The Watcher in the Mirror

Maggie had always thought the old mirror in her grandmother’s attic was a simple, antique relic. Its frame was intricately carved with flowers and vines, and the glass, though a bit cloudy with age, still held a reflection clear enough to see oneself. When her grandmother passed, leaving her the house and all its contents, Maggie decided to clean up the attic, hoping to find something of value or perhaps a keepsake to remember her by.

She didn’t expect the mirror to be one of them.

It was the first thing she noticed as she ventured into the dusty attic. The light from the small, grimy window barely illuminated the corners, but the mirror caught what little light there was, drawing her in. Maggie stepped closer, brushing aside the cobwebs and dust. The mirror stood tall, almost imposing, leaning against the far wall.

She gave it a quick once-over and shrugged. There was no harm in keeping it. After all, it was old, beautiful, and certainly worth more than the small sum she’d have to pay to have it professionally cleaned.

But that night, when she hung the mirror in her bedroom and turned off the light to sleep, something strange happened.

As Maggie lay in bed, her eyes wide open, she could see the faint reflection of the room in the mirror across from her. Everything looked normal, just as it did when she first entered her room. But something in the reflection began to shift, something she hadn’t noticed before. A figure, standing perfectly still, appeared in the corner of the glass.

At first, Maggie thought it was just her imagination, the kind of trick the mind plays when it’s half-awake. But when she turned her head to look in the actual corner of the room, there was nothing there. She froze, staring at the mirror, where the figure had now moved closer, its face just visible in the reflection, but not in the room.

Maggie’s breath hitched. The figure was a man, tall and thin, with dark hair and pale skin. He was staring directly at her, his eyes unnaturally wide, his mouth slightly open as though waiting to speak. But there was no sound.

Her pulse quickened. Maggie tried to sit up, but the moment she moved, the figure in the mirror moved too. Its eyes followed her, its body jerking slightly as though it were mimicking her every move.

Terrified, Maggie turned her back to the mirror, burying her face in the pillow. She shut her eyes tightly, willing herself to fall asleep. The figure would disappear in the morning, she told herself. It had to. This was just a trick of the mind.

But when she opened her eyes again, she found that the figure was still there—closer now, standing just inches from the glass, watching her. The dark eyes stared at her with such intensity, it felt as though the figure was waiting for something. Waiting for her.

Her breath caught in her throat. She had to get rid of the mirror. But the thought of touching it—of moving it—sent a shiver down her spine. The reflection of the man didn’t seem like it was part of the mirror at all. It was more like… he belonged there, as though he had always been there, waiting for her to see him.

With shaking hands, Maggie pushed herself out of bed and turned on the light. She approached the mirror slowly, her eyes glued to the reflection. The man was still there, standing silently in the corner, staring directly at her.

“Who are you?” she whispered, her voice trembling.

The figure didn’t respond. It simply stood, unnaturally still, its dark eyes fixed on hers. She reached out a hand, almost instinctively, and touched the cold surface of the glass.

At the moment her fingers made contact, a chill shot up her arm. The air in the room grew heavier, and Maggie felt the distinct sensation that the room had changed. That she had changed. The figure’s mouth opened wider now, but the silence only deepened. He was speaking, but no sound reached her ears.

Maggie jerked her hand back, her heart hammering in her chest. Her breathing grew shallow as she took a step back, staring at the mirror in horror.

Suddenly, the reflection of the man in the mirror smiled. A twisted, grotesque grin that made Maggie’s blood run cold. His eyes widened even further, and she felt a wave of terror wash over her. He was no longer just a figure trapped in the glass. He was watching her, waiting for her to make the next move.

She stumbled backward, her legs giving way, and she fell to the floor. Her eyes never left the mirror, unable to look away from the smiling figure who now moved toward the glass, his hand pressing against the inside of the reflection. It was as if he was pushing to get out, to cross over from the glass into the real world.

“Please,” she gasped, “No…”

But the reflection’s lips moved, and this time, Maggie heard the words. Soft, chilling, and low.

“Let me in.”

Panic overtook her. She scrambled to her feet, darting for the door, desperate to leave the room. The mirror was behind her, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that something—someone—was right behind her.

She slammed the door shut, her heart racing. But the whispers didn’t stop. Through the thick wood of the door, she could still hear them.

“Let me in… let me in…”

The next morning, Maggie packed up the mirror. She had to get rid of it. She couldn’t take the risk of what might happen if she left it in the house. But when she took the mirror outside, ready to smash it, she stopped. The reflection was gone. The glass was perfectly still. There was nothing inside it—no man, no strange figure.

But as Maggie turned to walk away, she caught something in the reflection.

A smile, twisting at the corners of her mouth.

The man was still there.

And he was inside.

As she watched, his fingers pressed against the glass from the other side, gently tapping.

“Let me in…” the voice echoed, this time not just from the mirror, but from behind her.

And when Maggie turned to face the voice, the door behind her was wide open.

The man was standing in the doorway, waiting.