The Mirror Room🕯️
Some mirrors don’t just reflect you… they watch you.
After her grandmother's death, Clara inherited an old Victorian house. It stood silent and dust-laden, the air thick with forgotten memories. But one room was unlike the rest—small, square, and lined wall-to-wall with mirrors. Her grandmother called it the Reflection Room.
Curious, Clara entered it the first night she moved in. Her reflection stared back from all directions—dozens of versions of herself. She laughed nervously and stepped out.
That night, she dreamed of the room.
Except in her dream, one reflection was smiling. Only one.
The next morning, she avoided the room. But as the days passed, she began to hear soft tapping coming from inside—like nails gently clicking on glass.
One evening, driven by dread and fascination, she opened the door again.
All the reflections were still.
Except one.
That version of Clara blinked.
Then smiled.
Terrified, she slammed the door shut and covered it with a sheet.
But the tapping never stopped.
One night, she woke up to find a note on her nightstand. In handwriting she didn’t recognize:
It’s lonely in there. Let me out.
She rushed to the mirror room.
The sheet was gone.
So was her reflection.
Then, she saw it—in the hallway mirror behind her—her own face smiling wickedly, walking away…
…but she hadn’t moved.
About the Creator
ElaheMindStories
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Comments (1)
This was a strong piece. You layered dread, nostalgia, and unease with precision. The line “the air thick with forgotten memories” momentarily threw me, but it worked. The shift from subtle tension to full-blown horror was smooth and effective. The note... “It’s lonely in there. Let me out.” landed like a punch. And that final image? A wicked smile in the hallway mirror while she hasn’t moved? Chilling. This reads like Shirley Jackson filtered through Carmen Maria Machado: claustrophobic, uncanny, and unhinged. I’d read a longer version in a heartbeat.