This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/Kira1006 on 2026-05-24 12:20:09+00:00.

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I’m a self-employed specialist cleaner for apartments where people have died. Usually old people. Grandparents whose families want the place emptied and cleaned so it can be sold as quickly as possible.

It never bothered me. At least not until tonight.

I had taken on too many jobs again, blinded by the extra money, so by the time I reached the last house, it was already dark.

The place stood in the middle of nowhere.

When I parked at the entrance, I had the uneasy feeling that this would not be a quick job.

The moment I stepped inside, I realized the house hadn’t been emptied yet. Everything the old man had owned was still there, exactly where he had left it. Normally, the family would have removed the furniture and personal belongings before calling me in, leaving me to do the final cleanup.

A sheet of paper rested on the desk near the entrance:

Sorry, but there were complications with the transport service. Please just clean as much as you can. The place where he died is the living room.

I frowned at the note. Why hadn’t they simply called me? Maybe they were afraid I would refuse the job if I knew beforehand.

But I was already here, and I guessed I would do my best. I had been right about one thing, though. This would not be quick.

As I moved through the house, a strange sadness slowly crept over me. Family pictures covered the walls. The old man smiling into the camera. The old man eating dinner with his family. The old man sitting in an armchair with thick glasses on, reading a book while a cat rested in his lap.

He had looked happy. And now he was gone.

The house itself was small. A living room, a bedroom, a kitchen, and a bathroom. Nothing more.

The subtle stench of death hit me the moment I entered the living room.

There was a dark stain on the floor, roughly the size of a human body. This had to be where he died. The problem with elderly people living alone is that their bodies are often discovered days after death, once decomposition has already begun. Someone had clearly tried to wipe the spot clean before I arrived, but it had been pointless. Bodily fluids had soaked deep into the floorboards, and removing them properly required special chemicals.

I pulled on my mask and got to work on the stain first. Just like I always did.

The stain was stubborn, but after roughly half an hour, I finally managed to get rid of it. It took a lot of scrubbing and even more cursing.

After the long day, my back had started to ache, so I stayed sitting on the floor for a moment, letting myself rest while my eyes wandered through the living room.

A small dinnertable for two in the middle. And there, in the corner, was the armchair from the photographs.

To the right stood a bookshelf filled with old novels whose authors meant nothing to me. On the left side of the chair stood a large full-body mirror. I glanced at my reflection and saw a tired, miserable face staring back at me, silently asking why the hell I always had to be so greedy.

I could have been home by now. In bed with Laura...

I shook the thought away, pushed myself to my feet, and opened the windows to air out the chemical smell. Then I headed back outside to grab the coffee I had bought on the drive here. It was going to be a long night, and I needed the caffeine.

When I returned to the living room, I still felt completely drained.

There was an old television in the corner, and I figured having some background noise might make the work a little less miserable, so I turned it on.

Only static greeted me. I sighed and switched it off again.

The moment I placed the remote back onto the table and turned away, the television flickered back to life behind me, filling the room once more with loud static.

I cursed under my breath.

The old thing was annoying, and what I didn’t want to admit to myself was that it genuinely unsettled me, even though I was a grown man.

I turned it off again and forced myself back to work.

An hour later, I finished the bathroom. Two hours after that, the kitchen was done as well, and I returned to the living room.

The smell of chemicals had finally faded. I closed the window again, quietly humming some half-forgotten melody to myself. A loud noise suddenly echoed through the room, making me jump.

I spun around too quickly and nearly made myself dizzy. A book lay on the floor in front of the large bookshelf. It must have fallen out somehow.

But how?

I stared at it for a moment. Nothing happened. Pressing my lips together, I slowly approached it.

There was no title on the cover. No author’s name. Just black leather, worn and cracked with age.

I bent down, picked it up, and instead of putting it back immediately, I opened it.

A strange symbol filled the first page. A triangle, with smaller markings branching from each corner, almost resembling the letter T. Beneath it was a single sentence.

“Ecce donas, haas offeretus kanas, rementulum iv colum.”

