When I was sorting through dusty files in the city archives, I discovered three top-secret files marked as "sources of cognitive pollution."
The first "Moonlight Lane" record: Everyone who looked directly at the antique mirror began to gouge out their own eyes with a knife, and the last victim repeatedly murmured "the truth is in the mirror" before he died.
The second "Midnight Music" records that Chopin's "Funeral March" plays in a certain apartment every three o'clock in the morning, and residents of seven households collectively jump off the building with a smile of relief on their faces.
The third "Gate" file contained only a line of warning written in red: "Never look back at your home's peephole."
When I closed the file in a cold sweat, I heard the sound of nails scraping against the metal cabinet door from behind - that was the location where the first mirror recorded in the file was stored.
