The Christmas Mirror

The first snow of the season blanketed the quaint town of Evergreen Falls, coating its cobblestone streets and Victorian-style houses in a soft, white glow. Among the holiday bustle, a small antique shop named Yesterday’s Treasures stood out, its window displays filled with vintage ornaments, dusty snow globes, and faded porcelain figurines.

Emma had wandered into the shop on Christmas Eve, searching for a last-minute gift for her grandmother, who loved old things with a story. As she browsed, her eyes landed on an ornate, full-length mirror leaning against the wall in the back corner. Its wooden frame was intricately carved with holly leaves and berries, and its surface shimmered faintly despite the shop’s dim lighting. Something about it felt… alive.

“That’s a beautiful piece,” the shopkeeper said, startling Emma. He was a wiry man with deep-set eyes and a crooked smile. “Very old. Very special. Perfect for Christmas.”

Emma hesitated. “How much is it?”

“A bargain for you,” he said with a wink. “Fifty dollars.”

The price was surprisingly low for something so intricate, but Emma was in a rush. She handed over the money, and with the shopkeeper’s help, managed to load the mirror into her car.

That evening, Emma brought the mirror to her grandmother’s house, where her family had gathered for Christmas. The small living room was filled with the scent of pine and cinnamon, and the tree’s twinkling lights reflected off the mirror as Emma positioned it near the fireplace.

“Oh, Emma, it’s lovely!” her grandmother exclaimed, running her fingers over the carvings. “Wherever did you find such a treasure?”

“Just a little shop downtown,” Emma replied, feeling a twinge of pride. “I thought it would look perfect here.”

The family admired the mirror throughout the evening, its polished surface adding a touch of elegance to the room. But as the night wore on and the children went to bed, Emma began to feel uneasy. Something about the mirror’s reflection seemed… off.

Around midnight, Emma stayed behind to clean up while the rest of the family went to bed. The house was quiet except for the crackling of the dying fire. As she gathered wrapping paper scraps, she caught a glimpse of movement in the mirror out of the corner of her eye.

She turned quickly, but the room was empty. Heart pounding, she approached the mirror. Its surface shimmered faintly, as if something beneath the glass were alive. Emma leaned closer, peering into the reflection. For a moment, she thought she saw—no, felt—something staring back at her.

A shadow.

It darted across the reflection, disappearing into the edges of the frame. Emma stumbled back, her breath hitching. She told herself it was a trick of the light, perhaps the flicker of the fireplace. But she couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched.

The next morning, the family gathered for Christmas breakfast. The children were laughing, tearing into their presents, and the adults sipped coffee, chatting about the weather. Emma’s grandmother sat near the mirror, admiring its craftsmanship.

“There’s something magical about it,” she said.

Emma forced a smile, but her eyes kept darting to the mirror. She couldn’t stop thinking about the shadow she’d seen.

Later that afternoon, Emma found herself alone with the mirror again. Her grandmother had gone to rest, and the others were outside playing in the snow. Emma approached the mirror cautiously, determined to prove to herself that it was just a normal antique.

“It’s just a mirror,” she whispered, running her fingers over the carvings.

But as her fingers brushed the holly leaves, a chill ran through her. The air around her seemed to thicken, and the room grew unnaturally quiet. She looked into the glass, and her reflection stared back. Then, slowly, it smiled.

Emma’s stomach dropped. She wasn’t smiling. Her face in the mirror was.

The reflection’s smile widened, revealing teeth that were too sharp, too wrong. Emma stumbled back, but the reflection didn’t move with her. Instead, it leaned forward, pressing its hands against the glass as if trying to push through.

A voice whispered from the depths of the mirror, low and chilling: “Let me in.”

Emma fled the room, her heart racing. She found her grandmother in the kitchen, humming as she prepared tea.

“Grandma, there’s something wrong with that mirror,” Emma blurted out.

Her grandmother frowned. “What do you mean, dear?”

“I saw something… something in the glass. It’s not just a mirror. There’s something inside it.”

