until you pay.”

“Pay for what?” Jessie managed to gasp.

The figure’s smile widened. “For waking me up.”

Then it was gone. The mirror snapped back to normal. The temperature rose. The ticking stopped.

But this time, Jessie noticed something new. On her bedside table, her phone’s screen was glowing. She picked it up with shaking hands.

12:01 AM.

And beneath the time, a notification. A reminder she hadn’t set.

“Five more nights until Halloween.”

Jessie dropped the phone like it had burned her. She scrambled out of bed, yanked open her door, and ran down the stairs. She didn’t care if her family thought she was being childish. She didn’t care about anything except getting away from that room.

She burst into the living room where her parents were watching TV. They looked up in surprise.

“Jessie? What’s wrong?”

“I can’t sleep up there. I can’t. Please. There’s something in my room, something in the mirror, and it knows my name, and it’s counting down, and—”

“Slow down, slow down,” her dad said, standing up and putting his hands on her shoulders. “You’re having another nightmare.”

“I’m not! I was awake! It spoke to me! It said five more nights!”

Her parents exchanged that look again. The one that said they were worried but didn’t believe her.

“How about you sleep on the sofa tonight?” her mum suggested gently. “We can talk about this properly in the morning.”

Jessie wanted to argue, wanted to make them understand. But she was so tired, so scared, that she just nodded.

“Will you please take the mirror out of my room tomorrow? Please?"

“Yes, if it's going to cause you this much distress then I'll take it out and store it in the shed."

Dad brought down her duvet and pillow. Made her a hot chocolate. Sat with her until she stopped shaking.

But after they went to bed, after the house fell silent, Jessie lay on the sofa and stared at the ceiling.

Five more nights.

Whatever was in the mirror, whatever she’d woken up, it was getting stronger. More real.

And in five more nights, on Halloween, something terrible was going to happen.

She just didn’t know what.

Chapter 3: Four Days Before

Jessie woke on the sofa to find Josie, their golden retriever, pressed against her side, whining softly. The dog’s warm brown eyes were fixed on the ceiling, and her whole body was tense.

“You feel it too, don’t you?” Jessie whispered, stroking Josie’s soft ears. “You know something’s wrong.”

Josie whined again and burrowed closer, as if trying to protect Jessie from something she couldn’t see but also feared.

Her mum found them like that an hour later. “Oh, sweetheart. Did you sleep at all?”

“A bit,” Jessie lied. In truth, she’d barely dozed, jerking awake at every creak and groan of the house.

Over breakfast, her parents tried to talk to her about what had happened. Her dad suggested it might be stress from school. Her mum wondered if Jessie needed to talk to someone, maybe a counsellor.

“There’s nothing wrong with me,” Jessie insisted. “There’s something wrong with the house. With my room. Why won’t you believe me?”

“We do believe that you’re frightened,” her mum said carefully. “But darling, mirrors can’t talk. There’s no such thing as ghosts or monsters.”

“Then how do you explain what I saw? What I heard?”

“The mind can play tricks when we’re anxious,” her dad said. “Especially at night. It’s called—”

“I know what it’s called! But this isn’t that! This is real!”

Jude walked in, grabbed a piece of toast, and rolled his eyes. “Still going on about the spooky mirror? Maybe you should just cover it up if it bothers you so much.”

Jessie stared at him. “Mom's going to put it in the shed.”

After breakfast, while her parents were distracted, Jessie went back up to her room and her mom collected the mirror and took it downstairs into the garden shed, far away from Jessie. In daylight, it looked normal again. The mirror had hung innocently on the wall, reflecting nothing more sinister than her unmade bed and the grey sky outside her window.

But Jessie wasn’t taking any chances.

There. If the mirror wasn't there, it couldn’t see her. That was the end of that. Jessie smiled.

She felt better as she headed to school. The clocks with the different times had all changed, there was definitely something strange going on with them but Jessie was so exhausted she just couldn't think about it.

As the day progressed, Jessie started noticing more strange things.

