My abuelita once gave me that look, the one that can turn milk sour and make cats land on their backs.

"Hope Martinez," she shouted in anger. "What have you done?"

I stood there in silence, my hair covered in tiny shards of broken mirror and tears in my eyes. It was a question I would have no answer to for many years. For I had done the impossible and the unforgivable, and my life would never be the same.

All my troubles began on a quiet suburban night at the peculiar hour of 1:08 AM when a loud knocking banged from inside my bedroom closet.

I bolted upright in bed, frantically switching on my lamp and staring at my closet door. The storm outside rattled the windows as the sound of rain hitting glass and the occasional thunderclap filled the lumbering stillness. I clutched my pillow tight and curled my legs close to my chest aware of any sound or movement. I heard something scurry behind the closet door, scratching at the paint. A mouse, maybe, but mice don't knock.

"Laura, is that you?" I whispered believing my little sister had hidden herself inside ready to perform another prank. No one answered. "It's not funny, Laura. I'm going to tell dad."

A second knock shook the door. I squealed and shut my eyes wishing it would go away. It didn't. A voice started to whisper from inside.

"It was me," said the soft muffled voice. "All this time... it was me."

I shrieked in terror.

For a thirteen year old who had recently convinced herself that the boogeyman was not real and that monsters and ghosts only existed in stories, my heart thumped against my chest as curiosity overtook fear and I crawled out of bed.

"Laura, please stop," I cried nervously, my hands trembling as I inched closer. "This is mean."

The voice grew louder and louder. A light formed underneath the door. Shadows moved.

"Stay away!" Shouted the voice. "You can't have her!"

It was not Laura's voice. Someone, something was in my closet. Goosebumps covered my skin; my hand reached out. Holding my breath I yanked open the door, but to my surprise only silence and darkness greeted me.

I rubbed my head in wonder. Inside the closet rested my school jacket, some faded shirts and frilly dressing gowns, a few ripped pants in need of a tailor, a jumbled pair of socks and worn out boots, the remains of last year's science fair project, a drawing of a purple cat my sister had painted, and hanging on the back of the door was a mirror. I shut the door and went to bed, convincing myself that it was all a dream. I was wrong.

The knocking happened again the next night and every night after. First one loud knock at 1:08 then another followed by the same words. Each time I opened the door to see who it was, I was met with the same disappointment and confusion. After weeks of this routine I decided to leave my door open and see for myself what was making the racket.

With my dad's old Polaroid camera in hand, I watched my alarm clock change. 1:08 AM. Nothing walked out. Nothing moved inside. For a moment I was puzzled until the mirror hanging on the closet door began to glow. From its depths a boy appeared dressed in strange clothes. I started snapping pictures. His fist fell upon the glass; his lips whispering unknown words. Snap, flash, went my camera! One knock. Snap! Flash! Two knocks. Undeveloped photos tumbled to the carpet. I dropped the camera and rushed to shut the door. When my hand touched the glass, the mirror crack'd, and my dark room filled with light.

****While you are reading this story, please keep in mind there is a guidebook to help you along your adventure called The Mirrorbender Compendium. It includes an expanded universe of terminology and history perfect for readers who want to learn more than what the story can give. Also if you love monster guides, read A Mirrorbender's Fieldguide To Monsters for short stories, legends, and how to befriend or banish the monsters unique to the Mirror Me series.