Nightmare Gallery: A Treasury of Twisted Terror Tales

The Price of a Favor

When Cynthia Winters arrived at the small town of Ashbrook, she had nothing but a beat-up suitcase and a crumpled scrap of paper with an address scribbled on it. The old, faded town had an air of desolation, the kind that lingers in places forgotten by the rest of the world. The streets were empty, and the windows of most houses were boarded up. It was the kind of place where secrets lived, long after everyone else had left.

The address on the paper led her to a small cottage at the edge of the woods. It looked like it hadn't been lived in for years, with vines creeping up the walls and the paint peeling away in strips. She checked the note again, then knocked on the door. The wood felt cold, unnaturally cold for the middle of summer.

No one answered, but the door creaked open under her touch.

Inside, the cottage smelled of damp earth and something else, something metallic and sharp. Cynthia wrinkled her nose but stepped in anyway. She had nowhere else to go.

She wasn't here by chance. A week ago, she had received a letter—an odd thing in itself. No one wrote letters anymore. It was from someone named Miriam, a woman she didn't know but had a feeling she was supposed to. The letter had been short and cryptic:

"You don't know me, but I know you. I can help you with your troubles. Come to Ashbrook, to the old cottage by the woods. Ask for a favor."

The timing couldn't have been better. Cynthia had been in trouble—deep trouble. A string of bad choices, financial debts, and desperate decisions had led her down a dangerous path. She owed people, dangerous people. If this mysterious Miriam could help, she had no choice but to follow the lead.

Inside the cottage, it was eerily silent. Dust covered the floor in thick layers, and cobwebs hung from the ceiling like forgotten memories. There was a faint glow coming from the back room, a flicker of light that danced in the corner of her vision.

Cynthia's heart pounded in her chest as she approached. When she stepped into the back room, she found a woman sitting at a small wooden table. Her skin was pale, almost translucent, with long, black hair that fell over her shoulders like a curtain of shadows. She didn't look up as Cynthia entered but spoke in a voice that was soft and chilling.

"You came."

"I got your letter," Cynthia said, her voice wavering.

The woman—Miriam, she assumed—nodded. "You're here for the favor."

Cynthia hesitated. Something about this felt wrong, but she couldn't turn back now. She needed help.

"I... I don't have much money," Cynthia stammered, "but I'll do anything if you can help me."

Miriam finally looked up. Her eyes were dark, almost hollow, and her gaze seemed to pierce straight through Cynthia. "The favor doesn't cost money. It costs something else."

Cynthia's throat tightened. "What does it cost?"

Miriam's lips curled into a faint smile, a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "That depends on the favor. But don't worry. The price will come later. For now, tell me what you need."

Cynthia's mind raced. What did she need? A way out of her debts, protection from the people who were after her? A clean slate, a fresh start?

"I need a way to disappear," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I need to leave my life behind, start over. No debts, no past... just a fresh start."

Miriam studied her for a moment, then nodded. "I can grant you that. You'll get your fresh start. But remember, there's always a price."

Cynthia swallowed hard, but she nodded. She was desperate, and she didn't care what it took.

Miriam reached into the folds of her dress and pulled out a small vial filled with a dark, swirling liquid. "Drink this tonight, before you go to sleep. When you wake up, your past will be gone. You'll have the fresh start you asked for."

Cynthia took the vial, her hands trembling. "What's in it?"

"Just a little magic," Miriam said with that unsettling smile. "Now go. And remember—everything comes with a price."

That night, Cynthia sat on the edge of the old bed in the cottage, staring at the vial in her hands. It was small, almost insignificant, but she knew it held the key to her future. Could she really trust this stranger? Could she trust magic?

Her debts flashed in her mind—the threats, the sleepless nights, the fear that followed her like a shadow. She had no choice. She uncorked the vial and drank the liquid in one swift gulp.

The taste was bitter, like ash and regret, but within moments, the world around her began to blur. Darkness crept in at the edges of her vision, and soon she was falling into a deep, dreamless sleep.

When Cynthia woke, the morning light streamed through the broken windows of the cottage. She sat up, her head spinning. For a moment, she felt disoriented, unsure of where she was. But then it hit her—she had done it. She had taken the potion.

She rushed to the small, cracked mirror hanging on the wall and gasped. Her reflection had changed. She still looked like herself, but her features were softer, her hair a different shade, her eyes a deeper green. She barely recognized the woman staring back at her.

She smiled, a new sense of hope bubbling up inside her. It had worked. She had a fresh start.

But as she turned away from the mirror, she noticed something strange. Her reflection—no, her old reflection—was still staring back at her, eyes wide with terror. The woman in the mirror was her old self, the one who had debts, the one who had been desperate. But she was trapped.

Cynthia stepped closer to the mirror, her heart racing. She raised her hand to touch the glass, but the reflection didn't move. It just stared at her with those pleading eyes.

"What... what is this?" she whispered, her voice trembling.

A soft chuckle filled the room, and Cynthia spun around to find Miriam standing in the doorway, her dark eyes gleaming.

"I told you, there's always a price," Miriam said, her voice low and cold. "You wanted to leave your old life behind. Now you have. But your old self... she's still in there, trapped in the mirror. Forever."

Cynthia's heart sank as the weight of her decision crashed down on her. She had asked for a fresh start, but she hadn't understood the true cost.

She turned back to the mirror, her old self still trapped inside, forever watching, forever waiting.

And outside the mirror, Cynthia would go on living her new life, always haunted by the reflection of the person she used to be.