In English class, when they were reading Macbeth, every time someone said a line, Jessie heard another voice underneath, whispering the words a split second before they were spoken. Like an echo in reverse.

In maths, when she looked at the clock on the wall, the hands were moving backwards. She blinked, and they were normal again. But she’d definitely seen it.

At lunch, Anya pulled her aside. “Okay, seriously, what’s going on with you? You’re being really weird.”

“I’m not,” Jessie protested weakly.

“You keep staring at nothing. You jumped when the bell rang. And you look like you haven’t slept in days.”

Jessie wanted to tell her. Wanted to explain about the mirror, the figure, the countdown. But Maya was sensible, practical. She’d react the same way Jessie’s family had. She’d think Jessie was being dramatic or having some kind of breakdown.

“I’m just tired,” Jessie said. “Didn’t sleep well.”

Anya didn’t look convinced, but she let it drop.

The school day dragged on forever. By the time Jessie got home, she was exhausted and on edge. She trudged up to her room, dropped her bag, and froze.

The mirror was back on her wall.

How? Had Jude put it there to wind her up? Did her mom think she wouldn't notice? This was not funny and it was definitely not staying there. She turned on her heels and yelled.

“JUDE!" 

“WHAT?"

“Why did you put the mirror back in my room? That's so not funny."

“I didn't, I haven't been near your bedroom." He yelled.

Jess turned back to the mirror.

It gleamed on the wall, its surface perfectly clean, perfectly reflective.

Jessie’s hands started to shake. She’d tucked a blanket over it, tucking it in securely. There was no way it could have just walked up here. Time to ask her mom about it. Jessie felt the anger and frustration build up in her stomach, this was cruel and unfair. 

She should leave. Should go downstairs, tell her parents, refuse to sleep in this room ever again. But something made her step closer to the mirror. Some horrible, irresistible curiosity.

She slowly pulled back a slight bit of the blanket, her reflection stared back at her. Pale face. Dark circles under her eyes. Hair tangled from the wind on the walk home.

But as she watched, her reflection’s expression changed. Its eyes widened. Its mouth opened in a silent scream.

And behind it, in the reflected room, the figure appeared.

It was clearer than before. Jessie could see details now. The figure wore old-fashioned clothes, like something from a Victorian photograph. Its skin was grey, almost translucent. And its eyes, those hollow, terrible eyes, were fixed on her with an intensity that made her stomach churn.

“Four more nights,” it said, and this time its voice came not from the mirror but from behind her.

Jessie spun around.

The room was empty.

But when she looked back at the mirror, the figure was closer. Right up against the glass. Startled, Jessie jumped backwards. Its long, pale fingers pressed against the surface from the inside, leaving marks that looked disturbingly like frost.

“Four more nights, Jessie. Four more nights until I’m strong enough. Until the veil is thin enough. Until I can step through.”

“What do you want?” Jessie whispered.

The figure smiled, and it was the most horrible thing Jessie had ever seen. “What do I want? I want what you took from me. I want what you disturbed. I want what you owe.”

“I didn’t take anything! I don’t owe you anything!”

“Don’t you? Think, Jessie. Think about what you did. What you found. What you shouldn’t have touched.”

Jessie’s mind raced. What had she done? She’d moved into this house, unpacked her things, lived her normal life. She hadn’t disturbed anything, hadn’t taken anything that wasn’t hers.

Had she?

“I don’t understand,” she said.

“You will. In four more nights, you’ll understand everything. And then it will be too late.”

The figure began to fade, melting back into the shadows of the reflection of the blanket. But before it disappeared completely, it said one more thing.

“They won’t believe you. They never do. You’re all alone, Jessie. Just like I was.”

Then it was gone.

Jessie stood frozen, staring at the mirror. Her reflection looked back at her, normal again, but terrified.

She was about to turn away when she noticed something. In the reflection, on her bedside table, there was something that wasn’t there in the real room.

A pocket watch. Old and tarnished, with a cracked face.

Jessie looked at her real bedside table. Nothing there.

