The Haunted Reflection
Lena had always been fascinated by antique stores. There was something enchanting about old objects with untold stories. One evening, as she wandered through a dimly lit shop on the outskirts of town, she stumbled upon an ornate, dust-covered mirror. The frame was carved with intricate patterns of twisted vines and faces frozen in expressions of horror. A chill ran down her spine as she gazed into the mirror, but she couldn’t look away. The shopkeeper, a frail old man with hollow eyes, shuffled up behind her.
“Ah, that mirror… it’s very old. Perhaps too old,” he muttered. “It belonged to the Blackwood family… before their unfortunate demise.”
Lena, intrigued by the mystery, purchased the mirror and brought it home. She placed it in her bedroom, admiring the eerie beauty of the craftsmanship. That night, as she lay in bed, she swore she heard whispers—faint and unintelligible—coming from the direction of the mirror. She dismissed it as her imagination and fell asleep.
The following night, she woke abruptly to a strange noise. A scraping sound, like nails against glass. Heart pounding, she turned towards the mirror. What she saw made her blood run cold.
Her reflection was still lying in bed, eyes wide open, staring at her with a twisted grin. Lena scrambled backward, gasping in horror. The reflection sat up slowly, cocking its head to the side, its mouth moving though no sound came out.
“No… this isn’t real,” Lena whispered, shutting her eyes. When she opened them again, her reflection was normal. Shaking, she pulled the blanket over herself, convincing herself it was just a dream.
But the nightmare continued.
Each night, the reflection grew more sinister. At first, it only mimicked her actions a second too late, as if struggling to keep up. Then it started moving on its own. One evening, as Lena brushed her hair, her reflection stopped halfway and simply stared at her. Its eyes darkened, and a slow, malicious grin spread across its face.
Terrified, Lena tried covering the mirror with a sheet, but she could still hear the whispers—louder now, urgent, pleading. One night, unable to bear it any longer, she grabbed a hammer and swung it at the mirror. The glass shattered into countless shards, and for a moment, silence filled the room.
Then came the laughter.
Deep, guttural, and triumphant.
The fragments of the mirror reflected a thousand pairs of eyes, all watching her. A voice echoed from the broken shards:
“Thank you for setting me free.”
The light flickered, and a shadow emerged from the fractured glass. Lena screamed, but the darkness swallowed her whole. The room fell silent once more.
The next morning, the landlord found the apartment empty. The only thing left was the shattered mirror—perfectly repaired, standing in the center of the room.
And within it, Lena’s reflection.
Trapped.
Smiling.
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