The mirror showed a reflection that wasn't my own. The likeness was uncanny, but where was my expression? Life? Soul? It had none. It stared back, unblinking, with a paradox of emptiness and intensity. The background was the same, standing in the same corner of my grandmother’s attic. I touched it, but it didn’t touch back. I brushed the hair behind my ear, made a face, shifted in and out of view. Nothing. I looked behind the mirror and all around the frame, but I could find no button, batteries, or wires to explain the incongruence. I grabbed the frame and shook it. Finally a distant, angry roar bellowed within the glass, followed by a high-pitched scream moments later. But its mouth never moved. Back peddling, I tripped over the folds of the sheet that once cloaked it, tumbling to the floor. Muffled footsteps echoed in the room, and I couldn’t tell if they were coming from the mirror or reality. I quickly threw the sheet back over the mirror and hid behind it. My grandmother told me to stay out of the attic. But the footsteps ceased and the door remained closed. I walked cautiously to the door and back downstairs only to find grandma quietly reading in her rocking chair.
I sat at the dinner table, unable to eat, thoughts racing about the thing in the mirror. Was it an illusion? Hallucination? Whatever it was, I miss it. And it wants me back too. I can feel its pull, more than just curiosity, like it’s taking over my thoughts. Grandma pushed back her chair, wished me goodnight, and turned in. The moment she shut her door, I pushed my own chair back and raced upstairs. I was oddly happy to see the haunting image of my doppelganger in the mirror as I unveiled it again. I smiled and waved, even threw it a wink. To my surprise, it brushed its hair behind its ear and made the same face I had made earlier. Was it mimicking me? Again, I heard the angry yell and the high-pitched scream from within the mirror. Then the footsteps again. The door in the mirror flung open and a hooded figure stood in the doorway. I turned to look behind me, but no one was there. I turned back to find the figure walking quickly toward my oblivious image, a knife clutched in his hand. I quickly threw the sheet over the mirror again and raced downstairs and into the safety of my bed.
Sleep did not come easy and the mirror’s pull was even stronger yet. I envisioned the hooded man with the knife and the harm he meant to do to my lookalike. I felt protective of it, of her. And I felt guilty for leaving her like that. But how could I have possibly saved her? And the scene seemed to have started over after I uncovered the mirror the second time because I heard the screams again. So that’s that...she’s safe if I leave her covered. But I miss her. And I thought about ways to save her until my eyelids became unbearably heavy.
The angry roar woke me from my sleep, followed again by the high-pitch scream. And I found myself standing in front of the mirror. My twin smiled at me and waved. Sh was mimicking me, or actually learning from me. I looked down, searching for the sheet, but it was nowhere to be found. I felt a breeze and noticed the window just to my left was open. The sheet lay crumpled on the ground below. The footsteps signaled the hooded man and soon he appeared in the mirror. My eyes transfixed on the knife as he charged. He pulled the blade clear across my twin’s neck, but no blood appeared. She reached toward me and I toward her. Our fingers met on the glass and I swear I could feel her skin. I heard another angry roar but louder this time. Downstairs. And the high-pitched scream belonged to my grandma. The footsteps clomped up the stairs, and the door to the attic flung open. I looked back at the mirror. Her mouth grew into a wide smile and she winked. I tried to remove my hand but couldn’t. I was stuck to her, to it. I heard the rush of steps behind me and felt the cold blade against my skin. As I collapsed to the floor, clutching my neck, it broke free of the mirror, stepping over me without a glance.
About the Creator
The Station Without Trains
Seen (1) At the far end of a desert highway stood a train station that no map acknowledged. There were no tracks leading to it, no schedules posted, and no trains that ever arrived. Still, every evening at sunset, the lights turned on. Maya found the station by accident while driving cross-country to escape a life that felt too heavy. Her radio had gone silent miles ago, and her phone showed no signal. When she saw the station glowing in the distance, she pulled over, relieved to find signs of life. The station was clean, almost untouched by time. Wooden benches lined the platform, and an old clock hung above the entrance, forever stuck at 6:40. The air smelled of dust and iron, like a place waiting to be used. “Hello?” Maya called. No answer. She sat on a bench, telling herself she would leave in five minutes. But as the sun disappeared, the lights grew warmer, softer. Calm settled over her in a way she hadn’t felt in years. A man in a conductor’s uniform stepped out from the shadows. His clothes looked old-fashioned, but neatly pressed. His face was kind, though tired. “You’re early,” he said. “Early for what?” Maya asked. “For the train,” he replied. Maya frowned. “There are no tracks.” The man smiled gently. “Not all journeys need them.” He explained that this station was a place between leaving and arriving—a pause for those who were lost, grieving, or running from something they couldn’t name. People didn’t come here on purpose. They arrived when they needed stillness. “Does the train ever come?” Maya asked. “Yes,” he said. “But only once for each person.” Maya felt a tightness in her chest. “Where does it go?” The conductor looked at the horizon. “To the life you stopped believing in.” Maya thought of the dreams she had abandoned, the version of herself she no longer recognized. Tears surprised her, sliding down her face without warning. “I don’t know if I’m ready,” she whispered. The conductor nodded. “That’s why the train hasn’t arrived.” They sat in silence as the stars appeared. For the first time in years, Maya didn’t feel the urge to run. She felt seen. Slowly, the station lights dimmed. The conductor stood. “When you leave,” he said, “you won’t remember this place. But you’ll remember how you felt.” A distant sound echoed—not a train horn, but something close to a heartbeat. Maya blinked. She was back in her car, parked on the side of the empty highway. The station was gone. The road stretched endlessly ahead. But her chest felt lighter. She turned the key and drove forward, not knowing exactly where she was going—but certain, for the first time, that she was finally on the right track.
By Do bol ho jaaye 5 days ago in Horror
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