But in the mirror, the watch sat there, clear as day. And as she watched, it began to tick.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

The sound filled the room, filled her head, filled her entire world.

Jessie ran.

She thundered down the stairs, burst into the kitchen where her mum was making dinner, and grabbed her arm.

“Mum, please, now you have to believe me. The mirror is back in my room. Something is in the mirror. It’s counting down to Halloween and it says I owe it something and I don’t know what to do!”

Her mum set down the knife she’d been using to chop vegetables, looking very confused. She pulled Jessie into a hug. 

“You saw me take the mirror into the garden this morning, I put it at the back of the shed."

“Yes! Because it’s real! It’s really happening!”

“Okay. Okay. How about this. Tonight, I’ll sleep in your room. If there’s something there, I’ll see it too. And if there’s not, maybe that will help you feel better.”

Jessie wanted to say no, wanted to tell her mum it wasn’t safe. But part of her, a small, desperate part, hoped that maybe if her mum saw it too, someone would finally believe her.

“Okay,” she whispered.

That night, Jessie and her mum went up to the attic together. Her mum had brought a book and a cup of tea, acting like this was a perfectly normal sleepover.

They got ready for bed. Jessie climbed under her duvet while her mum settled into the chair by the window with her book.

“See?” her mum said cheerfully. “Nothing to worry about. Just a normal room.”

But Josie, who’d followed them upstairs, refused to come in. She sat in the doorway, whining, her eyes fixed on the mirror.

“That’s odd,” her mum said. “Josie’s never been nervous before.”

“She knows,” Jessie said quietly. “Animals can sense things we can’t.”

Her mum didn’t respond to that. She just opened her book and started reading.

The minutes crawled by. 11:30 PM. 11:45 PM. Jessie lay rigid, watching the clock on her phone, pretending to sleep but dreading what was coming. Her mom had dozed off in the arm chair, book fallen into her lap.

11:59 PM.

The temperature dropped.

Her mum looked woke up, frowning. “Is the heating off? It’s suddenly freezing.”

“Mum,” Jessie whispered. “It’s starting.”

Midnight.

The lights flickered and died.

In the darkness, the ticking began.

TICK. TOCK. TICK. TOCK.

Her mum stood up, fumbling for her phone’s torch. “What on earth—”

Then the mirror began to glow.

A faint, sickly green light that illuminated through the blanket and througout the room in horrible detail. And in that light, the figure appeared.

Jessie heard her mum gasp. “Oh my God. Oh my God, what is that?”

“Four more nights,” the figure said, and its voice was like nails on a chalkboard. “Four more nights, Jessie. And then you’re mine.”

It reached out, and this time its hand came through the mirror. Actually through it, as if the glass were water. Those long, pale fingers stretched towards Jessie’s bed.

Her mum screamed and lunged forward, putting herself between Jessie and the reaching hand.

“Get away from my daughter!”

The figure paused. Tilted its head. “How brave. How foolish. You can’t stop what’s coming. No one can.”

Then it grabbed Jessie’s mum by the shoulder.

Her mum cried out in pain and shock. The figure’s fingers left marks on her skin, dark bruises that appeared instantly, spreading like ink.

“Mum!” Jessie screamed.

The lights blazed back on. The figure vanished. The mirror was just a mirror again.

But her mum stood there, shaking, staring at the bruises on her shoulder. Five perfect fingerprints in shades of purple and black.

“What,” she whispered, “what was that?”

Jessie climbed out of bed and hugged her mum tightly. “I tried to tell you. I tried to tell everyone.”

Her mum looked at the mirror, then at Jessie, then at the bruises on her shoulder. “We need to call someone. A priest. A paranormal investigator. Someone.”

“Will they believe us?”

Her mum touched the bruises gingerly and winced. “They’ll have to. Because this is real. This is really happening.”

For the first time since the countdown began, Jessie didn’t feel quite so alone.

Someone finally believed her.

As they left the room, her mum called her dad and Jude to explain what had happened, Jessie heard it one last time.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

Four more nights until Halloween.

Four more nights until whatever was in the mirror came for her.

