I Bought a Haunted Mirror Off Facebook Marketplace — Now It Won’t Let Me Sleep

It started with a Facebook Marketplace listing.

> “Antique Victorian mirror — $30 OBO. Must pick up. ASAP.”



No details, just a grainy photo and a location only twenty minutes away. I’d just moved into my new apartment and needed something to fill the blank wall in my hallway. I messaged the seller. She responded in seconds.

> “If you come today, it’s yours.”



That should have been my first red flag.


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The house was old — weathered wood, flaking paint, and a porch that creaked under my feet. A woman in her late 60s opened the door. Her eyes were bloodshot, like she hadn’t slept in weeks. She didn’t smile.

She led me straight to the mirror without saying much. It stood nearly six feet tall, framed in dark oak with ornate carvings of twisting vines and faces—yes, actual carved faces. The glass was flawless, despite its age.

I reached for my wallet.

> “No,” she said. “Just take it.”



> “Are you sure?”



She stared past me. “It doesn’t want to stay here.”

I laughed awkwardly, thinking she was joking. But her hands were trembling as she helped me carry it out.


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I set the mirror in the hallway, directly across from my bedroom. It looked stunning. Heavy. Regal. I remember thinking how lucky I was to score something so vintage for free.

That night, I couldn’t sleep. Not from fear—just unease. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the hallway in my mind. The mirror, waiting.

At 2:13 a.m., I got up for water. As I stepped into the hallway, I glanced at the mirror and froze.

I was in it.

But I wasn’t moving.

My reflection just stood there, arms at its sides, watching me.

Then—blink.

The reflection blinked, but I hadn’t.

I staggered backward, heart hammering in my chest. When I looked again, it was normal. Just me. Tired. Shaken.

I told myself I was overtired. Stress. Shadows. Head games.

I went back to bed and left the lights on.


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The next night, it got worse.

Every time I passed the mirror, I could feel something watching me. Not just from the glass—from behind it. I covered it with a bedsheet, but it didn’t help. At 3:06 a.m., I woke to the sound of fabric sliding.

I stepped into the hallway.

The sheet was on the floor.

I didn’t sleep after that.


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On night four, I dreamt of water. Drowning. Gasping. But not in an ocean—in a mirror. I could see my own face, pressed against the glass from the other side, screaming silently.

When I woke, my pillow was soaked with sweat—and tears.

That morning, I noticed something else.

In the mirror’s reflection, the hallway was different. Subtly. The shadows stretched the wrong way. The picture frames on the opposite wall were crooked in the glass, but perfectly straight in real life.

And in the very back of the reflection—at the end of the hallway—I saw a figure.

Small. Female. Pale face, long hair.

But when I turned around, the hallway was empty.


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I tried to move the mirror into the garage. It wouldn’t budge. No matter how hard I pushed or pulled, it stayed locked in place. Like it had rooted into the wall.

I even tried to break the glass.

The hammer bounced off. No crack. Not even a scratch.

When I looked into the mirror afterward, I swear I saw it smile.


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That night, I left the apartment. Booked a hotel. I needed sleep, even just one night.

It didn’t help.

The mirror came with me in my dreams. It stood at the foot of the hotel bed. My reflection sat up on its own, turned to look at me, and whispered one word:

> “Stay.”




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Back home the next day, I noticed the hallway light flickered constantly. Bulbs died faster than I could replace them. My dog, Penny, refused to go near the hallway. She’d sit outside the bedroom, whining, tail between her legs.

On day ten, I found claw marks inside the mirror frame. Deep gouges along the bottom edge, as if someone—or something—had tried to crawl out.

And that night, I saw her again.

She was in the hallway. Not in the mirror—in real space. Pale skin, matted hair, no eyes. Just empty sockets leaking dark liquid down her cheeks.

I ran. Locked myself in the bathroom.

From the hallway, I heard knocking.

Slow. Deliberate.

Then a voice, hoarse and wet:

> “Let me in.”




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The next morning, the hallway was empty. The mirror reflected only me. But I looked… wrong. Thinner. Paler. My eyes had a shadow to them, like something was pressing against the back of my skull.

I posted the mirror back on Facebook Marketplace.

> “Antique Victorian mirror — FREE. Must pick up today.”



A girl messaged me within minutes.

> “I’ve been looking for something just like this!”



I responded immediately.

> “Come quick.”



She arrived that afternoon.

As she pulled away with the mirror strapped in the back of her SUV, I felt like I could breathe again. The hallway seemed brighter. My dog wagged her tail for the first time in days.

That night, I slept.

For the first time in nearly two weeks.


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But I still hear it sometimes. The knocking. The whisper.

> “Stay.”



And last week, I woke up with my phone open to Facebook Marketplace.

Scrolled down.

Heart racing.

There it was.

> “Antique Victorian mirror — $30. Must pick up ASAP.”



Same grainy photo. Different seller. Different town.

But the mirror… is the same.


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[The End]


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