Her grandmother’s expression darkened. She set down the teapot and took Emma’s hands. “Emma, sometimes things come to us with a purpose. Perhaps this mirror was meant for us, but not in the way you think.”

Emma didn’t understand, but her grandmother’s tone made her uneasy. “What should we do?”

Her grandmother hesitated, then said, “Let me take care of it. Don’t go near it again.”

That night, Emma couldn’t sleep. The house felt heavier, darker. She lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, when she heard a soft creaking noise. It was coming from downstairs. Her heart pounded as she crept out of bed and down the hall. The living room was dimly lit by the glow of the Christmas tree, but the mirror’s surface shimmered unnaturally, casting faint shadows across the walls.

Her grandmother was standing in front of the mirror, her hand pressed against the glass.

“Grandma?” Emma whispered.

Her grandmother didn’t respond. Her reflection in the mirror was… wrong. It was smiling, just like Emma’s had earlier, and its eyes were dark and empty. The reflection leaned closer, its mouth moving soundlessly, as if whispering secrets to her grandmother.

“Grandma!” Emma said louder, stepping into the room.

Her grandmother turned abruptly, her face pale and drawn. “Emma, go back to bed.”

“What were you doing?”

“Protecting you,” her grandmother said, her voice trembling. “But it’s stronger than I thought. It’s feeding on us.”

Over the next few days, the atmosphere in the house grew oppressive. The children became irritable, crying for no reason. The adults argued over trivial things. And the mirror—the mirror seemed to grow darker, its glass clouded with faint shadows that swirled like smoke.

Emma tried to avoid it, but she couldn’t help but feel its pull. One evening, unable to resist, she found herself standing in front of it again. This time, the reflection didn’t show her at all. Instead, it revealed a dark, snow-covered forest, where shadowy figures moved between the trees. In the distance, a tall, gaunt figure with glowing eyes stared back at her.

“Who are you?” Emma whispered.

The figure in the mirror tilted its head, its mouth curling into a sinister grin. “Come and see.”

The glass began to ripple, and Emma felt an icy wind pulling at her, drawing her closer. She tried to step back, but her feet wouldn’t move. Just as her fingers brushed the glass, her grandmother appeared, yanking her away.

“I told you to stay away from it!” her grandmother shouted, dragging her into the kitchen.

“What is it?” Emma cried. “What’s inside the mirror?”

Her grandmother’s face was grave. “It’s a gateway. An old one. And something on the other side wants to come through.”

That night, the family decided to destroy the mirror. Emma, her grandmother, and her father carried it out to the snowy backyard. Armed with a hammer and a shovel, they took turns striking the glass and the wooden frame. But no matter how hard they hit it, the mirror remained unscathed.

The figure in the glass reappeared, watching them with amusement. Its voice echoed in their minds: “You can’t destroy what you invited in.”

Suddenly, the glass began to crack—not from their blows, but from the inside. Dark tendrils of smoke seeped out, twisting and writhing in the cold night air. The family backed away as the figure’s laughter filled the yard.

“Run!” Emma’s grandmother shouted.

They fled into the house, locking the doors behind them. Through the window, they saw the tendrils spreading across the snow, creeping toward the house like living shadows.

In the end, it was Emma who realized what needed to be done. “We brought it here,” she said. “We have to send it back.”

With her grandmother’s guidance, they gathered salt, candles, and an old family Bible. They formed a circle around the mirror, now dragged back into the living room, and began reciting prayers and chants. The mirror’s surface shimmered violently, and the tendrils recoiled, retreating back into the glass.

The figure appeared one last time, its face contorted in rage. “You cannot keep me out forever,” it hissed.

With a final burst of light, the mirror shattered, the pieces dissolving into ash. The oppressive weight in the air lifted, and the house was silent once more.

The family never spoke of the mirror again. But every Christmas, Emma couldn’t help but feel a lingering unease, as if something was still watching from the shadows, waiting for another invitation.