And now she knew it was strong enough to hurt people. Strong enough to reach through.

In four more nights, would it be strong enough to pull her in?

Chapter 4: Three Days Before

Jessie didn’t go to school the next day. Her mum called in sick for her, and nobody argued. The bruises on Jessie's mum's shoulder had darkened overnight, five perfect fingerprints in shades of purple and black that no amount of rational explanation could dismiss.

“What on earth was that?" She said tiredly. “It’s not a person. It’s something else.”

By now Jessie's dad was hovvering around the kitchen, confused and angry. He began pacing the floor, trying to say something but only random noises came out of his mouth.

“Do you..."

“Has..."

“Can..."

“Jim, stop!" Jessie's mum said, beginning to feel anxious and overwhelmed. “You are not helping."

Jude walked in and stopped dead in his tracks, “What's happened? You all look anxious about something."

Jessie almost laughed. Anxious didn’t begin to cover the bone-deep terror that had taken up residence in her chest.

Everyone turned and starred at him, no-one finding the words to describe what had happened.

“I'm going in the lounge."

Jessie sat on the sofa with Josie pressed against her side. The dog hadn’t left her all day, whining softly whenever Jessie moved.

Jude came in and, for once, didn’t make a snide comment. He just looked at her, really looked at her, and something in his expression had changed.

“Can I talk to you?” he asked quietly.

He leaned against the unit, fidgeting with his phone.

“Those bruises,” he said. “on mum, they really do look like someone grabbed her.”

“Something did grab her.”

“Jessie, that’s impossible.”

“Is it? You’ve live in this house too. Haven’t you ever felt like something was wrong with it? Especially this month?”

Jude was quiet for a long moment. “Sometimes,” he admitted. “Sometimes I hear things at night. Footsteps when everyone’s asleep. Doors closing when there’s no wind. But that’s just old house stuff, right?”

“What if it’s not?”

He looked uncomfortable. “What are you saying? That our house is haunted?”

“I’m saying something lives here. Something old. And it wakes up every October, and this year it noticed me.”

“That’s mental.”

“Then explain the bruises, Jude. Explain why Josie’s been terrified for days. Explain why I look like I haven’t slept in a week.”

He couldn’t. She could see him struggling, trying to hold onto logic and reason while the evidence stared him in the face.

“What does it want?” he finally asked.

“Me. In three more nights. On Halloween.”

Jude went even paler. “We should leave. Go stay with Gran or something.”

“Do you think that’ll stop it? It’s been counting down. It knows exactly where I am. Running won’t help.”

“Then what do we do?”

It was the first time Jude had said ‘we.’ The first time he’d acknowledged that this was real, that she wasn’t just being dramatic or scared of Halloween decorations.

“I don’t know,” Jessie whispered. “I don’t know how to fight something like this.”

Later in the evening, Jessie’s dad came home with a bag from the hardware shop. He’d bought new locks for all the doors, a security camera for the hallway, nightlights for every room.

“If someone’s getting in,” he said, though his voice lacked conviction, “they won’t anymore.”

But Jessie knew locks wouldn’t stop what was coming. You couldn’t lock out something that lived in the walls, in the mirrors, in the very bones of the house.

Still, she appreciated the effort. Her parents were trying, even if her dad fully believe.

That night, Jessie stayed in Jude’s room. Her mum had wanted to stay, but Jessie had insisted she was fine. She wasn’t fine, but she didn’t want her mum to see what was coming.

Jude was on the sofa downstairs. Their dad had set up the new security camera in the hallway, angled to catch anyone coming up the stairs.

11:30 PM.

Jessie lay rigid in Jude’s bed, watching the minutes crawl by on her phone. The room smelled like football kit and deodorant, so different from her attic space. But she didn’t feel any safer.

11:45 PM.

Downstairs, Josie started whining. Then barking. Then howling, a sound of pure animal terror that made Jessie’s blood run cold.

11:52 PM.

The temperature dropped. Jessie could see her breath misting in the air. It was happening. Even here, even in a different room, it was happening.

