Marcus couldn’t explain why the paperweight fascinated him so much. He found it at a flea market, buried among dusty trinkets and tarnished silverware. A glass orb, smooth and heavy, with a swirling tendril of black smoke trapped inside.
The old woman selling it had laughed when he picked it up. “That thing’s been here longer than me,” she’d said, grinning toothlessly. “You want it? It’s yours for a dollar.”
A bargain, Marcus thought. He brought it home and set it on his desk. It was mesmerizing, the way the smoke twisted and shifted, as if it had a mind of its own.
That night, he dreamt of the orb. In the dream, the smoke was alive, writhing and coiling like a serpent. It spoke to him, though he couldn’t understand the words. When he woke, the memory lingered, unsettling and vivid.
Over the next few days, strange things began to happen. His clock would stop at odd times. The television flickered when he walked past. And the orb—no longer just a paperweight—seemed to hum faintly when he was near.
One night, Marcus noticed something new. The tendril of smoke inside the orb had grown thicker, darker. He swore he saw shapes forming within it—faces, grotesque and mournful, pressing against the glass as if begging to be freed.
The dreams worsened. He’d find himself in a shadowy void, surrounded by the faces from the orb. They whispered to him, their voices cold and accusatory.
“You don’t belong here,” they hissed. “You’ve stolen what is ours.”
Marcus woke drenched in sweat, the orb glowing faintly on his desk. That’s when he noticed something horrifying. The swirling smoke inside had turned red.
And his reflection in the glass—it wasn’t his own.
Panic set in. He grabbed the orb and hurled it to the floor, shattering it into a thousand glittering shards. The moment it broke, a deafening silence enveloped the room.
Then he felt it. A shift.
When Marcus turned to his mirror, his heart dropped. The room behind him looked different—the walls bare, the furniture aged. His reflection smiled, but he hadn’t moved.
He spun around, and there it was: the orb, whole and unbroken, back on his desk.
This time, the smoke inside didn’t twist. It stared at him.
And Marcus realized he wasn’t the one looking out. He was the one trapped inside.