The Mirror in the Attic

Olivia had always been a curious child, with a fascination for the hidden corners of her family’s old home. The house, an inherited relic of her grandparents, sat at the edge of a small town, its creaking floors and drafty hallways a stark contrast to the sleek, modern homes she’d grown up in. The place was full of old, dust-covered furniture, faded paintings, and strange relics that seemed to hold memories of a past that refused to fade.

The attic, with its cobwebbed beams and musty scent, had always called to Olivia, but her parents warned her to stay away. “It’s too dangerous up there,” they’d say, “And there’s nothing worth looking at anyway.”

But one summer evening, curiosity got the better of her. The house was unusually quiet—her parents had gone out to dinner, and her siblings were downstairs playing video games. She knew this was the perfect time to explore. The attic door was hidden behind a tall bookcase in the hallway. She pushed it aside with a loud scrape and opened the door, her heart racing in anticipation.

The stairs creaked beneath her feet as she made her way up, the smell of old wood and dust filling her nostrils. The attic was large, filled with boxes, trunks, and old furniture that had been stored away for years. But what caught her eye immediately was an ornate, full-length mirror that leaned against the far wall. It was framed in dark, polished wood with intricate carvings of swirling vines and faces. It seemed out of place in the otherwise cluttered attic, as though it had been carefully positioned there, waiting for someone to find it.

Olivia approached the mirror slowly, drawn to it by an inexplicable force. She could see her reflection, but something felt wrong. Her image seemed distorted, like a smear in a painting, but as she blinked, it cleared up again. Her hand reached out, and the cold glass sent a shock up her arm as her fingers grazed its surface. The reflection staring back at her didn’t quite match her movements. For a split second, it seemed like the mirror itself was alive, shifting with a life of its own.

“Probably just the lighting,” she muttered, brushing it off as her mind playing tricks on her.

But when she stepped back, she noticed something more disturbing. In the reflection, there was someone else standing beside her—a figure cloaked in shadows, a dark silhouette that did not belong. She whipped around, her heart hammering, but the attic was empty. The figure was still in the mirror, standing just behind her, its features obscured.

Frozen, Olivia couldn’t tear her eyes away from the mirror. It was as if the figure was calling to her, beckoning her closer with a slow, deliberate motion. Without thinking, she took a step toward the mirror, drawn by an irresistible pull. The figure in the reflection seemed to smile, a slow, chilling grin that sent a wave of terror through her.

She was about to turn and run when the figure stepped forward in the mirror. It was no longer a reflection—it was real. It reached out with long, skeletal fingers, its hand passing through the glass as if it were nothing more than smoke. Olivia screamed and stumbled backward, her foot catching on a pile of boxes. She fell, hitting the floor hard, her breath coming in ragged gasps.

The figure loomed over her now, its face no longer hidden in shadow but a grotesque mask of hollow eyes and twisted features. It leaned down, its voice a low, guttural rasp that seemed to come from deep within her own mind.

“You shouldn’t have touched it,” it whispered, its voice echoing around her as if the entire attic was speaking.

Desperately, Olivia scrambled to her feet and backed away, but the figure was closer now, its hand reaching out toward her. It was coming from the mirror, its cold fingers almost touching her skin. As she glanced back at the mirror, she saw it was no longer a reflection of her but a scene from another time—a dimly lit room filled with shadows, and at the center of it, a person chained to the floor, their eyes wide with terror.

The figure in the mirror spoke again, its voice laced with malice. “I am the one who watches. I am the one who waits. And now, you are mine.”

Olivia’s pulse raced. She had to escape. She had to get away from the mirror. But her body wouldn’t obey. It was as though the mirror had some strange hold over her, as if it had already claimed her.

In a panic, she lunged at the mirror, trying to knock it over, but it wouldn’t budge. Instead, as her hands touched the frame, the glass seemed to ripple like water, and she felt an icy chill crawling up her arms. The mirror was pulling her in. Desperation clawed at her chest as she tried to pull away, but the more she struggled, the more the mirror seemed to pull her in, inch by inch.

“NO!” she screamed, but it was too late.

With a final, bone-chilling pull, Olivia was yanked forward, her body crashing into the glass. The coldness was unbearable, the surface smooth and slick like ice. Her screams echoed through the attic, but the world around her began to fade, replaced by a dark, suffocating void. The figure stood in front of her now, no longer in the mirror but in the space between the worlds, grinning with satisfaction.

“You are part of the reflection now,” it whispered as Olivia’s vision blurred.

The next morning, when Olivia’s parents returned to the house, they found her room untouched, the attic door standing wide open. But there was no sign of her. The only thing that remained was the mirror, standing as it had been—silent and still.

Her parents searched the house for hours, calling her name, but she was never found. It was as though she had vanished, as though the very air had swallowed her whole. The only trace of her was the faintest whisper that seemed to come from the attic, carried on the wind: “You shouldn’t have touched it.”

The mirror still stands in the attic, its reflection waiting for the next curious soul. The figure, it seems, is always watching, always waiting for the next person to come close enough to be claimed.

Thank you for reading The Mirror in the Attic. If this story left you with chills, don’t forget to like and share it. Let others experience the eerie pull of the mirror, but be warned—some reflections should never be looked at.