Shadow in the Mirror
Danny never believed in the supernatural. Ghosts, curses, haunted houses—those were just bedtime stories meant to scare children. But all of that changed when he moved into the old apartment on Holloway Street.
The building was ancient, its walls cracked with age, the pipes groaning whenever the temperature dropped. It was cheap, though, and Danny was desperate for a place to stay. The previous tenant had left in a hurry, the landlord said, leaving most of his furniture behind. That should have been the first warning sign.
The first night was uneventful. Danny unpacked, set up his bed, and ignored the unsettling creaks in the floorboards. It wasn’t until he entered the bathroom that he noticed something strange.
The mirror.
It was old, with a tarnished silver frame, the glass slightly warped with age. But that wasn’t what disturbed him. It was the smudges—long, finger-like streaks running down the surface, as if someone had pressed their hands against it and dragged them downward. He wiped them away, thinking nothing of it.
That was his second mistake.
The next morning, the smudges were back.
Danny frowned, rubbing at them again. Maybe condensation from the shower had caused it. He shrugged it off and went about his day. But as the week passed, the smudges grew more defined. They weren’t random anymore. They looked like handprints. And they were moving lower.
One night, unable to shake the eerie feeling creeping over him, Danny avoided looking at the mirror altogether. He brushed his teeth while staring at the sink, washed his face quickly, and turned off the light before stepping out. But just as he was leaving, something flickered in the corner of his vision.
A shadow.
Inside the mirror.
He spun around, heart pounding, but there was nothing there. Just his reflection, wide-eyed and breathless. The mirror was playing tricks on him, he reasoned. He was just tired.
That night, he dreamed of hands reaching for him from the darkness.
By the end of the week, Danny was convinced something was wrong. He tried to ignore it, but the mirror wouldn’t let him. The smudges had become unmistakable—ten long, dark fingers stretching down the glass. The shape of a head, barely visible, pressed against the surface like something was trying to push through.
Then, the whispers started.
They came at night, soft and distant, like someone murmuring just beyond his door. At first, he thought it was a neighbor. But when he listened closely, he realized it was coming from the bathroom.
From the mirror.
“Let me out.”
Danny’s blood ran cold. He stared at the door, his entire body frozen in fear. He told himself he was imagining things, but the voice came again, a pleading whisper, desperate and hungry.
“Let me out.”
He didn’t sleep that night.
The next morning, he covered the mirror with a sheet. It didn’t help. The whispers continued. The smudges darkened, becoming deep, claw-like scratches on the glass. And the reflection—his reflection—began to change.
At first, it was subtle. A slight delay when he moved, a flicker in the corner of his eye. But soon, it became undeniable. His reflection was no longer his own.
It was watching him.
One night, as he stood frozen before the covered mirror, he gathered the courage to rip the sheet away.
And there it was.
A figure stood inside the glass, grinning.
It looked like him, but it wasn’t. Its eyes were black pits, its mouth stretched too wide, revealing rows of jagged teeth. Its fingers, too long and sharp, pressed against the inside of the mirror.
Then it moved.
Danny stumbled backward as the figure lifted its hand and knocked against the glass. A single, deliberate tap. Then another. The sound sent ice through his veins.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
His own reflection was trying to get out.
With a shaking hand, he grabbed the nearest object—a heavy book—and hurled it at the mirror. The glass shattered, shards flying across the bathroom. The reflection screamed, the sound unnatural and filled with rage.
Then silence.
Danny stood there, panting, staring at the broken remains of the mirror. The whispering was gone. The smudges, the shadows—everything had disappeared.
For the first time in days, he felt like he could breathe.
But as he turned to leave, a glint of movement caught his eye. He looked down at one of the larger mirror shards lying on the floor.
And his reflection—his real reflection—was still standing.
Smiling.
0 Comments