The Watcher in the Mirror

Maya had always been drawn to old things—old books, old furniture, old houses. So when she found the antique mirror in a dusty corner of the secondhand store, she couldn’t resist. It was ornate, framed in dark wood with intricate carvings that twisted into shapes she couldn’t quite recognize. The glass was slightly fogged with age, but something about it caught her eye, a faint reflection that made her pause.

It was only when she placed it in her apartment, leaning it against the wall in her bedroom, that she realized how unsettling it was. The reflection in the mirror was off—just a little. When she stood in front of it, her reflection would move a moment later than she did. If she turned her head to the left, the image in the mirror would follow, but with a delay—always a beat too slow.

At first, she thought it was nothing more than a trick of the light. An optical illusion caused by the fogged glass or the dust in the corners. But every time she looked into the mirror, she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong.

A few days later, Maya woke up to an empty apartment, the soft sound of rain tapping against her windows. She shuffled out of bed, groggily making her way to the bathroom. As she passed her bedroom mirror, she glanced at her reflection.

The image in the glass wasn’t her, not entirely. The reflection smiled at her, but she hadn’t moved her lips. The smile was wide—unnaturally wide—showing teeth that gleamed in the dim light. For a moment, Maya thought she might be imagining it, that maybe the mirror’s flaws were playing tricks on her.

But the longer she stared, the more the reflection seemed to shift.

The reflection’s smile didn’t fade, but its eyes—her eyes—grew darker, deeper, as though a shadow was moving behind them. And in the corner of the glass, she saw something—someone—standing just beyond her, obscured in the edges of the frame. The figure’s shape was too blurry to make out, but Maya felt its presence, cold and heavy.

She yanked her gaze away, heart racing. The mirror was just a mirror, she told herself. She was imagining things.

But the feeling of being watched never left.

The following night, as she lay in bed, Maya couldn’t sleep. She kept staring at the mirror across from her, half-expecting to see the figure again, to feel those dark eyes on her. The room was silent except for the sound of her breathing and the steady tick of the clock on the wall.

Then, as if from nowhere, she heard a soft noise—a low whisper coming from the direction of the mirror. Her pulse quickened. The whisper was faint, but clear enough to hear:

“Don’t look.”

Her breath caught in her throat. She had been staring at the mirror for so long, she hadn’t even realized she was holding her breath.

“Don’t look,” the voice repeated, more insistent this time.

Maya’s body was frozen in place. She wanted to move, to run, but her gaze was locked on the mirror. She couldn’t tear her eyes away. The reflection of her own face twisted, smiling wider, impossibly wide. Her reflection wasn’t her anymore.

It was something else.

The figure that had been lurking in the corners of the mirror emerged more clearly now. It was her, but not her—someone else wearing her face, her eyes, her expression. Its body was unnaturally still, its posture too perfect.

The reflection stepped closer to the glass, its fingers pressing against the surface. It didn’t speak, but Maya could hear its thoughts in her head, invasive and chilling.

“Let me out.”

Maya’s breath came in short gasps as she scrambled backward, crashing against the wall. The reflection in the mirror was still moving toward her, slowly, its eyes never leaving hers. It reached out, its hand pressing against the glass, the fingers distorting as though it was trying to push through. The surface of the mirror rippled like water, the glass warping under its touch.

“Help me,” it whispered again, and Maya realized it wasn’t her own voice anymore. It was the voice of someone—something—else.

The room seemed to pulse with an eerie energy, the air thick and suffocating. Maya’s heart raced, and she tried to move, to break free from the heavy grip the mirror had on her. But every time she looked at it, the reflection grew stronger, clearer, as if it was fighting to escape.

In one desperate motion, Maya grabbed a heavy blanket from her bed and tossed it over the mirror. For a moment, there was silence. The tension in the room seemed to lift, and the oppressive feeling of being watched began to fade.

But the moment was short-lived.

She heard a soft tap, like fingernails against glass, coming from beneath the blanket.

The tap grew louder, then faster, as if something was banging on the other side of the mirror, desperate to break free.

Maya ran from the room, her heart pounding, and slammed the door behind her. The house was silent once more, but the tapping continued, the soft, persistent sound echoing through the apartment.

She couldn’t escape it.

She could never escape the watcher in the mirror.

And she knew, deep down, that the longer she waited, the more desperate it would become.

It was only a matter of time before it found a way out.