11:58 PM.

The lights flickered.

Jessie heard her dad’s voice from downstairs, confused. “What’s wrong with the electrics?”

Then her mum, frightened. “Jim, it’s freezing. This is what happened last night in Jessie's room.”

11:59 PM.

Footsteps on the stairs.

But not normal footsteps. Too slow. Too heavy. Each step accompanied by a creaking groan that sounded like the house itself was in pain.

Jessie wanted to scream, to warn them, but her throat had closed up.

12:00 AM.

The lights died.

In the darkness, Jessie heard her parents shouting, Josie barking frantically, Jude calling out in confusion.

Then the ticking started.

TICK. TOCK. TICK. TOCK.

So loud it drowned out everything else. So loud it felt like it was inside her head, inside her chest, her heartbeat trying to match its rhythm.

The door to Jude’s room swung open.

The landing beyond was pitch black, but in that darkness, something moved. Tall. Impossibly tall. Its pale eyes glowing like dying stars.

“Jessie,” it whispered, and its voice was everywhere, in the walls, in the floor, in the air itself. “Did you think you could hide from me?”

It stepped into the room.

This time, Jessie could see it properly. Its body was wrong, all angles and joints that bent backwards, skin stretched too tight over bones that were too long. Its face was a nightmare, eyes too large, mouth too wide, filled with teeth like broken glass.

“Two more nights,” it said, reaching for her with those terrible hands. “Two more nights and you’ll understand. You’ll understand what you did. What you woke up. What you fed with your fear.”

Its fingers brushed her cheek, ice-cold, burning.

“This house has been hungry for so long,” it whispered. “And you, little Jessie, you’re going to feed it.”

Then the lights blazed back on, and it was gone.

But this time, everyone had heard it. Everyone had felt it.

Her dad stood in the doorway, panting after sprinting up the two flights of stairs, white as a sheet, holding a cricket bat. Behind him, her mum clutched her phone, hands shaking. Jude was on the stairs, staring up with wide, terrified eyes.

“What was that?” her dad whispered. “What in God’s name was that?”

Jessie touched her cheek where the thing had brushed her. Her fingers came away wet. Not with blood, but with something black and oily that smelled like rot and earth and things long buried.

“It’s the house,” she said quietly. “Something in the house. Something that’s been here longer than us. And I woke it up.”

Her mum was crying. “How? How did you wake it up?”

“I don’t know. But it said I fed it. With my fear. Every October, when I got scared, when I dreaded Halloween, I was feeding it. Making it stronger. And now it’s strong enough to take what it wants.”

“What does it want?” Jude asked, though his voice suggested he already knew the answer.

“Me. On Halloween. At midnight.”

Her dad lowered the cricket bat, looking lost. “We’re leaving. Right now. We’ll pack and go to your gran’s, to a hotel, anywhere but here.”

“It won’t matter,” Jessie said. “It told me. It knows where I am. It’s been counting down. Two more nights, and then Halloween. Running won’t stop it.”

“Then what do we do?” her mum cried. “We can’t just let it take you!”

Jessie looked at her family, all of them finally believing, all of them finally understanding. Too late, maybe, but at least she wasn’t alone anymore.

“We find out what it is,” she said. “We find out why it’s here, what it wants, and how to stop it. We have two days.”

Her dad straightened up, some of his usual confidence returning. “Right. Right. There has to be information about this house. Previous owners, history, something.”

“The library,” her mum said. “The local history section. They have records of all the old houses in St Ives.”

“I’ll search online,” Jude offered. “See if anyone else has reported anything weird about this address.”

For the first time in days, Jessie felt a flicker of something that wasn’t quite hope, but wasn’t quite despair either. They were going to fight. They were going to try.

But as they made plans, as her family rallied around her, Jessie couldn’t shake the thing’s words.

“You’ll understand what you did.”

What had she done? How had she woken it? And more importantly, how could she stop something that had been feeding on her fear for years, growing stronger with every October that passed?

Two more nights until Halloween.

Two more nights to find answers.

