The Mirror’s Debt

The town of Greystone was a place where history clung like damp rot, its streets lined with sagging storefronts and memories no one cared to recall. Tucked at the end of Mill Lane was Hollow’s Antiques, a shop so old it seemed to grow from the earth itself. Most folks avoided it, muttering about strange lights or whispers from within. But for Tessa Wren, the shop was her inheritance—and her curse.

Tessa, 31, had returned to Greystone after her aunt Mara’s death, tasked with sorting the shop’s endless clutter. With her sharp eyes and habit of muttering to herself, Tessa was an outsider in a town that didn’t trust newcomers, even ones born there. She’d planned to sell the shop and leave, but Mara’s will was clear: Keep it open, or you’ll regret it. Tessa scoffed at the warning—until she found the mirror.

lt was late January, the air sharp with frost, when Tessa uncovered it in the shop’s back room, draped in a dust-caked sheet. The mirror was massive, its frame carved with vines and faces that seemed to shift in the dim light. When she wiped its glass, her reflection blurred, and a voice whispered her name: Tessa. She stumbled back, heart pounding. The shop was empty, its door locked. She covered the mirror again, but the whispers followed, soft and insistent: Look.

The next day, Tessa found Mara’s journal hidden behind a shelf, its pages filled with cryptic notes. Mara had written of the mirror, calling it “the Debt Collector.” It showed truths—past, future, secrets—but demanded payment. “Never look too long,” Mara warned. “It takes what you owe.” Tessa’s skin prickled. She’d never believed in her aunt’s ghost stories, but the mirror’s presence felt alive, watching.

She avoided it for days, sorting trinkets and dodging calls from estate agents. But the whispers grew louder, weaving through her dreams: See what’s hidden. Curiosity won out. Late one night, she stood before the mirror, its glass shimmering like water. Her reflection flickered, replaced by a vision: Mara, arguing with a man in a dark coat, her face pale with fear. The man held a knife, and Mara fell, blood pooling on the shop’s floor.

Tessa gasped, the vision fading. Mara’s death had been ruled a heart attack, but the mirror suggested otherwise. She scoured the journal, finding an entry about a man named Victor Kline, a collector who’d hounded Mara for the mirror. “He knows its power,” Mara wrote. “He’ll kill for it.”

Tessa dug into Greystone’s records, visiting the town’s library, where Mr. Hale, a librarian with a limp and a wary gaze, helped her reluctantly. “Kline’s bad news,” he muttered. “His family’s been after that mirror for generations. They say it grants wishes, but it’s cursed.” Tessa pressed for details, but Hale clammed up, his eyes flicking to the door.

Back at the shop, Tessa uncovered more in the journal. The mirror was ancient, tied to Greystone’s founders, who’d used it to secure their wealth by glimpsing competitors’ secrets or foreseeing disasters. But every vision cost something—time, sanity, life. Mara had guarded it, refusing Kline’s offers, until she paid the ultimate price.

Tessa’s nights became restless, the mirror’s whispers a constant hum. She saw visions in its glass: a fire that hadn’t yet happened, a child lost in the woods, her own face, older, screaming. The shop felt heavier, its shadows thicker. Customers stopped coming, and Greystone’s streets grew quiet, as if the town held its breath.

One evening, Victor Kline arrived, his coat as dark as the one in the vision. “Sell me the mirror, Ms. Wren,” he said, his voice smooth but cold. “Name your price.” Tessa refused, her hands trembling. Kline’s smile didn’t falter, but his eyes were predatory. “You’ll regret that,” he said, leaving as silently as he’d come.

Tessa knew she couldn’t ignore the mirror. She studied its frame, finding symbols that matched Mara’s sketches—runes of binding, protection, debt. The journal hinted at a ritual to break its power, but it required a sacrifice. Give what it wants, or it takes what it needs, Mara had written. Tessa’s stomach churned. What had Mara given?

She searched for answers, breaking into Kline’s office at the town’s edge. His files revealed an obsession: notes on the mirror’s history, its keepers, their deaths. Kline’s ancestors had lost it to Mara’s family, and he meant to reclaim it, no matter the cost. Tessa found a photo of herself, taken outside the shop. He was watching her.

The whispers grew desperate: Choose. Tessa returned to the mirror, its glass pulsing with light. She saw Kline, plotting to burn the shop, to take the mirror by force. She saw herself, trapped in flames. Panic clawed at her, but the journal’s ritual was clear: blood to bind, blood to break. She pricked her finger, smearing it on the mirror’s frame. The glass trembled, and a vision showed Mara, alive, hiding the mirror to protect Tessa.

Tessa understood. Mara hadn’t died of a heart attack—Kline had killed her, and the mirror had kept her secret, waiting for Tessa to claim it. She couldn’t run. She faced the mirror, whispering, “Take what you need.” The glass glowed, and pain seared her hand, blood vanishing into the frame. The shop shook, shelves rattling, as the mirror’s light dimmed.

Kline burst in, a gasoline can in one hand, a match in the other. “Give it to me!” he roared. Tessa stood her ground, the mirror behind her. “It’s done,” she said. The mirror cracked, its glass splintering. Kline lunged, but the shop groaned, and a shelf collapsed, pinning him. He screamed as the mirror’s light swallowed him, then faded.

When the police arrived, they found Kline unconscious, the shop intact but the mirror shattered. Tessa claimed it was an accident, and they believed her, eager to close the case. Greystone stirred back to life, its streets bustling again, as if a shadow had lifted.

Tessa sold the shop and left, the journal burned to ash. She settled in a city far from Greystone, opening a café where no one whispered of curses. But sometimes, in quiet moments, she caught her reflection in a window, and it wasn’t quite her own. The mirror was gone, but its debt lingered, a weight she’d carry forever.