The Mirror Room

You know how when you first enter a place, it just doesn't feel right? Not because something’s obviously scary. No blood, no ghosts. Just that quiet feeling in your chest like something is watching you—even though no one is there?
Yeah. That’s what this story is about.
A room full of mirrors.
Seven of them.
And one rule:
Never look into the seventh mirror.

The House on Elmsworth Lane
It began when my friend Nadia relocated with her mother and younger sister to a new residence. It was this old place on Elmsworth Lane. The kind of house where the floorboards groan even when no one is walking on them, and the kind of house that creaked when it was quiet. It was bought cheaply by their parents. Too cheap. You know how, in scary stories, that always means trouble? Yeah. Turns out, this one had a reason too.
The Locked Room
There was one room that was locked when they moved in.
The realtor told them it was “just storage,” and handed over a rusty little key wrapped in string.
Nadia’s mom didn’t care much. The key was put in a drawer by her. Nadia, though? She was curious. And she had a habit of not listening to warnings.
So one night, when everyone was asleep, she grabbed the key.
The Room of Mirrors Behind the door was a room with red velvet wallpaper, dusty wooden floors, and seven mirrors standing on old iron frames.
Big mirrors. Like taller-than-you, full-length, dusty ones.
They were placed in a circle.
Something was carved into the frame of each mirror. Numbers.
One through seven.
They weren’t hanging on the wall. They were just standing there, like statues guarding something.
And in the room's center? Just empty floor.
Nadia thought it was weird, but not that scary.
Until she read the small plaque on the doorknob: “Do not gaze into the seventh mirror.
It does not show you.
It shows what’s waiting.”
The First Look Of course, Nadia ignored that. Who wouldn’t?
She looked into Mirror One.
merely her own reflection. Kind of dusty.
Mirror Two? Similar thing. Mirror Three? The glass had a small crack, but still just her.
All the way to Mirror Six.
Normal, normal, normal.
But then—Mirror Seven.
That one had a cloth draped over it. Like it was being hidden. Or protected. Or… trapped.
She reached out, pulled the cloth off—
And froze.
The Mirror That Lied
The reflection was kind of like her. Same face. Same hair.
But the smile was too wide.
The eyes too dark.
And her reflection wasn’t copying her movements.
Hands were raised by Nadia. The mirror version stayed still.
She leaned in.
The mirror version grinned.
And whispered something she couldn’t hear.
Suddenly, the room felt ice-cold.
She backed away, threw the cloth back over the mirror, and ran.
That night, she had a nightmare where the mirror version crawled out and stood at the foot of her bed.
The Shadow in the Reflection
Over the next few days, things got worse.
The mirrors in the hallway started showing things that weren’t there.
Her reflection blinked late.
Sometimes it smiled when she wasn’t smiling.
One time, she saw her reflection walking away while she was standing still.
She stopped brushing her teeth with the bathroom light on.
ceased entering windows at night. Every reflection was wrong now.
And the worst part?
No one else could see it.
📖 The Journal
She found a journal tucked inside a drawer in the mirror room.
dated 1897 and belonged to someone named Eliza Gray. The final entry stated: “It asked me to trade places.
It said it could live my life better than I can.
I laughed.
Now it laughs at me, from the other side of the glass.”
Under the page was a drawing.
A girl.
Standing outside a mirror.
Her reflection? Grinning, with black eyes.
The Change That night, Nadia had another dream.
But this time, it wasn’t a dream.
She woke up standing.
Not in her bed.
In the mirror room.
The cloth from Mirror Seven was off again.
And her reflection was already watching her.
It whispered, "You're tired." Nadia couldn’t move.
“You’re scared.”
Nadia’s heart was pounding.
“I can take over now.”
Additionally, the girl in the mirror reached through the glass. With real hands.
And pulled.
After That Night
I was the one who noticed something was wrong.
Nadia was acting out of character. She forgot our inside jokes.
She called her mom "Ma’am."
She looked in mirrors too much.
I asked her, “What’s my favorite color?”
She responded, "Black." It’s green. She knew that. Never has. I asked her about the time we went to the amusement park and she screamed on the bumper cars.
She said, “I’ve never been scared of rides.”
But she was terrified of rides.
That’s when I knew.
It wasn’t Nadia anymore.
The Real Nadia
I snuck into the house, into the mirror room.
I turned on my flashlight and uncovered Mirror Seven.
She was there.
The real Nadia.
The glass was pressing against her hands. She wasn’t screaming. Just mouthing one word:
“Help.”
I reached out to touch the mirror—
Moreover, I felt fingers push back. But I Wasn’t Fast Enough
Suddenly, Nadia’s mom came in.
“Why are you in here? Where’s the sheet?”
I tried to explain.
She looked confused. Angry.
Behind her, “Nadia” stood silently.
Smiling.
Watching.
She’s not gone.
She’s loose.
And the real Nadia?
She’s still inside Mirror Seven.
Waiting.