he Man in the Mirror

Hannah had always been a creature of habit. She had a routine, a way of doing things that made her feel safe. Each morning, after the alarm rang, she would make a cup of coffee, take a quick shower, and then, before heading to work, glance in the bathroom mirror. It was a way to check herself—straighten her hair, fix her makeup, make sure everything was in order. It wasn’t much, but it was enough.

But recently, something had felt off. The mirror seemed a little... different. It wasn’t the mirror itself—it was always the same, old and slightly foggy around the edges. No, it was her reflection. There were days when she swore it looked like her eyes were just a little too wide, her face a little too pale, like someone was standing just behind her, watching.

She chalked it up to stress. Work had been hectic lately, and her sleep was patchy. Hannah worked long hours at a design firm, often staying late to meet deadlines. But one evening, after a particularly grueling day, she stood in front of the mirror and felt it again.

That strange sensation.

She looked into her own eyes and froze. For a split second, her reflection didn’t move in sync with her. It was subtle—so subtle that, when she blinked, she convinced herself it was nothing. But that moment… it lingered. She quickly shook it off.

“Just tired,” she muttered to herself. “Nothing more.”

But the next morning, when she stood in front of the mirror again, she saw it once more. The reflection wasn’t quite right. This time, when she moved to smile, her reflection hesitated. It didn’t smile immediately like it should have. Instead, her reflection held a faint, crooked smile that wasn’t hers.

Hannah’s heart began to race. She turned away from the mirror, fighting the wave of panic rising in her chest. She needed sleep. She had to get some rest.

But as the days passed, the feeling didn’t go away. It grew. The longer she looked into the mirror, the more her reflection seemed to be... waiting. Waiting for something.

One evening, when she was brushing her teeth, she noticed something even more disturbing. There was a small crack in the mirror. At first, it was hardly noticeable, just a thin line running through the corner, but it bothered her. She ran her fingers over it and found that the crack wasn’t just a crack—it seemed to have a faint, almost imperceptible movement to it, like it was... growing.

She couldn't shake the feeling that someone was standing just behind her, breathing down her neck. But every time she turned around, the bathroom was empty. The sound of her own breathing grew louder in the silence. She stared at her reflection, willing herself to calm down, but the crack seemed to spread more with every passing second.

She had to leave.

But that night, as she lay in bed, something happened that froze her blood.

The sound of footsteps.

Faint, slow steps, just outside her bedroom door. She didn’t move, too terrified to even breathe, straining her ears to listen. The steps stopped right outside her door. For what felt like hours, there was silence. But then... a soft scratching sound, as if something—someone—was slowly dragging their fingers across the surface of the door.

Hannah’s heart hammered in her chest. She wanted to scream, to run, but her body wouldn’t move. The scratching stopped suddenly, and everything fell eerily quiet.

She held her breath. It was nothing. She told herself. It had to be nothing.

But when she finally worked up the courage to leave her bed, she checked the bathroom mirror once more.

The crack in the mirror had spread. More than that—the reflection, her reflection, wasn’t hers anymore.

Her own face stared back at her, but this time, it was smiling, a wide, mocking grin that stretched unnaturally. Her reflection blinked slowly, and then, just as she was about to turn away, it mouthed something.

“I’m still here.”

She stumbled backward, the blood draining from her face, and then everything went black.

The next morning, the sun filtered softly through her blinds, and when Hannah woke up, the house was still. The mirror, however, was different. The crack had vanished, and her reflection was normal again.

But as she stared at her own face, brushing her hair, she couldn’t help but notice one thing.

The faintest trace of a smile.