The Reflection

James Langford rubbed his eyes as the soft morning light filtered through his apartment window. The city hummed below, another routine day waiting for him. He made his way to the bathroom, splashing cold water on his face to shake off the remnants of a restless night. As he wiped the fog from the mirror, he noticed something off. His reflection was delayed by a heartbeat—a brief but unmistakable lag between his movements and the reflection’s response.

James blinked, waving his hand back and forth. The reflection mimicked him, but not perfectly. It moved slightly slower, like a poor imitation. He frowned, leaning in closer, staring into his own eyes. For a split second, they blinked independently of him.

“Must still be half asleep,” he muttered.

He left the bathroom, trying to shake the unease creeping up his spine. The day passed uneventfully, but the image of the lagging reflection lingered. By nightfall, he convinced himself it was just a trick of the light or his own tiredness. After all, mirrors couldn’t lie… could they?

The next morning, James approached the bathroom mirror again, this time with trepidation. His reflection stared back, doing everything as expected. Relieved, he chuckled at his paranoia. Yet, just as he was about to turn away, the reflection winked.

James froze. He hadn’t winked.

He leaned closer, fear creeping in. “What the hell…”

The reflection smirked.

He stumbled back, heart racing, his pulse thundering in his ears. His reflection stood still, yet the smirk stayed in place. It felt as though it was mocking him. Every rational part of James told him to walk away, but a darker, more curious instinct rooted him in place. He raised his hand. The reflection copied him—but the smirk widened.

Over the next few days, the reflection became more erratic. Sometimes it would laugh silently as he stood there, other times it would make gestures he hadn’t. The worst part was the reflection wasn’t just playing around anymore—it was trying to tell him something. It would point to objects in the bathroom, stare at things out of frame, and mouth words James couldn’t decipher.

He stopped going near mirrors, opting to shave without one and using his phone’s camera sparingly. The fear gnawed at him. Was it a mental breakdown? Was he losing his grip on reality?

One night, James woke abruptly, cold sweat on his skin. The apartment was silent. But the mirror… he could hear something faint. A whisper. He stood up slowly, not wanting to face whatever was happening. His eyes flickered to the mirror across the room, and there it was—his reflection standing at the edge of the glass, not lying in bed like him.

The reflection beckoned.

James’ heart pounded against his ribs as he slowly crossed the room. Every part of him screamed to look away, but he was drawn to the mirror like a moth to a flame. He stood before it, staring into his own eyes, only… they weren’t his. They belonged to someone else.

The reflection pressed a hand against the glass, and for the first time, James felt something from the other side. Cold, unnatural. His reflection leaned forward, mouthing words: "I'm waiting."

James staggered back, terror gripping him. He could hear the reflection now, clearer than ever before. It wasn't a trick of his mind. It was real. Something was trapped in the mirror, watching him, waiting for its chance.

The following days were a blur of paranoia and dread. Every reflective surface became a threat, every glimpse of himself a reminder that something dark was trying to take control. And then, one evening, it happened.

James was washing his hands in the bathroom, avoiding the mirror as usual. But when he glanced up, he saw not just his reflection—but the world on the other side. A room, identical to his, but darker, with walls dripping in shadow. His reflection, now grinning with malevolent intent, slammed its palm against the glass, causing a loud, unnatural crack to echo through the room.

The crack in the mirror wasn’t just in the glass; it was in reality itself. The reflection reached through, fingers wrapping around James’ wrist, pulling him closer. He struggled, heart pounding, as the reflection whispered in a voice not his own, “It’s time for you to switch places.”

With a final yank, James was pulled through the glass, tumbling into the cold, dark mirror-world. He stood up, dazed, and looked around. His reflection was on the other side now—living his life, in his world. And James… was trapped. Trapped in the reflection.

No one would ever know he was here, no one would ever hear him scream. All they’d see was his reflection—living his life, while he watched helplessly from the other side.