The Mirror in the Attic

The old house on Maple Street had stood empty for years. It was a relic from another time, with its sagging roof, peeling paint, and a garden overrun with weeds. People in the town whispered about it, passing stories of the ghostly figures seen in the windows, or the strange noises heard at night. But for the most part, it was simply forgotten, a place no one wanted to remember.

That changed when the Thompsons moved in.

Claire Thompson had always been drawn to old houses. There was something about them that called to her, something that made her feel like she was stepping into a living piece of history. So when she saw the house on Maple Street for sale, she knew she had to have it. Her husband, Jack, was less enthusiastic, but Claire’s excitement was contagious, and soon they were signing the papers.

The first few days in the house were uneventful. They unpacked their things, explored the many rooms, and tried to make the place feel like home. But it was a big house, and there were many places they had yet to discover.

One rainy afternoon, Claire found herself with nothing to do. Jack was at work, and the kids were at school, leaving her alone in the quiet house. She decided to take the opportunity to explore the attic. She had been meaning to do it since they moved in, but there had always been something else to do. Now, with the rain tapping gently on the windows and the house eerily silent, it seemed like the perfect time.

The attic was at the end of a long, narrow staircase. The door was old and heavy, and it creaked loudly as Claire pushed it open. The air inside was musty and thick with dust, and the only light came from a small, grimy window at the far end of the room.

Claire stepped inside, her eyes scanning the space. The attic was filled with old furniture, covered in sheets, and boxes piled high with forgotten belongings. She walked slowly, her fingers brushing over the dusty surfaces, wondering about the lives of the people who had lived here before her.

As she moved deeper into the attic, something caught her eye. In the corner, half-hidden behind a stack of boxes, was a large, ornate mirror. The frame was made of dark wood, intricately carved with patterns of vines and flowers. Despite the dust and the cobwebs, it was beautiful.

Claire felt a strange pull toward the mirror. She moved closer, her footsteps echoing in the empty space. She reached out and wiped the dust from the glass, revealing her reflection. But as she stared into the mirror, something felt... off. Her reflection seemed normal at first, but the longer she looked, the more she noticed small, unsettling differences. The light in the reflection was dimmer, and the room behind her looked darker, more decayed. And then, she realized that the reflection of her eyes wasn’t quite right. They seemed colder, more distant, almost as if they belonged to someone else.

Claire shook her head, laughing nervously at her imagination. She turned away from the mirror and continued exploring the attic, but she couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling it had given her.

That night, as she lay in bed, Claire couldn’t sleep. Her mind kept drifting back to the mirror. She felt a strange compulsion to see it again, to study her reflection more closely. After tossing and turning for hours, she finally gave in. Slipping out of bed, she crept up the stairs to the attic.

The room was even darker at night, with only a sliver of moonlight filtering through the small window. Claire made her way to the mirror, her heart pounding in her chest. She stood in front of it, staring at her reflection.

At first, everything seemed normal. But as she watched, the reflection began to change. The room behind her darkened, the shadows growing longer and more menacing. Her reflection’s expression shifted, the coldness in its eyes deepening until it was almost a sneer. Claire’s breath caught in her throat as she realized that the reflection was moving on its own.

Suddenly, the reflection reached out toward her, its hand pressing against the glass. Claire stumbled back in horror, her eyes wide. But the reflection didn’t stop. It kept moving, its hand pushing through the glass as if it were water. Claire turned to run, but before she could move, the reflection grabbed her wrist.

Claire screamed, struggling to pull away, but the reflection was too strong. It yanked her toward the mirror, and before she knew it, she was being dragged through the glass. There was a sensation of falling, a rush of cold air, and then everything went dark.

When Claire opened her eyes, she was standing in the attic again. But something was wrong. The room was darker, the air colder. The furniture was more decayed, and the walls were covered in thick, black mold. And then she realized – she was inside the mirror.

Panicking, Claire ran to the glass, banging on it with her fists. But it was solid, unyielding. On the other side, she could see her reflection, but it wasn’t her anymore. It was the twisted version of herself, smiling cruelly as it watched her struggle.

Claire screamed and pounded on the glass, but no sound came out. She was trapped, alone in the dark, decaying world inside the mirror.

Days passed, or maybe weeks – time had no meaning in the mirror world. Claire wandered the decaying house, searching for a way out, but there was none. The only escape was the mirror, and it was guarded by the thing that had taken her place. Every time she approached, it would smile at her, mocking her helplessness.

Outside the mirror, the reflection lived Claire’s life. It laughed with her children, kissed her husband, and went about its days as if nothing was wrong. But there was a darkness in its eyes, a coldness that Jack began to notice. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but something about his wife had changed.

It wasn’t long before the reflection’s true nature began to show. It became distant, irritable, snapping at the children for no reason. It stopped caring about the house, letting it fall into disrepair. Jack grew more and more concerned, but every time he tried to talk to Claire, she would dismiss his worries with a cold, empty smile.

Meanwhile, inside the mirror, Claire was losing hope. She had tried everything to break free, but nothing worked. She was beginning to accept that she would be trapped forever, a prisoner in her own home.

But then, one day, she noticed something. The reflection, in its arrogance, had left the mirror unguarded. Claire saw her chance. Gathering all her strength, she threw herself at the glass, hoping against hope that this time, she would break through.

The glass shattered, and Claire fell through, landing on the attic floor. She gasped, taking in the sight of the real world, the warmth of the air, the light filtering through the window. She was free.

But as she looked around, she realized that something was wrong. The reflection was gone, but the house was different. It was older, more decayed, as if years had passed while she was trapped in the mirror. And then she heard footsteps on the stairs.

Jack appeared in the doorway, but it wasn’t the Jack she remembered. His hair was gray, his face lined with age. He stared at her in shock, his eyes wide with disbelief.

“Claire?” he whispered, his voice trembling.

But Claire couldn’t answer. She looked down at her hands, and they were withered, her skin thin and papery. She had aged as well, years stolen from her while she was trapped in the mirror.

Jack rushed to her, pulling her into his arms, but Claire could only stare at the broken glass on the floor, the pieces of her shattered reflection staring back at her with cold, empty eyes.

In the end, Claire had escaped the mirror, but at a terrible cost. The years lost could never be recovered, and the darkness that had taken her place still lingered, a shadow in her mind that would never fully fade. The house on Maple Street was hers once more, but it was a place of nightmares, a prison from which she could never truly escape.