The Mirror Guest

It all started with an old mirror.

You see, mirrors are supposed to reflect what is. But what if they start showing you things that shouldn't be there? What if they remember things you never did, faces you never wore, or worse—someone else inside them?

This is what happened to my friend Jay.

Jay had just moved into a new apartment. It was one of those older buildings that creaked at night and smelled faintly of old wood and something a little... damp. But rent was cheap, and the location was good. Plus, Jay loved "vintage" stuff. The place came with some old furniture, including this large, ornate mirror in the hallway. It was the kind with a thick, wooden frame and little carvings of roses and thorns that you didn't really notice unless you looked too close.

Jay thought it was cool. A little creepy, but cool.

The first strange thing happened about a week after moving in.

Jay walked past the mirror to the kitchen late one night and swore he saw someone standing behind him. He turned around—nothing. Just the quiet hallway and his own shadow stretching from the glow of the fridge light.

He laughed it off. Lack of sleep. Stress. Maybe he was just seeing things.

But the next night, the figure came back.

This time, it was clearer. A shape—tall, a little hunched, with shoulders that looked too narrow, and arms that looked too long. No face, just a blur where the eyes should be. When Jay turned around, it was gone. But when he looked back at the mirror—it was still there. Standing behind him. Not moving.

Jay jumped. He waved his hand behind him, then in front of the mirror.

Gone.

He didn’t sleep that night. He kept the lights on and covered the mirror with an old bedsheet.

He tried to forget about it.

A couple of days passed. No strange figures, no shadowy reflections. Things went back to normal. Jay even convinced himself he imagined it.

Then he got a message.

It was a text, but from no number. Just a blank contact name and a message:

"You looked too long. Now I know your shape."

Jay stared at the phone, heart racing. He blocked the number, deleted the message.

The next morning, the mirror was uncovered.

He knew he covered it.

He stood at the end of the hallway, watching it. Just his reflection. Pale, tired. Normal.

But then his reflection blinked first.

Jay stepped closer. His reflection stepped closer, but just a fraction too slow, like it was copying instead of mirroring. He raised his hand. The reflection raised its, a beat behind. And for just a second, the face in the mirror smiled, even though Jay didn't.

He smashed it.

He grabbed the nearest thing he could—a broom—and shattered the glass into a hundred sharp pieces. The frame cracked and fell with a dull thud. Jay stood over it, panting.

The reflection was gone.

That night, he slept better.

But in the morning, something was... wrong.

When Jay went to brush his teeth, he looked in the bathroom mirror and paused.

His reflection blinked too slow.

He blinked again. The reflection lagged. Just a little. Not enough to prove, just enough to chill your spine.

Jay covered that mirror too.

But it didn’t stop. Any reflective surface—his phone screen, the kettle, the window when it was dark outside—they all started to hesitate. He called a friend, asked if he could come stay a few nights.

The friend said sure. Jay packed a bag.

But as he was leaving, he caught a glimpse of something in the black screen of his TV.

A face.

Not his.

It looked like him. Same eyes. Same mouth. But the smile was too wide. Like it had learned how to smile from watching, not doing. It waved.

Jay didn’t go to his friend’s. He turned back inside, trembling, and shut the door.

He spent the next week sealing every reflective surface. Aluminum foil. Paint. Tape. He even smashed a few more things.

But then he started seeing it anyway. Not in reflections, but just... out the corner of his eye. A glimpse of someone turning the hallway corner as he turned into the hallway. A shadow disappearing behind a door that was locked.

And every time, the message came back.

"You looked too long. Now I know your shape."

He started to forget things. Where he put his keys. Why he went into the kitchen. Friends called, said he sounded weird on the phone. That he talked like someone else. One even came to visit and left after ten minutes. Said Jay "wasn’t Jay."

One night, Jay left a note.

"If you find this, don’t look in the mirror. Not even once. It’s not me anymore."

No one has seen Jay since.

His apartment? Still empty. Still has that broken frame leaning against the hallway wall.

And the weirdest thing? The mirror—it's whole again.

Like nothing ever happened.

Some people say if you go there and look into it, you can still see him. Not the real Jay. The other one.

Smiling.

Waiting.

Because here's the thing:

You only have to look once.

But it always looks back.

The End... or maybe the beginning.