We Switch Places at 3:00

I moved into the apartment because it was cheap and quiet. Too quiet,

now that I think about it. The first week was normal, except for the scratching.

Every night, just after midnight, I heard it coming from inside the walls—slow,

deliberate scratches, like fingernails dragging across wood. When I pressed my

ear to the wall, the sound stopped. Until I pulled away. I told myself it was rats.

On the ninth night, I woke up to my bedroom mirror facing my bed. I never leave it

like that. I tried not to look at it, but I could feel something was wrong.

My reflection was breathing differently than I was. Slowly, the reflection smiled.