The Mirror Trade

Listen. That thing wearing your best friend's face isn't a skinwalker.

It's something worse. Skinwalkers need to kill you first. But this thing waits for you

to forget who you are. My roommate started acting weird. She'd stare at

her reflection like she was meeting someone new. Then I caught her whispering to

the mirror. Not talking to herself, but to something inside.

They replace you slowly, memory by memory, until you become the copy and

they the original. The mirror is the doorway. I confronted her. She answered every

question perfectly. Then she smiled and told me about a memory that didn't exist.