I read the words aloud.

Latin, maybe? The rest of the pages were blank.

“Meow.”

I looked up from the book and froze. The black cat from the photographs sat only a few feet away, staring directly at me. So that was how the book had fallen. And I had started imagining things already. Jesus.

I slid the strange book back into the shelf, trying not to think about what kind of man the owner must have been, and turned toward the cat.

“Hey, buddy,” I muttered. “You scared the hell out of me.”

I should probably take the animal back to the family who hired me. The poor thing was likely starving, maybe abandoned after the old man died. I didn’t even want to consider that possibility for too long.

“Hey.”

I slowly knelt down and held out my hand toward the cat, trying not to scare it.

“Let’s be friends.”

“Meow.”

The cat turned around calmly, leapt forward, and disappeared straight through the mirror.

I froze.

On the other side of the glass, I could still see it walking away from me.

“What the hell,” I whispered.

Slowly, I got to my feet and approached the mirror.

The apartment on the other side looked exactly the same, except for the cat, now sitting with its back turned toward me while lazily licking its paw.

This couldn’t be real.

I reached out carefully, expecting my hand to hit cold glass. Instead, it passed straight through.

My breath caught in my throat. Before I could stop myself, I took another step forward. Then another. A second later, my entire body had crossed through the mirror.

Now I was standing on the other side as well. At first glance, the apartment seemed unchanged, but something felt wrong immediately.

Sounds drifted in from the kitchen. The clatter of plates. The soft scrape of metal against ceramic. And beneath it all lingered the unmistakable smell of freshly cooked food.

The cat slowly turned its head toward me.

My knees nearly gave out.

Its eyes were gone. Two dark, rotting holes stared back at me from beneath matted black fur. Flesh around its mouth had decayed away, exposing yellow teeth and parts of its jaw. More patches of rotten skin hung loose around its neck.

I instinctively stumbled backward toward the mirror.

This time, my back hit solid glass.

No matter how hard I pushed, it would not let me through.

“Meow.”

The sound was no longer soft or harmless. It came out low and wet, beneath the growl.

The the noises from the kitchen stopped abruptly. Silence flooded the apartment. A second later, I heard footsteps approaching fast.

An old man stepped out of the corridor, drying his hands on a kitchen towel draped loosely over his shoulder.

He smiled warmly at me, then looked down at the cat.

“Ah, Fluff,” he said gently. “You brought a friend with you.”

Then his eyes settled on me, and his smile widened just a little too much.

“I hope he didn’t bother you too much.”

“N-No,” I managed to choke out.

“Good. Gooood.”

The old man gestured toward the small dinner table.

“Come, sit down. Have dinner with me.”

I swallowed hard.

“I’m sorry, but I really can’t stay. I still need to finish my work.”

I remained standing close to the mirror, trying to sound calm while silently praying in my head.

“Nonsense!” the old man replied cheerfully. “I haven’t had guests in such a long time. I can’t let you leave hungry.” He motioned toward the table.

“You’ve worked hard back there.” He nodded toward the mirror.

“At least let me repay you with dinner. I just finished cooking, you know. You arrived at the perfect time.”

Every instinct screamed at me to run, but the look in the old man’s eyes told me that refusing him would be a terrible mistake.

So I nodded slowly and forced myself toward the table.

The old man disappeared back into the kitchen and returned moments later carrying two plates. Rice and stir-fried vegetables steamed gently beneath the dim light. He placed the plates on the table alongside forks and knives before sitting down across from me.

“Oh, this feels wonderful,” he sighed.

He tilted his head sharply to the left.

Crack.

Then slowly to the right.

Crack.

The sound of bone grinding against bone echoed softly through the apartment.

“I really did miss having company,” he said with a smile.

“I’m sorry,” I said, clearing my throat. “I… accidentally stepped through the mirror, but it seems I can’t go back.”

“Oh, no wonder you can’t.” The old man laughed softly and unfolded a napkin across his legs.

“These young people nowadays, honestly.”

I stared at him in silence.

“You can’t go back becau...

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