My Reflection Doesn’t Copy Me Anymore

I first noticed it two weeks ago.

I was brushing my teeth late at night, staring blankly into the mirror like always. Same bathroom. Same dim light above the sink. Same toothpaste I’ve used for five years.

But this time, my reflection blinked a second too late.

I froze, foam dripping from my mouth. Maybe I was tired. Maybe I blinked fast and didn’t realize it.

I shook it off and went to bed.

The next night, it happened again. Only this time, the reflection tilted its head slightly left—but I hadn’t moved at all.

I stepped back.

So did it… after a pause.

I laughed nervously. “Okay, great. I'm either hallucinating or my mirror's haunted.”

I didn’t tell anyone. Who would believe me?

You don’t go around telling people your reflection’s acting weird unless you want to be committed.

But then things escalated.

A few days later, I tried to test it. I stood perfectly still for ten minutes in front of the mirror. My reflection matched me… mostly.

Except for the eyes. They didn’t blink anymore. Not once. Just stared—too wide, too still. I blinked. It didn’t.

And then—it smiled.

I ran.

I covered the mirror with a towel. I avoided the bathroom entirely at night. But the house is small, and curiosity is louder than fear.

One morning, I lifted the towel, half expecting things to be normal again.

It wasn’t.

My reflection stood still while I waved.

It didn’t move.

I whispered, “What are you?”

It smiled again, slow and wide like it was savoring the question. Then, in the silence, I saw its hand twitch upward—on its own.

I stumbled back, pulling the towel down and running to the kitchen. My hands shook as I grabbed my phone and called my best friend, Olivia.

“You need sleep,” she said gently. “You’ve been working too much. That mirror thing? You’re probably just stressed out.”

She offered to stay the night. I agreed, even if just to feel sane again.

That night, we stayed up watching movies. Laughing helped, and by 1 a.m., I almost forgot the mirror at all.

Until Olivia went to the bathroom.

“Hey,” she called from down the hall. “Did you put something behind the mirror? There’s a weird shadow—”

Her voice cut off.

I sprinted to the bathroom.

She stood frozen, staring at the mirror. Her face pale.

“What is that?” she whispered.

I followed her gaze—and saw it. My reflection was gone.

Only hers remained.

But in the background of her reflection, I was standing behind her… smiling.

Except—I wasn’t. I was standing right next to her.

The lights flickered.

We both screamed and bolted out of the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind us. I shoved a dresser in front of it. The towel had fallen from the mirror. I didn’t go back for it.

Olivia stayed up with me until sunrise. She left that morning and hasn't answered my texts since.

It’s been three days now. I moved the mirror into the attic, wrapped in three layers of cloth. I don’t trust trashing it. What if it finds a way back?

But things are getting worse.

Last night, I saw my reflection in the microwave door.

It wasn’t copying me anymore. It was leaning closer, as if trying to press through the surface.

And today, I woke up to find my bathroom mirror hanging on the wall again.

I didn’t bring it down.

I didn’t even go into the attic.

It’s watching me, even when I’m not looking.

I’m not sure what it wants—but I can feel it getting stronger. It used to follow me. Now it anticipates me. Moves before I do. Knows what I’m going to do next.

Sometimes, I catch it mouthing things I haven't said.

Last night, I swear it whispered,

“You’re just the skin. I’m what’s inside.”

And now… when I blink…

it doesn’t.

When I breathe…

it smiles.

If I disappear, or you find this note… don’t look into any mirrors.

Especially not mine.

Because whatever's on the other side…

wants out.