Two more nights to save herself.

Outside, the wind picked up, rattling the windows. And if Jessie listened very carefully, beneath the wind, she could hear it.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

Counting down.

Chapter 5: Halloween Night

The next two days passed in a blur of desperate research. Jessie’s family barely slept, barely ate, consumed by the need to understand what was haunting their home.

What they found was worse than Jessie had imagined.

The house had been built in 1823 by a clockmaker named Nathaniel Frost. He’d been obsessed with time, with capturing it, controlling it. According to local records, he’d gone mad in his final years, claiming he’d found a way to stop time itself, to live forever.

He’d died on Halloween night, 1847. Alone in the attic room. The room that was now Jessie’s bedroom.

“But that’s not all,” her dad said, his face grim as he read from his laptop. “There’s a pattern. Every few decades, someone living in this house disappears on Halloween. Always someone young. Always at midnight.”

He showed them the list. 1867, a girl named Mary, age thirteen. 1891, a boy named Thomas, age eleven. 1923, another girl, Sarah, age twelve. The list went on. 1954. 1978. 2001.

“That’s twenty-three years ago,” Jude said quietly. “Who was it?”

Their mum had gone very pale. “A girl named Emma Hartley. She was twelve. Her family said she’d been terrified of Halloween, that something in the house had been tormenting her for weeks. Then on Halloween night, she vanished from her locked bedroom. They never found her.”

Jessie felt sick. “What happened to the families?”

“They moved away. Every single one. The house sat empty for years between occupants. Until someone new moved in, someone who didn’t know the history.”

Someone like them.

“So what is it?” Jessie asked. “Is it Nathaniel Frost’s ghost?”

“I think it’s worse than that,” her mum said softly. “I think he did something, some kind of ritual or experiment. I think he tried to trap time itself, and instead he trapped himself. Or part of himself. And every Halloween, when the veil between worlds is thinnest, he gets strong enough to take someone. To feed on their fear and their life force to sustain whatever he’s become.”

“And Jessie woke him up,” Jude said. “With her fear of Halloween. Year after year, she was basically ringing a dinner bell.”

It made horrible sense. Every October, Jessie’s dread had grown stronger. And every October, the thing in the house had noticed, had started paying attention, had started feeding on that fear until finally, this year, it was strong enough to manifest fully.

“How do we stop it?” Jessie asked.

Nobody had an answer.

They’d searched every resource they could find. Local historians, paranormal websites, old books about Cornish folklore. Nothing told them how to fight something like this.

“We could try to destroy the house,” her dad suggested desperately. “Burn it down.”

“And risk it following us anyway?” her mum countered. “It’s tied to Jessie now. It’s been feeding on her for years.”

As the sun set on Halloween, as the final hours ticked away, Jessie’s family gathered in the living room. They’d tried everything. Salt lines. Holy water. Iron horseshoes. Every folk remedy and superstition they could find.

Nothing felt like enough.

“Maybe I should just face it,” Jessie said quietly. “Maybe if I’m not afraid, if I don’t feed it anymore, it’ll be weaker.”

“Absolutely not,” her mum said fiercely. “We’re not letting it take you.”

But what choice did they have?

As midnight approached, they all went upstairs together. To Jessie’s attic room. If it was going to happen, they’d face it as a family.

11:30 PM.

They sat together on Jessie’s bed. Her dad held the cricket bat. Her mum clutched a torch. Jude had his phone ready to call 999, though what the police could do against a supernatural entity, nobody knew.

Josie lay at Jessie’s feet, whining softly.

11:45 PM.

“Whatever happens,” Jessie said, “thank you for believing me. Thank you for trying.”

“We’re not giving up,” Jude said fiercely. “We’re going to fight this thing.”

11:52 PM.

The temperature began to drop.

11:58 PM.

The lights flickered.

Jessie’s mum grabbed her hand. “We love you, sweetheart. No matter what happens, we love you.”

11:59 PM.

The lights died.

In the darkness, the ticking started.

TICK. TOCK. TICK. TOCK.

