A mirror that shows a different reality each night.

It started on a cold Tuesday night.

Maya had just moved into a worn-down apartment on the third floor of an old building downtown. The paint was chipped, the pipes groaned, and the windows barely closed — but the rent was cheap and she needed a fresh start after her messy breakup and even messier bank account.

There was only one piece of furniture left behind: an antique mirror nailed to the bedroom wall. The frame was a faded gold, intricately carved with twisting vines and roses, and the glass itself looked flawless despite its age. Maya thought it was charming — even beautiful — in a haunting sort of way.

She didn’t think about it again until the first night.

At exactly 2:17 a.m., Maya woke suddenly. A strange glow filled the room, soft and flickering like candlelight. At first, she thought it was a passing car. Then she noticed it was coming from the mirror.

Confused and half-asleep, she turned her head. The mirror reflected her bedroom — same bed, same dresser, same window — except… the bedroom door was open.

In real life, her door was closed.

Maya sat up, staring at the mirror. A figure stood in the doorway of the reflected room. Not moving. Just standing. Watching.

She spun toward the door — nothing there. She whipped back to the mirror — the figure was gone.

She didn’t sleep the rest of the night.

The next morning, she blamed it on stress. A dream, maybe sleep paralysis. It was easier to ignore it than to think too hard about it.

But the next night, it happened again.

2:17 a.m.

The glow. The change.

In the mirror this time, her room was ruined. The walls were cracked, covered in black mold. Her reflection sat on the edge of the bed, crying, hands clutching her head. Behind her stood something tall and black-eyed, with a hand resting gently on her shoulder.

Maya screamed and turned on the lights.

Everything looked normal. The mirror reflected the clean (though slightly run-down) bedroom. But her hands were still shaking.

She threw a sheet over the mirror and told herself she’d take it down tomorrow.

She didn’t.

Night three, curiosity won. She pulled the sheet off at midnight and waited.

The mirror showed her room again — almost normal — except her reflection wasn’t moving. It just stood there, staring directly at her. Its head tilted slightly to the side, lips curled into a knowing, eerie smile.

And then it raised a finger and pointed at Maya.

Maya leaped out of bed and taped the sheet back over the mirror.

This time, she didn’t sleep at all.

She tried to tell her friend Ellie, but it came out sounding ridiculous. "A haunted mirror" belonged in ghost stories, not real life.

But night after night, the mirror changed. Sometimes the room in the reflection was empty. Sometimes her reflection wasn’t there. Sometimes the room looked like it had been abandoned for decades — windows shattered, vines crawling down the walls.

In one reflection, there were handprints on the glass. Inside the mirror.

After a week of sleepless nights, Maya set up her phone to record the mirror while she tried to sleep.

The next morning, she watched the footage.

At 2:17 a.m., the mirror began to glow. Slowly, her reflection vanished from the screen, replaced by a different version of herself — one with bloodshot eyes and pale skin. This version walked to the mirror from inside and pressed her hand against the glass, mouthing words Maya couldn’t understand.

Then, the figure slowly smiled and wrote something on the wall behind her:

COME JOIN US.

Maya slammed her laptop shut.

She tried to leave the apartment. Booked a hotel. Slept at Ellie’s for a few nights.

But the mirror followed her.

It appeared in the hotel room wall. In Ellie’s guest room. Always at 2:17 a.m. Always glowing.

One night, she smashed it with a hammer. The glass didn’t crack.

She tried covering it with black cloth. Still glowed underneath.

She stopped recording it. She didn’t want to know anymore.

But the mirror wasn’t done.

One night, it reflected a version of her room with no Maya inside it. Just the camera. Then, in the reflection, the camera moved — turning slowly toward the bed, toward the real Maya.

She jumped up, heart pounding. Nothing in her room had moved. But when she looked back at the mirror, her reflection was smiling again.

And then it winked.

The next night, the mirror showed Ellie — lying dead on the floor of her apartment, eyes wide in terror.

Maya raced to her phone and called Ellie, sobbing.

Ellie answered on the second ring, confused but alive.

The mirror was lying now. Or was it?

The final night, Maya sat in front of the mirror and stared.

Midnight passed. The glow began.

But there was nothing in the mirror this time. No room. No alternate versions of herself. Just blackness.

Then — a faint outline. Her face.

Except it wasn’t copying her.

It stared. Waiting. Breathing.

It wasn’t her reflection anymore.

It was someone else looking back.

They opened their mouth and whispered:

“Let me in.”

The lights went out.

And Maya screamed — not from fear, but from the feeling of cold glass pressing against her back.