The Cursed Tourist — Part II: The Return

It had been eight months since Elena Ward returned from her trip to the old European village where everything began.

She had promised herself never to think about it again — the strange woman at the roadside inn, the cursed bracelet, and the way her reflection had smiled back at her when she wasn’t smiling.

But curses, she learned, didn’t care about distance.

They only cared about time.

Elena had changed. Her laughter had disappeared. Her once-adventurous spirit had dulled into silence. She worked from home now — always near a mirror, always watching herself.

It started subtly. At night, she would catch her reflection blinking late, or moving slightly slower than she did. Sometimes it would smile when she was expressionless. She had convinced herself it was exhaustion, the toll of sleepless nights and regret.

Then came the whispering.

It was soft — like someone murmuring through the walls. Words she couldn’t quite catch, except one that repeated often:

“Come back…”

One morning, her friend Nina came to visit.

“You look pale,” Nina said, handing her coffee. “You’ve barely answered my messages. What’s going on with you?”

Elena hesitated. “It’s nothing… I just haven’t been sleeping.”

But the reflection behind Nina smirked — and mouthed words Elena didn’t say.

“She knows.”

The mug slipped from Elena’s hand, shattering on the floor.

Nina jumped. “Elena! What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Elena stammered. “I just— I thought I saw something.”

That night, Elena couldn’t stand the mirrors anymore. She covered every one of them with sheets — even the small hand mirror on her dresser.

When she finished, she stood in silence, surrounded by the ghostly drapes of white fabric.

Then — a sound.

A faint drip… drip… drip.

She followed it to the bathroom. The sink was dry, but the mirror above it wasn’t. Water — or something thicker — was dripping down its surface, forming the shape of fingers dragging downward.

Her breath hitched.

From behind the mirror, she could hear faint breathing.

The next morning, she booked a flight.

Not away — but back.

Back to the cursed village.

If she was going to live in fear, she wanted to know why.

The journey felt familiar yet wrong. Every turn of the mountain roads seemed shorter, every face older, every silence louder.

When she reached the inn, the place looked abandoned. The wooden sign that once read “Welcome to Saint Varenna” hung by one nail, swinging in the wind.

Inside, the innkeeper’s daughter — the same one who had warned her months ago — was sweeping dust. Her eyes widened when she saw Elena.

“You shouldn’t have come back,” she whispered.

“I didn’t have a choice,” Elena said. “It won’t stop following me.”

The girl’s hands trembled. “The curse never leaves you… it waits. You broke its circle when you ran. Now it wants you to finish it.”

Elena frowned. “Finish what?”

The girl looked toward the back of the inn.

“The mirror in Room 9. It’s still there. It always comes for those who took the reflection’s promise.”

Elena’s pulse quickened.

Room 9 — her room.

She climbed the old stairs, her footsteps echoing. The hallway smelled of cold dust and lavender — the same as before. When she opened the door, her old suitcase was still there, untouched, covered in a thin veil of dust.

And there, hanging opposite the bed, was the mirror.

Cracked. Blackened at the edges.

Breathing.

She approached slowly.

Her reflection stared back, smiling faintly, though Elena’s own lips were still.

“What do you want from me?” she whispered.

The reflection tilted its head.

Then, for the first time, it spoke — its voice a whisper that came from behind the glass:

“You took my place… now I take yours.”

The glass rippled like water.

Before she could step back, the reflection reached out.

Hands cold as ice gripped her wrists, pulling her toward the mirror.

She screamed, clawing at the air, but the room melted around her like smoke.

Her body felt weightless — like falling into a deep, endless lake.

When she opened her eyes, she was standing in the same room — but something was wrong.

Everything was reversed.

The clock ticked backward. The text on the calendar was mirrored.

And when she turned toward the mirror… she saw herself — still in the real world — staring blankly, whispering:

“It’s done.”

Elena banged on the glass. “Let me out! Please!”

But the reflection only smiled, wiped the dust from the dresser, and whispered,

“You wanted the truth. Now you live in it.”

Days — or perhaps years — passed. Time didn’t move the same way inside the mirror.

Elena screamed, cried, begged. But no one heard. Outside, the new “Elena” lived normally. She met friends, posted pictures, traveled again — always smiling, always near mirrors.

But if someone looked closely at her photos, they’d notice something strange.

In every reflection — store windows, water, glass — there was another figure behind her, always blurred, always watching.

One year later, a new tourist checked into Saint Varenna.

A young man, camera in hand, eager to explore the forgotten village. The innkeeper’s daughter handed him the key with trembling fingers.

“Room 9?” he asked. “Is it available?”

She hesitated. “It’s… been empty for years. But yes.”

He smiled. “Perfect.”

That night, when he turned off the lights, the mirror on the wall flickered faintly —

and for a split second, a woman’s voice whispered from within:

“Don’t look too long…”