Detective Maren Hale stood at the edge of the frozen lake, her breath ghosting in the cold February air. The call had come just before dawn—a woman’s footprints leading out onto the ice, but none returning.
Except, oddly enough, the prints weren’t leading out. They started at the center and came back inland. Or rather… they looked like they did.
“Looks like someone walked backwards,” said Officer Lin, squinting at the trail. “But who starts from the middle of a lake?”
“No one,” Maren said, kneeling to examine the first print. It was too precise, too straight. A professional's attempt at deception.
The footprints led to a small cabin not far from the bank. Abandoned, by the looks of it—except for the faintest wisp of smoke curling from its chimney.
Maren approached slowly, her hand brushing her sidearm. It's freezing out here.The door creaked open on its own, as if welcoming her inside.
“Police,” she called. “Is anybody here.....If someone’s in here, show yourself.”
Silence.
Inside, the warmth was unnatural. Too warm for a place supposedly vacant. On the table sat a steaming mug of tea. Beside it, an old cassette recorder, the kind used in interrogation rooms twenty years ago.
“You followed the trail like I wanted. such curiosity You assumed the story started on the ice. But you’re looking at it all wrong. This is a story told backward, like my prints. And in this story, the killer isn’t hiding. You brought her with you. She followed you from behind.”
Maren felt the hairs on her arms rise. Unknowingly she felt a chill on her spine.
Behind her, the door slammed shut.
Her instinct kicked in—she drew her gun and spun around, heart pounding. No one. But she still felt a presence.
Then she saw it.
The mirror above the fireplace. Her reflection wasn’t alone.
A woman stood behind her in the glass—but not in the room. Pale, with blood-red hair and eyes that looked... too aware. Watching Maren. Studying her. oddly enough, she found similarities between her and the other lady.
Maren turned. Nothing. But it kept on feeling like someone was there, just invisible.
“She’s clever,” the recorder continued. “She thinks like us. lives like us, eats like us. wears our faces. Inhabits our logic. But logic can’t save you now, Detective. It's useless. All logic is baseless here.”
The recorder clicked off.
Maren stood motionless. The warmth was suffocating now, like the walls were closing in. Her breath caught in her throat. It started to feel like pressure.
Then she remembered the lake.
She rushed to the window, tearing back the curtain. upon seeing outside she stood motionless.
The footprints had changed.
Now there were two sets.
One still in reverse. And one leading out toward the center of the lake—fresh. when? When did someone do this?
Maren staggered back.
Someone else had just left. Or... just arrived.
Her radio crackled to life.
“Detective Hale, we’ve got another trail of prints. Starting at your position. Heading deeper onto the ice. Looks like... two sets now?”
Her voice felt distant. “Tell them not to follow. This isn’t just a crime scene. It’s a message. Possibly a trap.”
And she finally understood.
This wasn’t about a killer hiding in a cabin.
This was a lure.
She glanced at the mirror one last time. The red-haired woman was still there.
But now—she was smiling.
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