The Mirror's Prison

Claire had always been drawn to old houses. After the death of her husband, Mark, she needed a change of scenery, something to break her from the grief that had begun to swallow her. She found a house on the edge of a small town, a place that had stood empty for years. It was the kind of place people whispered about but never dared to live in. The price was right, and Claire was ready for a fresh start.

When she moved in, she immediately felt the weight of silence. The house seemed to sigh with age, the wooden floors creaking underfoot, the windows cloudy with dust. But it was quiet, peaceful even. Or so she thought.

It was the mirror that caught her attention first.

It was huge, an old antique that stood tall in the attic, covered in a thick layer of dust. The wood frame was dark, with intricate carvings that made it look almost sinister. But Claire couldn’t resist. She cleaned it up, and when the dust finally cleared, the reflection staring back at her felt almost... alive. Something about it made her skin prickle. But she shrugged it off. It was just an old mirror, after all.

The first strange thing happened that night.

She was lying in bed, trying to sleep, when she heard a soft whisper. She turned over, expecting to see the wind moving the curtains, or maybe even the house settling. But no, the air was still. The whisper came again, louder this time. "Claire..."

She sat up quickly, her heart racing. She glanced toward the door, expecting to see Mark—her mind sometimes tricked her into thinking he was still there. But the house was empty, just as it had been when she moved in.

The whispering didn’t stop.

It grew louder each night, always calling her name. Claire tried to ignore it. She told herself it was just the house settling, or maybe her grief playing tricks on her. But then came the second strange thing: she started seeing things in the reflection.

At first, it was small things. A shadow that wasn’t there, or a movement that seemed off. But soon, she began to see full figures—dark, shifting forms that hovered in the glass. Figures that looked like people. Figures that looked like Mark.

Claire tried to tell herself it was just her mind playing tricks again. But the figures started speaking to her. Sometimes they were just faint whispers, but other times, the voices were clear, so real that they made her skin crawl.

"Claire... come closer," one voice said. It was Mark’s voice, but twisted, like it was coming from somewhere deep beneath the earth.

Her heart hammered in her chest. She told herself it was just grief. Her mind was still clinging to him, still mourning him. But every night, the whispers grew louder, and the figures in the mirror grew more distinct. They seemed to be moving now—almost as if they were alive.

One night, after another sleepless evening of hearing the whispers, Claire stood up and walked toward the mirror. She felt drawn to it, as if something in the reflection was calling her. The image in the glass wasn’t quite right. It looked like her, but the features were slightly off—too pale, too sharp. Her reflection grinned at her, a slow, unsettling smile that made her stomach flip.

She took a step closer. The reflection did the same, its eyes never leaving hers.

It’s just a mirror, she told herself. It’s just a trick of the light.

But when she reached out to touch the glass, the reflection reached out at the same time. The surface of the mirror rippled like water, cold and clammy, and Claire’s breath caught in her throat. She quickly pulled her hand back, her heart pounding.

She backed away from the mirror, shaking her head. "It’s not real," she muttered. "It’s just the grief, the stress."

But as she turned to leave the room, she heard it again. The whisper.

"Claire..."

This time, it wasn’t in her ear. It came from the mirror. The voice was different now—deeper, more menacing. It sounded like someone—or something—waiting for her.

Claire couldn’t bring herself to look back. She rushed out of the room and shut the door behind her, pressing her back against it as if to keep the darkness at bay.

But the whispers followed her, echoing in the walls.

The next few days were a blur of sleepless nights and fearful glances at the mirror. The house felt colder now, and Claire found herself constantly looking over her shoulder. She couldn’t stop thinking about the reflection, about the way it seemed to move on its own.

Then one night, it happened again.

Claire woke up in the middle of the night, her body drenched in sweat. The whispers were louder now, almost deafening. She got out of bed and walked toward the attic, her feet dragging as if she were sleepwalking.

The mirror was waiting for her, its dark reflection staring back.

She looked into the glass. And for the first time, the reflection was different. Instead of just showing her face, it showed something else—something twisted.

The face staring back at her wasn’t hers anymore. It was... smiling. But not the way she would smile. It was twisted, a grotesque grin that stretched too wide, too far. The reflection’s eyes gleamed with an unnatural hunger, and Claire’s stomach churned with terror.

She took a step back, but the reflection didn’t move. Instead, it stepped forward. Slowly. Its feet didn’t touch the ground—it seemed to float, its eyes locked onto hers with an unsettling intensity.

"Claire..." the voice whispered again. But this time, it came from the reflection, not the room.

And then Claire understood.

The reflection wasn’t some ghost, some trick of the mind. It was her. It had always been her.

The reflection had been waiting, watching, and now it was free.

The real Claire, the one who had been standing there, watching herself, was nothing more than a prisoner in the mirror. The reflection smiled wider, and Claire felt herself start to fade. Her limbs grew heavy, her vision blurred, and before she could scream, she was gone.

The last thing she saw was her reflection stepping out of the mirror, its twisted grin still fixed in place, as it took her place in the real world.

Now, as she remained trapped in the glass, Claire could only watch as her reflection lived the life she once had.