Before he could do anything something happened.
Two somethings to be exact.
The first was the light switch being flicked, turning the dead lamp into a bastion of luminescence, blinding him.
The second was a loud crash. Like glass shattering, or more accurately, a mirror.
After his eyes once again adjusted to the light a quick look at the source of the noise earned him a disturbing sight.
The mirror was indeed broken. It was no longer possible to use it to see his reflection.
A massive crack, splintering outwards from the centre of the mirror now occupied its once-smooth surface.
But was not enough to earn the title of 'disturbing.'
What earned it such a description in Jacob's mind was the message that the cracks formed.
They spelt the words "DON'T TURN AROUND."
This message was the last reminder he needed to solidify his belief.
Considering he had just learnt that 'something' had been in close enough proximity to him to mimic his breath.
To the point where he was unable to distinguish it from his own.
Needless to say, he had no plans to look directly behind himself for the rest of his life. Let alone the next few minutes.
With the lights back on and no more points of interest to investigate, Jacob made a decision.
He left the room.
Since he had discovered a new door key he made his way down the hall to the locked door he had found earlier.
Looking directly behind himself was pretty much impossible, and if the 'breathing ghost' had been with him the entire time, he should have seen it by now.
Jacob could think of several occasions where he had turned around and looked behind him, meaning that the action alone didn't endanger him.
So why did the message tell him not to turn around?
Why did he now need to worry about the breathing ghost?
Because he found out about its existence?
First, he wanted to test a theory.
So, he sped up his a little. Not enough to make a real difference, but it changed his pace.
Then just as suddenly as he sped up, he stopped.
As he did so, he heard it.
A single extra footstep.
He wasn't sure if this phenomenon had been going on the entire time, or if it was an entirely new aspect of the 'breathing ghost.'
At the very least he hadn't noticed it until just now.
Maybe that was why there were no mirrors.
Perhaps the father had realised this particular ghost would arrive and had destroyed the methods to see it?
Maybe it could only kill him if he looked directly at it?
He had too many questions and, quite frankly, no idea how to answer them.
Trial and error was always an option but considering death was a very real outcome he wasn't too keen on the approach.
So, he started walking again.
His pace was as rapid as his nervously beating heart.
Well as fast as his wound-ridden leg would allow.
The hallway lights flickered, temporarily blinding him but not stopping his attempts to reach the locked room.
This worried him. So far flickering lights had been a precursor to exclusively negative events.
As he passed under one of the bulbs he noticed something when he looked down.
He could see his shadow clearly.
Along with another shadow of similar shape and size.
Standing just behind him to his left.
Gulping down saliva, he quickly looked back up and began searching the corridor with his eyes, hoping to spot the room he was looking for.
With a bit of luck, the ghost wouldn't have realised it had been found and would continue its stance of non-violence against him.
All he had to do was walk calmly and carefully, acting like he was oblivious to his new companion.
There's a famous quote by Albert Einstein, 'Time flies when you're having fun.'
Jacob was currently experiencing the opposite side of this quote: 'Time practically crawls when you're shitting yourself in a haunted mansion being tailed by a demonic presence that definitely isn't friendly.'
Jacob may have paraphrased in his internal monologue as he attempted to distract himself while going down the hallway.
Anyone who has tried to act 'normal' knows the primary problem with this task is that any 'normal' actions suddenly seem to up and leave your memory.
Leaving normality to be a matter of pure guesswork.
Which begs more questions like what do you do with your hands, how do I usually walk, where do I look, and what expression should I make?
Combine all this with the environment Jacob was in.
He was hurt, exhausted both mentally and physically, and despite his newfound adaptability to the abnormal, quite scared.
Add that to the fact that he could finally clearly make out the locked door, and the result was easy to guess.
'Nope, there's no way it can't tell something's up. I'm just going to make a dash and hope I can get inside without it making its move.' Jacob thought as he broke out into his best attempt at a sprint with his injured leg.
He heard something else as he made his last-minute frenzied flee to the door.
It was that same breathing, the mimic of his own.
And it had changed. It was no longer masking its breath by matching his.
It was panting, not in exhaustion or anger at being found, and certainly not in fear.
It was panting like a hunter looking at its next meal.
Jacob ran, and it ran.
Jacob knew logically that it should be right behind him, standing over him, giving him no chance to escape.
But for some reason, he felt like he could get away.
If he just ran a little further, a little faster, he would make it.
It wasn't a feeling brought by logic or confidence.
It was from having survived on the edge of life and death more times in the last hour than many people do in their lives.
He felt like he could live, not easily, not even happily, but he could do it.
And suddenly, he was there.
He grabbed the door's handle, shoved the key into the keyhole, twisted it, and pushed himself into the room.
The moment he was on the other side of the door, he heard a screeching noise, like nails on a chalkboard or a bat and a cat shoved into a paper shredder simultaneously.
He almost turned to look before remembering the study's cryptic mirror message.
Without further ado, he slammed the door shut, closing his eyes and leaning against the wooden barrier that had somehow stopped him from being taken by the 'breathing ghost.'
Breathing heavily, he opened his eyes and looked around the room he was currently inside.
Surprise, intrigue, and reluctance coloured his face as he realised which room he had arrived in.
He had found the children's bedroom.