The Reflection That Wasn’t Mine

Mara had always hated the old mirror in her grandmother’s house.

It was massive, stretching from the floor to the ceiling, framed in dark, twisting wood. She swore the carvings looked like hands, reaching, grasping. The glass itself was warped, old, with faint speckles of black that made it look like something lived behind it.

“Why do you still have this thing, Grandma?” Mara asked one evening, staring at her distorted reflection.

Her grandmother, sitting in her rocking chair, only chuckled. “It’s been in this house for generations, dear. Best not to ask too many questions.”

Mara rolled her eyes. “It’s creepy.”

Her grandmother didn’t argue.

That night, Mara lay awake in the guest room, just across from the mirror. She turned to face the wall, refusing to let it be the last thing she saw before falling asleep.

Sometime around 3 a.m., she woke up.

A sound. A soft, slow tapping.

Mara blinked groggily. Where was it coming from?

Then she realized—

The mirror.

She turned over, her stomach twisting.

The room was dark, but the mirror…

The mirror wasn’t.

A faint, pale glow shimmered inside the glass, like light trying to break through murky water.

Mara’s breath hitched. She should look away. She should.

But she didn’t.

Her reflection stood there, staring back at her—but something was off.

It was too dark to see details, but she could tell. The way it breathed a second too late, the way its head tilted just a little too far.

And then—

It smiled.

Mara’s body locked up. She hadn’t smiled.

Her reflection did it on its own.

She scrambled for the lamp, fumbling with the switch. Click. Light flooded the room.

The reflection was normal again. Just her.

Mara sat there, heart pounding, cold sweat prickling her skin. I imagined it. I had to.

But then she noticed something.

Her reflection’s hand was still resting on the blanket.

Hers was not.

Mara didn’t sleep the rest of the night.

The Next Night

She told her grandmother in the morning.

The old woman only sighed. “You should leave that mirror alone, dear.”

“Why do you even have it?” Mara pressed.

Her grandmother hesitated. “Because getting rid of it… doesn’t mean it goes away.”

Mara didn’t like that answer.

That night, she covered the mirror with a bedsheet.

But at 3 a.m., she woke up again.

The tapping was louder this time.

And then—

The sheet fell to the floor.

Mara clapped a hand over her mouth, stifling a scream.

The mirror was glowing again. And this time, her reflection wasn’t in bed.

It was standing.

Closer.

And it was still smiling.

Then, it took a step forward—

And the glass rippled.

Like water.

Mara bolted for the door.

But before she could reach it, she heard the sound that made her blood run cold—

The sound of bare feet stepping onto the floor behind her.