On my way to the shower, I stopped cold and turned slowly to the bathroom mirror. My stomach dropped when I realized I was looking at the reflection of the wall behind me. My reflection was gone. I noticed a small yellow square stuck to the glass. In thick, dark sharpie—and my own urgent handwriting—it read: "!ǫnimoɔ ɘɿ'yɘʜT"
"Hardy har, James," I called nervously, reaching for the note.
A cold, thick dread dripped from my head down to my toes, dragging my heart down with it, as I realized—it was on the other side of the glass.