Louder than ever before, shaking the walls, rattling the windows.

12:00 AM.

Halloween. Midnight.

The mirror exploded.

Glass shattered outward, and through the broken frame, something emerged. Nathaniel Frost, or what he’d become. Tall and terrible, his body a twisted mockery of human form, his face a nightmare of too-wide mouth and glowing eyes.

“Time’s up, Jessie,” he hissed. “You’re mine.”

He reached for her with those long, pale hands.

But Jessie didn’t run. Didn’t scream. Instead, she stood up, facing him directly.

“No,” she said.

The word hung in the air.

Frost paused, tilting his head. “No?”

“No. I understand now. You feed on fear. You’ve been feeding on mine for years. But I’m not afraid anymore.”

It was a lie. She was terrified. But she said it anyway, and as she did, something shifted.

“You’re lying,” Frost snarled. “I can taste your fear.”

“Maybe,” Jessie said. “But I’m not alone. And you know what’s stronger than fear?”

She looked at her family, all of them standing with her, ready to fight.

“Love. Family. People who refuse to let you win.”

Frost laughed, a sound like breaking bones. “Sentiment won’t save you.”

“Maybe not,” Jude said, stepping forward. “But this might.”

He held up his phone, showing what he’d found. “You tried to trap time, Nathaniel Frost. You tried to live forever. But you failed. You’re not immortal. You’re just stuck. Trapped in a loop, feeding on fear every Halloween because that’s the only way you can exist.”

“And loops,” their dad added, “can be broken.”

Their mum stepped forward, holding something they’d found in the local history archives. A pocket watch. Nathaniel Frost’s pocket watch, the one he’d been buried with, the one that had mysteriously appeared in the house’s attic years ago.

“This is your anchor,” she said. “This is what ties you here.”

Frost’s eyes widened. “No. You can’t. I won’t let you.”

But he was weakening. Jessie could see it. Without her fear to feed on, without her submission, he was less solid, less real.

Her mum raised the pocket watch. “Time to rest, Mr Frost. Time to let go.”

She threw it to the floor and brought her heel down hard.

The watch shattered.

Frost screamed, a sound that shook the house to its foundations. His form began to dissolve, breaking apart like smoke in wind.

“No! I was so close! So close to being free!”

“You were never going to be free,” Jessie said quietly. “You trapped yourself. And now it’s over.”

With a final, anguished wail, Nathaniel Frost disappeared.

The ticking stopped.

The temperature returned to normal.

The lights flickered back on.

And in the sudden, blessed silence, Jessie’s family stood together, shaking, crying, but alive.

It was over.

---

The next morning, sunlight streamed through Jessie’s attic window. The broken mirror had been cleared away. The house felt different, lighter somehow, as if a weight had been lifted.

Jessie stood at the window, looking out over St Ives. The town was waking up, people going about their normal lives, unaware of what had happened in the old house on the hill.

“How are you feeling?” Jude asked from the doorway.

“Tired,” Jessie admitted. “But okay. Better than okay, actually.”

“We’re moving, you know. Mum and Dad decided. They’re putting the house on the market.”

“Good. Let someone else deal with the creaky floorboards.”

Jude laughed, then sobered. “I’m sorry I didn’t believe you. All those times I called you dramatic, said you were being babyish.”

“You believe me now. That’s what matters.”

“Yeah. I do.”

They stood together in comfortable silence, watching the sun climb higher in the sky.

“So,” Jude said eventually, “I guess you won’t hate Halloween anymore?”

Jessie considered this. “I don’t know. Maybe I’ll always be a bit wary of it. But at least now I know I can face it. We can face it. Together.”

“Together,” Jude agreed.

Downstairs, Josie barked happily, back to her normal, cheerful self. Their mum was making breakfast, their dad was on the phone with an estate agent, and life was returning to normal.

But Jessie knew she’d never forget. Never forget the terror of those six nights, the countdown to Halloween, the thing that had hunted her through mirrors and darkness.

She’d faced her fear and survived.

And that, she thought, was its own kind of magic.