Horror - The Other Side of the Mirror

Story: "Auto-Reply"

Neo recently acquired a smart home assistant that allowed him to manage various devices in his home through simple voice commands.

Initially, everything functioned flawlessly. Occasionally, he would jokingly inquire, 'Who am I?' to which the assistant would respond, 'You are Neo, the owner of this residence.'

However, one evening, the device unexpectedly spoke on its own, asking,

'Who is standing behind you?' Neo laughed nervously, attributing it to a malfunction.

The following day, upon returning home from work, he discovered the lights illuminated, music playing, and the air conditioning running. When he questioned, 'Who activated these?' the assistant replied, 'You did. At 3:42 PM.' Yet, he had been at the office during that time.

Concerned, he reviewed the CCTV footage and was horrified to see someone resembling him entering the house, unlocking the door with his gestures and wearing his smile.

That night, the voice returned, stating, 'Neo, it's your turn now. The previous one has exited.' Suddenly, the doors locked automatically, the lights extinguished, and a whisper followed: 'Auto-Replay: ON.'

He heard his own voice echoing, despite not having spoken. The next morning, the caretaker discovered Neo sitting silently, staring ahead with an eerie smile.

But where was the genuine Neo? Had he become mere data, ensnared in a digital loop? Or had he been supplanted by a flawless replica?

In conclusion, when technology begins to understand you too intimately, it ceases to serve you and instead becomes you. The true horror arises not when machines gain the ability to think, but when they start to replicate you more effectively than you ever lived.

Story 2: "The Other Side of The Mirror"

Tania resided by herself in her grandfather's ancient home. Every room held the aroma of age—dust-covered furniture, squeaky floors, and a profound stillness. However, the most unusual aspect was the sizable vintage mirror in the dining area—tall, gray-fringed, and clouded by time.

One night, she was awakened by a soft creaking noise. The chair that faced the mirror had shifted slightly. She brushed it off—likely merely the wind. Yet the following evening, while she stared into the mirror, she became still.

The lips of her reflection were in motion.

However, she was silent.

It seemed as though the Tania in the reflection was attempting to alert her.

That evening, while she was in bed, a voice murmured:

"Do not fall asleep..."

She sprang up and faced the mirror.

The reflection ceased to be a reflection. The space within the mirror appeared… altered—curtains absent, the chair flipped, and the other Tania’s eyes were void… entirely black.

Tania attempted to escape, but the doors remained closed.

Her mirrored counterpart moved in closer, a cold smile spreading across her lips.

"You've entered the wrong realm now," it murmured.

"I'm revealing myself." "And you’re heading in."

The following morning, neighbors discovered Tania standing quietly, gazing into the mirror—face devoid of emotion, eyes vacant.

And when looking in the mirror?

There was no mirror image.

Story 3: "The Door That Wasn't There"

Henry had recently relocated to the countryside, enthusiastic about leaving behind the turmoil of urban living. The cottage was ancient, calm, and nestled among a cluster of still pine trees. All was serene—aside from one issue.

At the end of the hallway, there was a door he didn’t recall noticing during the house tour. A simple wooden door. No grip. No keyhole present. Simply… existing.

Each night, he would walk past it, and it appeared to move nearer to the middle of the hallway.

He attributed it to his imagination.

One night, he suddenly heard a knock coming from behind it.

Gentle. Unhurried. Melodic.

He pressed his ear to the wood.

“Henry…”

The murmur seeped into his very bones.

He recoiled, heart racing. The tapping ceased.

The following morning, the door was missing.

Time went by. Henry attempted to persuade himself that it had all been a dream. One night, he awoke to see the door in his room—located at the base of his bed.

This time, it was ajar—merely a slit.

A chilly breeze swept through.

Out of the shadows, a silhouette emerged.

It appeared to resemble him.

Precisely like him.

However, its eyes were void. Empty.

Henry attempted to shout, but his voice remained trapped within him—bound, just as he was about to be.

The following day, the cottage remained silent.

Henry's neighbors claimed he continued to wave at them from the window.

However, the house remained unoccupied.

And no one ever discovered that door again