The Reflection

Maggie had never been a fan of mirrors. As a child, she would always cover them before going to bed, convinced that something was lurking on the other side, waiting for the right moment to show itself. She’d grown out of the habit over the years, but deep down, the unease remained.

When Maggie moved into the old apartment on Willow Street, she found herself face-to-face with a large, ornate mirror in the hallway. It was the only piece of furniture left by the previous tenants. At first, she tried to ignore it, but something about it disturbed her. The way the glass shimmered, almost too clean, too clear. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it.

One evening, after a long day at work, Maggie came home feeling exhausted. She barely glanced at the mirror as she passed it on her way to the kitchen. But as she reached for the refrigerator door, she froze. From the corner of her eye, she saw something shift in the reflection.

It was subtle, but it was there. A figure, just behind her.

Maggie whipped around, heart pounding, but there was nothing in the hallway. Just the empty mirror.

It was probably just the light, she told herself. Maybe it was a trick of the eyes.

But as the days went on, the feeling persisted. Sometimes, she would glance into the mirror and see someone standing behind her. Not her own reflection, but a figure, vague and shadowy, just out of focus.

She tried to ignore it. She really did. But one night, the whispers started.

It was just a whisper at first—soft, like a breath. The sound seemed to come from the mirror itself, like someone was speaking from behind the glass.

“Look at me…” the voice said. It wasn’t her own voice. It was cold, distant.

Maggie backed away, her heart racing. She felt like she couldn’t breathe.

She told herself to go to bed, to let it go. But the next morning, when she looked at the mirror again, the figure was clearer. And this time, it wasn’t just standing behind her. It was moving, slowly, as if it was trying to escape the glass.

Maggie could see the face now. A woman, pale and gaunt, with hollow eyes and dark hair that flowed like a shadow. Her lips barely moved as she whispered again.

“Come closer…”

Panic gripped Maggie’s chest. She turned and ran to the door, only to stop dead in her tracks. The door wouldn’t open. It was locked.

The whispers came again. Louder now.

“Look at me… I need you…”

Maggie felt her mind begin to unravel. She wanted to scream, but her voice was caught in her throat. The woman in the mirror smiled, her lips stretching unnaturally wide, revealing sharp, jagged teeth.

With shaking hands, Maggie reached for the mirror, her fingers touching the cool surface. And as soon as she made contact, the mirror shifted—like liquid. The woman’s face pressed against the glass, her hands reaching out, clawing at the surface.

Maggie tried to pull away, but the glass felt wrong, like it was pulling her in. She struggled, but the mirror began to warp, the surface rippling like water. And then, before she could scream, her reflection—the woman’s reflection—stepped out of the mirror and into the room.

It wasn’t a reflection anymore. It was real.

Maggie’s last thought before everything went dark was that she would never be able to escape the mirror.

And now, someone else would see her face staring back from the glass.