Chapter 3 - THE NINE RULES
Ethan stayed awake.
Coffee.
Cold shower.
Every light on.
At 12:26 a.m., someone walked inside 9B.
Slow footsteps.
One end of the vacant apartment to the other.
Rule Five.
Do not investigate.
At 1:04, the elevator opened outside.
DING.
No footsteps.
Then closed.
Rule Six.
At 1:37, Ethan’s phone displayed a missed call from:
MOM.
Impossible.
Her number had been disconnected years ago.
At 2:13 exactly, the black film covering the microwave door peeled away by itself.
Only one corner.
Enough to create a reflection.
Ethan saw his kitchen.
His shoulder.
Part of his face.
Then the reflection smiled.
Ethan had not.
He threw a towel over the microwave.
Rule Four.
At 3:02, his own voice came from the bedroom.
“Ethan?”
Rule Seven.
If you hear your own voice from another room, leave the apartment immediately—but do not use the front door.
Ethan stood.
How was he supposed to leave without using the front door?
Windows.
Nine floors.
No fire escape.
Then he remembered the balcony.
Small service balcony outside the kitchen.
It connected to a narrow maintenance landing with a steel stair descending one level.
He ran.
Opened the balcony door.
Cold air.
Behind him, his own voice said:
“Don’t leave me.”
Ethan stepped outside.
Closed the door.
Then climbed down to the eighth-floor landing.
Mr. Harris was waiting.
Ethan nearly punched him.
“You knew.”
Harris grabbed his shoulders.
“Did you look at it?”
“At what?”
“Your reflection.”
“For half a second.”
Harris closed his eyes.
“Did it smile?”
Ethan stared.
“Yes.”
Harris whispered:
“Too fast.”
“What does that mean?”
“It learned your face faster than I expected.”
Ethan shoved him.
“Tell me what this is.”
Harris looked toward the ninth-floor balcony.
Then said:
“Bellweather doesn’t make ghosts.”
May you like
Ethan waited.
“It makes replacements.”
