The Reflection Game

There are stories that parents whisper to keep their kids from doing something stupid. Most of them fade as you grow up—Boogeymen, Bloody Mary, that sort of thing. But every town has one that sticks around a little too long. For the kids on Greystone Lane, it was The Reflection Game.

The rules were simple. At midnight, stand in front of a mirror with only a candle burning. Look at yourself for one full minute without blinking, without breaking eye contact. Then whisper your name three times. If your reflection smiles back, you’re supposed to blow out the candle and go to bed. But if it frowns—well, that meant it wanted to stay.

No one actually believed it, of course. Until we decided to test it.

🕯️ The Dare

It started as one of those stupid sleepover dares. Me, my best friend Tyler, and my cousin Jordan. Thirteen years old, fueled by pizza, horror movies, and bad ideas. Tyler swore the story came from his older brother’s friend—someone who’d tried it years ago and “wasn’t the same after.”

We laughed it off. But when the clock hit 11:59, Tyler grinned that evil little grin of his and said, “Let’s see who’s got the guts.”

Jordan rolled his eyes. “It’s fake. But fine, let’s prove it.”

We went into the bathroom—because every horror story worth telling seems to start in one—and turned off the lights. The air felt thick, heavy with the scent of the candle we’d lit. The flicker painted our faces in uneven orange shadows.

The mirror stretched across the wall, old and slightly warped, like it had seen too much.

“Okay,” Tyler said, lowering his voice. “One minute. Don’t blink. Don’t look away.”

🕰️ The Game Begins

At first, it was just awkward. Three dumb kids trying not to laugh at their own reflections. My eyes burned from not blinking. The flame trembled, shadows breathing across our faces like living things.

About thirty seconds in, something strange happened.

The reflections… didn’t move right.

When I shifted my weight slightly, my reflection lagged—a fraction of a second late. Then Jordan’s reflection blinked even though he didn’t. I remember seeing it, clear as day: the reflection’s eyelids closing slowly, like it was tired—or bored.

Tyler hissed, “Did you see that?”

Before I could answer, the candle flickered and nearly went out.

Our reflections smiled.

Not wide grins. Just the corners of their mouths curling upward, almost mockingly.

I wanted to blow out the candle, to stop whatever was happening—but my hands wouldn’t move. My body felt locked in place, frozen by something that wasn’t entirely fear. It was like gravity had changed, pinning me where I stood.

Then the flame steadied again. And we realized Tyler’s reflection wasn’t smiling anymore. It was frowning.

💀 The Reflection That Stayed

“Okay, that’s enough,” Jordan said. He reached out and grabbed Tyler’s shoulder. Tyler didn’t move.

His reflection’s mouth twisted downward into something ugly. The skin around its lips tore, like it was smiling too hard in the wrong direction.

The candle’s flame burned brighter—blue now, not orange—and everything went quiet.

Not just “no talking” quiet. I mean dead quiet. I couldn’t even hear myself breathe.

Then the mirror rippled.

Tyler screamed, the sound muffled like it came from under water. His reflection reached out—its hand flattening against the glass—and for a split second, I saw it pull.

When the candle blew out, the room went pitch black.

I remember the sound of glass cracking, a gasp, and something hitting the floor.

When Jordan turned on the light, Tyler was gone.

Just… gone.

The mirror was fine. Not a single crack. But on the other side of the glass—reflected perfectly—Tyler stood there. Staring. His mouth moved, forming words we couldn’t hear.

Then his reflection smiled.

🕳️ The Aftermath

We ran. Straight out of the bathroom, down the hall, out the front door, barefoot and shaking. The neighbors called the cops when they found us sitting on the curb, screaming about mirrors.

They searched the house. The window was locked, the door still shut. Tyler’s parents came home to find his clothes, his shoes, his phone—all there. But no Tyler.

The official report called it “an unexplained disappearance.”

They replaced the mirror a week later.

But I swear to you, every time I visit Tyler’s old house, I feel something watching from behind the glass.

Sometimes, if the light hits just right, you can see the faint outline of a hand pressed against it.

And if you get close enough…

You’ll see him smiling.

🩸 Epilogue

Jordan never talked about it again. I moved out of town a year later, but sometimes I dream about that bathroom—the flickering candle, the silence, the moment my reflection hesitated.

I can’t keep mirrors in my house anymore. I cover them with towels or turn them toward the wall.

But sometimes, when I wake up at night, I catch a glimpse of movement in the TV screen.

And once, just once, I saw my own reflection smile first.