Behind the Mirror

By: [salman]

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Introduction

We all have mirrors in our homes. They're supposed to reflect us—our truth, our reality. But what happens when your reflection doesn’t follow you… and instead watches you?

This is the story of a forgotten house, a cursed mirror, and a presence that refused to stay behind the glass.

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I. The Forgotten House

After my grandmother passed away, her countryside house stood abandoned for years. Hidden away in a remote village, the place felt like it existed outside time itself. There was no cell signal, no noise—only silence.

When my parents decided to sell the property, someone had to prepare it for listing. I volunteered. Just a few nights in a quiet, empty house. What could possibly go wrong?

From the moment I arrived, something felt off. The house was too still. The wooden floors creaked beneath my feet like they hadn’t been walked on in decades. Cobwebs danced in every corner, and the smell of mold lingered in the air.

Then I saw it. In the master bedroom. A tall, antique mirror.

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II. The Mirror Was Waiting

While the rest of the room was coated in dust, the mirror stood clean and polished—too clean. As if someone had just wiped it.

I walked over and looked into it.

My reflection stared back, but… was it a second too late? I waved my hand again.

No delay this time.

Still, I felt a chill crawl down my back.

That night, I kept glancing at the mirror from my bed. Around midnight, I saw my reflection blink.

But I hadn’t blinked.

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III. The Presence Revealed

The following night, while brushing my teeth, I heard footsteps behind me. I turned sharply—no one there.

But in the mirror, a shadow passed behind me.

I stood still, heart racing, refusing to turn again. I left the light on and returned to bed, too afraid to sleep.

Around 3 a.m., something happened.

The air grew colder. I sat up. The mirror shimmered faintly, then clouded over.

A face began to appear.

An old woman. Pale, gaunt, with white, vacant eyes. Her lips moved, as if whispering to me through the glass.

She looked like my grandmother.

But it wasn't her.

When I turned on the light, the face vanished—but a handprint remained. Foggy and perfect, right in the middle of the glass.

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IV. The Curse Behind the Glass

The next morning, I visited a village elder who had known my grandparents.

I asked about the mirror. His face darkened.

“That mirror belonged to your grandfather,” he said. “He went to war and never came back. Your grandmother used to speak to it. Believed he was inside it.”

“Inside it?” I asked, thinking he was joking.

He didn’t smile. “Some say his soul never left. When your grandmother died, it went quiet. Until now.”

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V. Shattered Truth

I returned to the house, determined to destroy the mirror.

As I took it off the wall, it felt heavy—like it didn’t want to be moved.

I placed it down, and cracks began forming… from the inside.

Suddenly, a scream—deep, inhuman—burst from the mirror, and it shattered with a thunderous crack. Shards flew across the floor.

And for just a moment, in the largest piece of glass…

The face stared back at me one last time.

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VI. It Followed Me Home

The house is sold. The mirror is gone.

But something came with me.

Sometimes, in the quiet of the night, I wake up—cold, sweating, afraid to look at the mirror across the room.

Because sometimes…

I feel like something is looking out.

And waiting.

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Author’s Note

Thank you for reading! This story is inspired by the timeless fear of mirrors and the unknown. If you enjoyed it, feel free to like, share, or leave a comment.

Have you ever seen something strange in the mirror?