Shattered Reflection

The mirror arrived in a wooden crate with no sender listed.

Anna Morales didn't remember ordering it. But the antique glass had an allure—tall, ornate, wrapped in ivy-like carvings and tinged with an almost silver-blue sheen.

She placed it in the hallway across from her front door. The moment it stood upright, the house felt different. Quieter. Colder.

Her cat refused to go near it.

She laughed it off.

Until she started seeing things.

Not just reflections.

Movements.

People.

In the mirror, she'd catch glimpses of shadowy figures walking behind her—only to turn and find nothing.

One night, while brushing her teeth, she saw a man in the hallway.

He was tall, soaked in darkness, eyes glowing faintly.

But when she turned around, no one was there.

She convinced herself it was stress. She worked long hours at the hospital, barely slept.

Still, she covered the mirror with a sheet.

The next morning, the sheet was gone. Folded neatly at her feet.

She asked the landlord. He swore he hadn’t entered.

She installed a camera. Pointed it at the mirror.

That night, the footage showed her standing in front of it at 3:12 a.m., eyes open, unmoving.

Except she had no memory of it.

Things escalated.

Doors slammed on their own. Her phone played voicemails she never recorded. One night, she awoke to find all the lights off, her phone dead, and the words "I SEE YOU" written in condensation on the mirror.

She screamed.

The police came. Found nothing.

They recommended therapy.

Her best friend, Chloe, suggested burning sage.

"It's probably just old energy," she said. "Antiques carry vibes."

Anna tried. Nothing changed.

Until Chloe disappeared.

She was supposed to come over for dinner.

Never showed.

Anna called. Texted. Nothing.

Two days later, Chloe’s car was found abandoned near a lake.

Inside: her purse, keys, phone.

No Chloe.

Anna collapsed in the hallway that night, sobbing in front of the mirror.

That’s when she saw Chloe.

In the glass.

Mouth open. Eyes wide. Screaming silently.

Anna screamed back.

The reflection disappeared.

She tried to smash the mirror. Used a hammer.

It bounced off like rubber.

She wrapped it in chains, locked it in a closet, and nailed the door shut.

She still saw things.

Heard whispers.

Felt hands brush her shoulders at night.

She stopped going to work. Lost weight. Slept during the day, afraid of the dark.

Her brother, Miguel, came to check on her.

"You look like hell," he said. "This house is cursed."

She told him everything.

He didn’t laugh.

He brought a priest.

The priest wouldn’t go near the mirror.

He left a crucifix, splashed holy water, and told her to move.

But she couldn’t.

Something tied her there. Pulled at her. Held her like roots in soil.

Miguel agreed to stay the night.

In the morning, he was gone.

His shoes were by the door. Phone on the charger.

She found a single bloody handprint on the mirror.

Her world collapsed.

She ran to the library. Dug through records.

She traced the mirror's origins.

Owned by a woman named Clarissa Rowe in 1893. Died in a fire. Her last journal entry mentioned "voices in the mirror."

Then it belonged to a collector of occult objects. He died mysteriously.

It passed through a museum. Then auctioned anonymously.

Anna realized she had inherited a cursed object.

She packed a bag. Drove hours to a secluded cabin.

No phone. No power. No mirrors.

She tried to forget.

But each night, she heard footsteps.

Saw glints of silver.

Felt breath on her neck.

One night, she awoke to find the mirror standing outside the cabin.

How it got there, she didn’t know.

It was buried. Burned. Smashed.

Still, it followed.

The final night, she stared into it.

Her reflection smiled.

She didn’t.

It whispered: "Let me in."

She refused.

It cracked.

So did the ground.

The cabin trembled. Windows shattered.

She grabbed a knife and stabbed the mirror.

A scream echoed. Not hers. Not human.

It exploded into dust.

Silence followed.

When the police found her, she was unconscious. Surrounded by ash. The cabin intact, but the ground scorched.

They questioned her. She said nothing.

They found no mirror.

No evidence of Miguel. Or Chloe.

No records of the mirror's shipment.

Today, Anna lives in a psych ward.

Room 6. Walls padded. No reflections.

She paints.

Each canvas shows a figure in a mirror, eyes glowing, whispering.

Sometimes, she stares at blank walls and asks softly:

"Where did I go?"

Final Line:

Not all reflections return what they take.