Chapter 4 The Guest List

Three days after the lighthouse incident, Duskhaven was still pretending everything was fine. The local paper ran a headline: **"Bride Found After Elaborate Hoax-No Charges Filed."** No mention of alternate dimensions. No mirrors. No Hollow Guest. Veronica was home - sleeping twelve hours a day, eating little, speaking even less. Felix stayed close, unsure if she needed space or silence or both. Gus dropped off salt packets and sunglasses "just in case," and Madam Elira burned sage under every window. But peace was like a coat too small. It didn't quite fit.

"I don't remember much," Veronica finally said one afternoon. She sat on the porch in one of Felix's sweaters, staring at the sea. "It was like... dreaming underwater. I saw people I loved. People I hated. They were mirrors, but they *talked back.*" Felix nodded. "You fought it, Vee. You held on." She smiled faintly. "You cut your hair." He blinked. "It's been like this for five years." "Still not sure I like it." They both laughed. A beat passed. "Did anyone else... get pulled in?" she asked. "During the play?" "No," Felix said. "Just you." Not exactly a lie. He hadn't told her about the others. The *disappearances over the years.* The fact that this wasn't the first - and might not be the last. Not until he knew more. --- That night, he and Gus met behind the coffee shop with an old key and a flashlight. "This," Gus said dramatically, "is the key to the town archives." "Shouldn't that be in a library or a government building?" "Nope. It's in the basement of the bowling alley. Next to the pin-cleaner." "Of course it is." --- The Duskhaven Historical Society hadn't updated anything since 1983. The walls were covered in dusty maps and faded photos. A taxidermy squirrel wore a tiny cape labeled "Mayor 1924–1925." Felix flipped through brittle newspaper records while Gus scanned microfilm. After an hour, they had a list: * 1902: Patient claims mirror version tried to take over. * 1925: Stage assistant disappears mid-performance. * 1947: Dancer vanishes in mirror-themed ballet. * 1978, 1994, and now - all the same story. Same location. Same conditions. Same eerie timing. Gus tapped a sticky note on the table. "Every twenty to twenty-five years, someone disappears during a performance involving a mirror or stage." Felix frowned. "Is it the theater? Or something that *lives* there?" "Or something that *feeds* there." They traced the earliest entry back to a name: *Gideon Vale.* Veronica's great-grandfather. He built the original theater. And was, reportedly, obsessed with spiritualism, reflection, and "opening doors between perception and reality." He also vanished. In a mirror. "Of course he did," Felix muttered. Gus scribbled a note. "So here's the working theory: The Vale family opened something. A reflection gate. Or a portal. Or a tear in reality. Whatever it is, it's still open. And *someone* has to keep it fed." "You think it's a curse?" "I think it's an invitation. And if we don't RSVP, it comes looking." --- The next morning, Felix woke to find a mirror in his room that hadn't been there before. A small one. Oval. Antique. Sitting on the desk, tilted slightly. He stared at it. So did his reflection. He raised one hand. So did the reflection. He smiled. The reflection didn't. Felix stood slowly. The mirror cracked down the middle - *from the inside.* He threw a towel over it. Then packed a bag. --- "We need to go back to the theater," he told Veronica. She looked exhausted, but determined. "Why?" "Because the play wasn't just a stage show. It was a *ritual.* Your great-grandfather didn't just build a theater - he built a *summoning chamber.* And you were the key." She stared at him. "So you're saying I was sacrificed for my family's spiritual side hustle?" "Not on purpose." "Not this time, at least." They both stood. "Then let's finish the play," she said. Felix blinked. "What?" "We reverse it. We use the same steps. But this time, we close the gate." Gus, standing nearby in a cloak he absolutely didn't need, raised his hand. "I volunteer as comic relief." --- That night, the theater creaked with old memories. Candles were lit. Props were dusted off. The red gown Veronica had worn was now stitched with protective runes - courtesy of Madam Elira and three bottles of rosé. Felix stood center stage. "Ladies and gentlemen," he whispered into the darkness, "the final act." The theater responded with silence. Then - a whisper of movement. A breeze. The mirrors lit up. Reflections moved *on their own.* Veronica stepped into the spotlight. Her voice rang out clear. > "We are not yours to take." The mirrors began to hum. Gus threw salt in a circle. Felix lit a match and touched it to the script - the original script. Pages curled and burned. From the mirrors, a scream rose - high and shattering. The Hollow Guest emerged. This time, it wore *Felix's* face. "You can't stop what you are," it hissed. "I know," Felix said. "But I can choose what I *become.*" Veronica held out a shard of mirror - engraved with her family crest. The Hollow reached for it - and dissolved into dust. The candles went out. Silence. And then - applause. From empty seats