The Mirror in the Attic

The attic was the last place Emily wanted to be that night. It wasn’t just the flickering bulb or the layers of dust that made her uneasy—it was the mirror.

It stood tall in the corner, its ornate frame tarnished with age. She’d found it when cleaning out her grandmother’s house after her passing. No one knew where it had come from, and her grandmother had never mentioned it.

“Just a mirror,” Emily muttered to herself, adjusting the flashlight in her hand.

But it didn’t feel like just a mirror.

As the storm outside rattled the old house, Emily hesitated. She didn’t know why she kept coming back to the attic, but tonight felt different. The air was colder, and the mirror seemed to gleam in the dim light, almost inviting.

A loud crack of thunder made her jump, and the flashlight flickered.

“Great,” she mumbled, taking a step closer to the mirror.

Her reflection stared back at her, but something was off. The movements weren’t perfectly synced, like the reflection lagged behind.

She waved her hand. The reflection copied her, but just a second too late.

“Okay, that’s creepy.”

As she turned to leave, her reflection didn’t move.

Emily froze, her heart pounding. Slowly, she turned back.

The figure in the mirror stood still, watching her. Its face was her face, but the eyes were darker, sunken, and filled with something that wasn’t human.

“Who are you?” Emily whispered, her voice shaking.

The reflection smiled—a cold, unnatural grin. Then, it raised a hand and pointed behind her.

Every instinct screamed at Emily not to turn around, but she couldn’t help it. Slowly, she looked over her shoulder.

Nothing. Just the empty attic.

When she turned back to the mirror, her reflection was gone.

Emily stumbled back, the flashlight slipping from her hands and clattering to the floor. The attic was plunged into darkness, except for the faint glow of the mirror.

“You shouldn’t have come,” a voice whispered, low and echoing.

“Who’s there?!” Emily shouted, her voice cracking.

The voice came again, soft but insistent. “Let me out.”

“No!” Emily cried, backing toward the stairs.

The mirror began to shimmer, the surface rippling like water. A hand pressed against the glass from the other side—her hand, but pale and clawed.

“You can’t leave me here,” the voice said, louder now.

Emily turned and bolted for the stairs, her feet slipping on the old wooden steps. She didn’t stop running until she was out of the house, standing in the pouring rain.

From the driveway, she looked up at the attic window. The mirror glowed faintly, and in its surface, her reflection stood, watching her with that same cold smile.

Emily turned and ran, leaving the house—and the reflection—behind. But as she fled into the night, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she hadn’t left it behind at all.