#max tate

The orange-haired woman stepped out from the bath, medium-length hair ending a bit past her shoulders, her figure bound loosely by her red silk robe.  Her petite face had a glow that might outshine the moon. She appeared a stark contrast to her nerdy look.

“Rough day?” the tall blonde mused, gently tucking a few strands of her hair behind her ears and cupping her cheek just passively.

“Yep,” her voice hung low, as she leaned into his touch.

“Alright then, let’s have dinner, Emily.”

“Aight, Max.”

The word dinner barely settled in the air before the mansion seemed to listen. Something sharper than silence. 

The chandelier above them gave a faint creak, its crystals gently chiming, but out of rhythm, like teeth tapping in the cold. Max’s hand lingered on Emily’s cheek a second too long, his thumb still, as if he had forgotten what movement was. 

Then,

‘Tap.”

Again, a ‘Tap’, from the kitchen. They saw the kitchen light flickering and then it turned off. 

“Max, did you leave the tap running?”

Max shook his head, “No, I didn’t.”

The sound didn’t come again.

The television flickered. No remote, no touch. Just a grainy black-and-white hiss spread throughout the screen like mold creeping over fruit.

Emily turned, her arm clutched to Max’s, “Max?”

The television display changed. Not into a channel or an image. It was something else. Into depth.

Max held her tight, jaw tightening, “Probably an issue with the wiring. This place is quite old too.”

The air turned cold, not from the nocturnal wind, but from something damp, cellar-cold, pressing against the skin. 

And then, the reflection came. Not on the television, but on the wooden floor. Two figures stood in the room; Max, and Emily.

A third figure, stretched long and thin behind them. Emily’s breath hitched. “Max, don’t move.”

He didn’t ask why. Slowly, his gaze directed towards the reflection, as if he was in thick water. The third figure didn’t match them. Its head dysmorphed, limbs too long. The face was a hollow blur, as it isn’t supposed to be.

The chandelier chimed again. This time, it's not from movement, but something against it. Above them.

Emily’s voice trembled again, “There is something above us. And, the staircase light is turned off.”

The television cracked louder this time. From the Television screen, a low, creepy growl began to crawl out. It wasn’t a quiet voice. But close enough to feeling that someone is trying. 

“E..m..i..l..y.”

The reflection smiled.