The Curse of the Crimson Mirror

It was a bright Saturday morning that the Turner family chanced upon the quaint garage sale in their neighborhood. The small front yard was spotted with tables piled with odds and ends—faded novels, mismatched dishes, and forgotten trinkets. Among them was a peculiar antique mirror.

The mirror, darkly framed in intricately carved wood, appeared to shimmer in the light with a deep crimson color. Nothing they had seen before. Despite its slightly eerie appearance, Mrs. Turner was captivated. "It'll look perfect in the hallway," she said, ignoring her husband's furrowed brow and their teenage son Ryan's subtle unease.

An old man with cloudy eyes warned them, "Be careful what you see in it." They laughed nervously and put it down to an old man's weird sense of humor and bought the mirror for a bargain.

The First Glance

The mirror hung in the hall that night, its crimson hue casting an odd glow that seemed to shift with the light. It was nothing much at first. Mrs. Turner admired her reflection often, preening before heading off to work or social functions. Ryan avoided it instinctively.

The first warning sign arrived when Mr. Turner got home late from work. He passed by the mirror. For a split second, he thought he saw his reflection smile-not the polite, tired smile he wore-but a sinister, toothy grin that lingered even after he turned away. Shaking it off as exhaustion, he said nothing to his family.

The next morning, Ryan stood before his mirror, adjusting the school uniform. He caught a glimpse of the top of his reflection tilting his own head even though he hadn't budged. Ryan's heart raced as he stepped backward; the reflection straightened out into a neutral position.

Ryan ran downstairs, blurting to his parents, "There's something wrong with that mirror!

Mrs. Turner dismissed him. "It's just your imagination, honey. Probably the light playing tricks on you."

But Ryan wasn't convinced.

Visions of Death

In the following days, the mood in the Turner house began to tighten up. Every family member felt horrifying visions from the mirror. Mrs. Turner froze while applying lipstick one night when her reflection began to bleed from the eyes. She shrieked and staggered back; she fell as lipstick was dislodged. She then looked again; her reflection was normal; no marred face was found on her.

Mr. Turner met with a worse encounter. Passing by the mirror, he saw himself lying limply, his face pasty and lips blue in color. The picture that emerged was vivid and threatening; his body sprawled on their living room floor. He recoiled as breaths became shallow and pulsed rapidly.

Ryan's visions were the worst. He saw himself engulfed in flames, screaming silently as his flesh blackened. The horrifying sight lingered on even after he forced himself to tear his eyes away from it.

"What's happening to us?" Mrs. Turner whispered one night, clutching a cup of tea that was quivering in her hands.

"It's the mirror," Ryan insisted. "We need to get rid of it."

But every time they decided to take it off, something held them back. It was as if some unknown force was compelling them to keep it on.

The Dark Origin

Determined to find out, Ryan went online and began to search for anything remotely similar to their experiences. Hours of research led him to stories about cursed objects and haunted mirrors. Finally, he came across a local historian's blog that mentioned a "Crimson Mirror" linked to unsolved disappearances.

It turns out that the mirror had once belonged to an occultist from the 19th century by the name of Victor Harlow. Obsessed with the concept of immortality, Harlow would perform dark rituals in hopes of trapping his soul into the mirror, thus opening a portal between realms. Any owner of the mirror eventually became a victim of his curse, their souls consumed to strengthen his.

Ryan shared his findings with his parents, who sat in stunned silence.

"We have to destroy it," Mrs. Turner said firmly.

"That won't be easy," Ryan said, his voice shaking. "The blog says no one's ever succeeded. The mirror always finds its way back."

The Last Confrontation

The family continued debating their course of action, and the mirror took on increasingly sinister character. It glowed more redly, casting an eerie outline down the hallway. Whispers began to take place within the house and they were incoherent, but decidedly evil.

One night, the whispers got so loud it was almost deafening. Ryan could not sleep. He walked into the hall where the mirror hung. Horrified, he saw the silhouette of a man standing behind the glass, hollow-eyed, and sporting a wicked grin.

"Help me," the figure whispered, a raspy plea.

Ryan stumbled back, but the figure pressed its hands against the glass, its eyes boring into his. “Let me out, and I’ll spare you.”

At that moment, the visions they’d seen began to make sense. The mirror wasn’t just cursed—it was a prison. The occultist, Victor Harlow, was trapped within, using his victims to fuel his attempts at escape.

A Desperate Plan

Ryan ran to his parents, explaining what he'd seen. "We can't just destroy it—we have to stop him from ever escaping."

Together, the family devised a plan. They'd attempt to seal the portal permanently. Consulting more of Ryan's research, they discovered a ritual involving salt, mirrors, and fire, designed to bind spirits to their prison forever.

They secured essentials—salt to create a circle of protection, candles for illumination, and sledgehammer for last.

The Ritual

At the stroke of midnight, everyone of his family was sitting in his living room, the mirror propped against the opposite wall. Ryan, chilled but resolute, launched into the incantation he'd downloaded from his computer. The mirror went into convulsions as its crimson glow pulsed like a heartbeat.

Once again, the shadowy form of Victor Harlow appeared, his face contorted with rage. "You can't keep me here forever!" he shouted, banging his fists against the glass. Cracks started to spider across its surface.

Mrs. Turner quickly scattered salt along the cracks while Mr. Turner held the mirror steady. "Ryan, finish the chant!"

The room grew icy, the air thick with heavy energy. Candles wildly flickered, as if their flames were close to being extinguished. The final words of the incantation came out of Ryan's broken voice.

The mirror shrieked an ear-piercing scream as the light became brighter before it cracked apart.

Aftermath

The Turner family sat stunned into silence as the dust settled. The pieces of the mirror lay all over the floor; the crimson color faded out, and it was plain ordinary glass.

"Is it over?" Mrs. Turner whispered.

Ryan nodded. "I think we sealed him in."

Though the house returned to its peaceful state, the Turners could not shake the lingering unease. They buried the shattered mirror in a remote location, ensuring no one else would fall victim to its curse.

Yet, late at night, Ryan sometimes swore he could hear faint whispers, as if Victor Harlow's wrath still echoed faintly across the void.