The Mirror at the End of the Hall

Mara was thirteen when her grandmother died and left her the house at Black Hollow.

It was a tall, crooked place at the edge of the woods, with dusty red curtains, peeling wallpaper, and a long hallway that stretched too far for such a small house. The villagers whispered that the house was cursed, but Mara's parents said it was just “old and creaky.” They only stayed there in summer.

But Mara knew something was wrong from the first night.

Because at the very end of the hallway was a mirror.

Not just any mirror—a tall, gold-framed thing with blackened glass that looked like it belonged in a haunted castle. It was nailed to the wall, and no one could move it. And under it, carved into the wood, were words in a language Mara didn’t recognize.

She asked her parents about it.

Her mother just said, “Don’t look into that mirror after midnight.”

Mara nodded. But of course, she wanted to know why.

The mirror never showed her reflection quite right. When she brushed her hair in front of it, the girl inside the glass was a little slower… like she was thinking about something before copying Mara’s movements.

Once, Mara waved.

The reflection didn’t wave back.

She told her father.

He laughed and said, “You’re imagining things.”

But she wasn’t.

One night, she stayed up late reading by candlelight. The house was quiet, the trees scratching the windows with long fingers of wind. The old hallway stretched out before her like a tunnel.

And the mirror… called.

She didn’t hear it with her ears. It was like a voice in her chest, whispering, Come see me.

It was 12:03 a.m. when she stood in front of it.

She hesitated. But curiosity was stronger than fear.

She looked into the mirror.

And this time, the girl in the glass didn’t look like Mara at all.

Her eyes were too black.

Her mouth too wide.

And she was smiling.

Mara stumbled back.

The reflection stayed still, smile growing.

Then, the girl in the mirror raised her hand—slowly—and pressed her palm against the glass.

Mara stared.

So did the mirror girl.

And then the glass began to crack, a spiderweb forming from the center of the reflection’s smile.

Mara screamed and ran.

But when her parents rushed in and turned on the lights… the mirror was perfect. No crack. No smile. Just Mara, pale and trembling.

They didn’t believe her.

But that night, the mirror girl began to visit her dreams.

The dreams were wrong.

In them, Mara wandered endless halls made of mirrors, each one showing people crying, screaming, or trying to escape. The girl from her mirror followed her, barefoot, leaving red footprints wherever she walked.

She whispered things like:

“You looked. Now you’re mine.”

“I’ve waited so long…”

“Switch with me.”

Mara woke every morning sweating, shaking, and unable to speak for a few seconds.

She covered the mirror with a sheet. She stopped walking down that hallway.

But she still heard tapping behind the glass.

Like fingernails… waiting.

Weeks passed. The house grew colder, even though it was summer. Shadows stretched too long. Mara saw things in the corners of her eyes.

One evening, her mother grew very quiet at dinner and finally said:

“I used to see her too.”

Mara froze.

“Who?” she asked.

“The mirror girl. When I was your age. She wanted me too.”

Mara’s heart pounded.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because talking about her makes her stronger.”

Her mother leaned in.

“You must never speak to her. And never, ever let her out.”

But it was too late.

That night, the sheet had fallen from the mirror.

And the glass was gone.

Just empty blackness.

Like a doorway.

Mara screamed, but nothing came out. She ran. She slammed the door. But from the hallway, she heard footsteps that didn’t match anyone in the house.

Slow.

Wet.

Barefoot.

Her parents tried to leave the next day.

But the front door wouldn’t open.

The windows showed forests that didn’t exist.

The hallway stretched longer than before—hundreds of feet. Dozens of mirrors now lined the walls, each one whispering.

The house was becoming the dream.

And the mirror girl was in all of them.

Mara knew what she had to do.

She waited until midnight.

She stood before the empty mirror frame, candle shaking in her hand.

“I’m not afraid of you,” she said, though her voice trembled.

A voice replied, not hers, not human:

“You should be.”

The mirror girl stepped out.

Her feet left bloody marks on the wood.

Her smile was too wide.

Mara dropped the candle.

And everything went black.

When her parents found her the next morning, Mara was asleep in front of the mirror, glass whole again.

She didn’t speak.

She didn’t blink.

And when they looked closely, they saw something was… off.

Her smile.

Her eyes.

The way she moved like she was remembering how.

Mara now lives in the house year-round.

She stands at the mirror every night.

And sometimes… she talks to it.

If you visit Black Hollow and walk the hall, you’ll see her in the reflection—but sometimes, just for a second, you’ll see a second face behind her, mouthing something you can’t hear.

Some say the real Mara is still trapped inside.

Watching.

Waiting.

And the girl who walks the halls now?

She’s just a reflection… that got out.

The End.