“Voices in the Mirror”

It started on a Wednesday night.

Rain tapping the windows, thunder rolling somewhere far away.

Lena sat on her bed, scrolling through her phone, when the mirror across the room flickered — like someone had turned on a light inside it.

She froze.

Her reflection was smiling.

The problem was — she wasn’t.

Her breath caught. She waved her hand. The reflection didn’t move. It just… kept smiling. Then it whispered, so softly she almost missed it:

“I’m still here.”

Her phone slipped from her hand and hit the floor. The light flickered again — and her reflection snapped back to normal.

She stared at herself, heart racing. “I’m just tired,” she whispered. “Just tired.”

But that night, she couldn’t sleep.

The next morning, she told her roommate, Sam, about it.

He laughed. “You’ve been binging too many horror podcasts.”

But when Lena walked into the bathroom to brush her teeth, the mirror fogged up — and words appeared, drawn by an unseen hand:

“DON’T TRUST HIM.”

She stumbled back. “Sam?” she shouted.

He ran in. “What’s wrong?”

She pointed at the mirror — but it was blank. Just fog.

He raised an eyebrow. “Lena, you need rest.”

She wanted to believe him. She really did. But something deep inside her said the mirror was telling the truth.

That night, she set up her phone camera facing the mirror.

If it happened again, she’d have proof.

At exactly 3:17 a.m., her phone vibrated. She blinked awake. The room was dark, silent.

Then — from the mirror — came a soft tapping.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Her reflection was awake. But she was not moving.

The reflection leaned forward, pressed its hand against the glass, and whispered:

“He’s lying to you.”

Lena bolted upright, terrified — and her reflection mirrored her movement a second later, like it was catching up.

She turned on the light. The mirror was still.

Her phone was still recording.

The next morning, Sam made breakfast. “You look awful,” he said.

She nodded weakly. “Did you hear anything last night?”

“No. Why?”

She hesitated. Then she showed him the video.

He watched it, silent. Then he smiled — but it wasn’t a warm smile. It was small, controlled.

“Looks like you’re editing videos in your sleep now.”

She stared. “You think I made that up?”

He shrugged. “Maybe you wanted attention.”

She froze. That tone. That distance. He’d never spoken to her like that before.

Her stomach twisted.

“Sam… have I ever told you about my twin?” she asked softly.

He frowned. “What twin?”

Her voice dropped. “Exactly.”

That evening, Lena sat across from the mirror again. Her reflection stared back, tired, dark circles under her eyes.

Then the reflection blinked — twice.

Lena didn’t.

The reflection lifted its hand and pointed behind her.

She turned. Nothing.

When she looked back — the reflection’s lips moved.

“He’s not real.”

Her heart pounded. “What do you mean?”

The reflection smiled sadly. “You already know.”

The lights went out.

She screamed.

When they came back on, Sam was standing in the doorway.

“What happened?” he asked, breathless.

But something was wrong with his eyes — they looked… empty.

She stepped back. “Who are you?”

He tilted his head. “You don’t remember?”

Then he smiled. “Good.”

The next day, the police found Lena’s apartment empty. No signs of a struggle. Her phone was still recording, though.

The video showed her sitting in front of the mirror — whispering to it.

Over and over, she said:

“Tell me what’s real.”

Then her reflection smiled and said:

“You are.”

But in the video, the real Lena didn’t move her lips.

Some say the mirror in that apartment is still there — covered by a black cloth.

If you take it off after midnight, they say you’ll see two reflections —

one that moves when you do…

and one that’s still smiling.

And if that one ever whispers your name —

don’t answer.