The Man in the Mirror

Lily moved into her grandmother’s old house shortly after her passing. It was a beautiful Victorian-style home, filled with heirlooms and memories. One of the most intriguing pieces was an antique mirror in the hallway, its edges darkened with age. Her grandmother used to say the mirror was older than the house itself and once belonged to someone with secrets best left buried.

On her first night, as she passed by the mirror, something peculiar caught her eye. She paused, noticing that her reflection seemed… off. It was subtle, almost like a trick of the light, but the figure in the mirror seemed to move just a moment too late, as if it were lagging behind her.

She shrugged it off, blaming fatigue, but over the next few nights, the feeling intensified. Her reflection would stare back with an unnerving intensity, its eyes darker than hers. When she moved, it hesitated, moving a second too late and with a strange, eerie grace.

One evening, as she passed by the mirror again, she could have sworn the reflection smiled—a twisted, mocking grin she had never made. Her heart pounded, but she forced herself to look closer. Her reflection looked like her but… wrong. It felt like a stranger mimicking her, a puppet learning her movements.

Determined to shake off the unsettling sensation, she covered the mirror with a sheet before going to bed that night. But as she lay in the dark, a faint creaking sound echoed from the hallway. She sat up, her pulse racing, listening as the soft creaks grew louder, closer. She knew she was alone in the house, yet the footsteps continued until they stopped right outside her door.

With a trembling hand, she turned on her bedside lamp, the dim light casting a warm glow across the room. Silence filled the house again, so still she could hear her own heartbeat. Gathering her courage, she slipped out of bed and opened her door, peeking down the hallway.

The sheet was on the floor, crumpled at the base of the mirror. Her reflection stood there, staring back at her with an intensity that felt almost… alive.

And then, with a slow, deliberate movement, her reflection raised its hand and placed it flat against the glass. Lily's breath caught in her throat as her own hand involuntarily lifted, mirroring the gesture. But this time, it was she who was the puppet.

She could feel a pull, an unnatural force tugging her toward the glass. Her reflection’s eyes gleamed with a hunger she had never known, and a dark, twisted grin stretched across its face. Her hand pressed against the cold surface, and the chill seeped into her bones, paralyzing her as the reflection began to pull her in, the glass rippling under her fingers.

With all her strength, she yanked her hand back and stumbled away. The mirror returned to normal, the reflection back to matching her every move. But the grin lingered in her mind, etched deep into her memory.

She covered the mirror again, but every night, she felt it watching, waiting, daring her to look again. She knew that one day, the reflection would succeed, and she would be pulled into the cold, endless void behind the glass.

Until then, all she could do was avoid her own gaze, for the man in the mirror was patient. And he was always, always watching.

Thank you for reading The Man in the Mirror. If this story sent a shiver down your spine, don’t forget to like and share with others who enjoy a good scare. Just remember—next time you look into a mirror, be sure it’s your reflection looking back.