Don't look behind the mirror

Don't miss the ending !!! A scary short story you must read once!

Don't Look Behind The Mirror

Everyone warned Sarah not to move into Apartment 3B.

Not because of the mold, the flickering lights, or even the faint, sour smell that hung in the air like rusted metal and wet soil.

They warned her because no one ever lasted more than a week.

The last tenant vanished without a trace. The one before that left in the middle of the night, barefoot, screaming down the hallway. The super said it was “bad nerves.” Others claimed that it was worse. Something still in there.

But Sarah needed a place. Badly. A fresh start after a messy breakup, a dead-end job, and months of couch-surfing. It was too good to pass up the rent. She signed the lease with a shaky pen and a nervous laugh.

“I’ll be fine,” she told herself. “Ghost stories are for kids.”

Night One

The first thing she noticed was the cold. Not the kind that seeps through windows or lives in cracked tiles — this chill came from the walls. From the floor. It breathed.

Her cat, Whiskers, refused to come out of his carrier. He hissed at the empty hallway as she unpacked.

That night, she dreamed of someone whispering behind her ear. A low, damp sound, like breathing but not quite sobbing. When she woke, her mirror was fogged.

The bathroom door was open.

She lived alone.

Night Two

At 3:12 a.m., she awoke to footsteps pacing outside her bedroom.

Slow. Heavy.

Dragging.

She opened the door while holding her breath and clutching her phone. Nothing.

But muddy footprints trailed down the hall — leading into her closet.

She didn’t sleep the rest of the night.

Night Three

The door wouldn’t open.

The knob spun in her hand like a child’s toy. The deadbolt jammed. The chain rattled, then snapped off on its own.

She dialed the landlord. It rang once. Later, static. then exhaling. Deep, gurgling, wet breathing — through the phone.

She threw it across the room.

That’s when Whiskers began growling.

His fur puffed out, ears flat, eyes fixed on the mirror.

He yowled and leapt at it — and in a single heartbeat, was gone.

No shatter.

Without sound Just a faint smear of red on the glass… and one tiny claw left on the floor.

Night No. 4 Something had changed.

The apartment felt full. Heavy.

Every surface hummed, like it was waiting. Listening.

She saw a tall, pale figure in spoons, on the microwave door, and even on the TV's black screen. As if it had a broken neck, its head was too far to the side. It stayed still. Unless she wasn’t looking directly at it.

That night, the whispers returned. But this time, they came from inside the mirror.

They were saying her name.

Night Five

Sarah stopped eating. Stopped showering.

She sat cross-legged in front of the mirror, talking to it in a hushed voice, answering questions only she could hear.

The apartment stank of rot and mildew, but she didn’t notice.

Not any longer. She carved her name into the wall beside the mirror with a kitchen knife. several times. Sarah. Sarah. Sarah.

Her voice changed. Lower. Hollow.

She no longer screamed when the lights flickered.

She smiled.

Night Six

There was no sixth night. At 3:00 a.m., the neighbors heard a scream that lasted a full minute — shrill, raw, and desperate.

Then silence.

They called the landlord.

When he opened the door to 3B, the apartment was spotless.

No blood. No signs of life.

Just one thing left behind:

A cracked mirror.

Her reflection remained smiling in that mirror. Smiling… even though Sarah was gone.

Weeks later, the landlord showed the apartment to a new tenant. A college student. Quiet girl. Said she didn’t believe in ghosts. Said the rent was perfect.

The landlord hesitated, then handed over the key with a sigh.

The girl stepped into the apartment.

Paused.

Shivered.

Her phone then buzzed. She lowered her head. A message from an unidentified number: “We’ve been waiting for you.”

From inside the mirror, Sarah watched her new roommate with hungry eyes.