The Mirror's Reflection

—dilapidated, yet somehow still standing strong amidst the overgrown ivy and decaying wood. Her heart raced as she walked through the massive front doors, greeted by the smell of dust and something… older. The kind of scent that clung to things forgotten, to secrets buried in time.

As she explored the house, Sarah felt an odd sense of curiosity, mixed with an overwhelming sense of dread. She had come to claim her inheritance, to see what lay behind the ornate doors and grand staircases. But from the moment she stepped inside, something didn’t feel right.

The mansion had a history. She had heard rumors—whispers about strange disappearances, about the family who once lived there and their obsession with a large, ornate mirror that hung in the center of the grand hallway. The mirror had been the subject of many rumors, none of which Sarah had believed until she laid eyes on it.

It was the first thing she noticed when she stepped into the hallway—the massive mirror, reaching from floor to ceiling, its ornate gold frame reflecting everything in its glassy surface. But the longer Sarah stared into it, the more unsettling it became. There was something wrong with the reflection. It didn’t quite match the room behind her. The details were blurry—out of place, as though the mirror was showing her something that wasn’t supposed to exist.

Confused, she stepped closer, trying to make sense of it. The reflection of the room seemed slightly off, warped. The shadows cast on the floor seemed to shift unnaturally, as though they were alive, moving without a source. And then, in the reflection, she saw something that made her blood run cold.

A figure.

It was standing behind her, its face obscured in the reflection, but its presence was unmistakable. It was tall, unnaturally tall, and its limbs twisted in grotesque angles. She spun around in a panic, heart pounding, but there was nothing there. Just the empty hallway.

Shaken, she stepped back toward the mirror, her breath quickening. The figure was still there, but it wasn’t standing anymore—it was moving. The reflection seemed to animate on its own, and the figure slowly began to walk toward her.

“Who—who are you?” Sarah whispered, her voice trembling.

The figure didn’t respond. It didn’t need to. Its eyes—black, hollow—stared at her with an unblinking intensity. The air grew cold, suffocating. Her skin prickled with fear, but she couldn’t look away. Slowly, the figure raised its hand and pressed it against the mirror.

The glass vibrated slightly, and a deep, unsettling sound—like a low, echoing whisper—filled the air. The figure's hand was now pressed flat against the surface of the mirror, but it wasn’t just a reflection anymore. It was as if the figure was reaching out, trying to pull itself through.

Suddenly, the reflection of Sarah in the mirror changed. It wasn’t her anymore. The woman standing in the mirror had hollow eyes, and her face was twisted in a grotesque, twisted smile. It was the same smile—the same hollow expression Sarah had seen in the figure.

She backed away, but it was too late. The mirror began to crack. Small fissures spider-webbed across the glass, and the whispers grew louder—clearer. “You are mine…”

A loud cracking sound echoed through the mansion as the mirror shattered into pieces, but the figure—no longer bound by glass—stepped out into the hallway.

It was as though the world had been turned upside down. The air was thick with the smell of decay, and the light around her dimmed as the figure advanced. It was real now. It wasn’t just a reflection. And it wasn’t alone.

From the shattered pieces of the mirror, more figures began to emerge, their forms disjointed and fluid, as if they were made of smoke and shadows. They were grotesque, each one a twisted mockery of human form. Some had no faces. Others had faces that were nothing but hollow voids, eyes missing, skin stretched tight.

Sarah ran. She didn’t think—she just ran. Her heart thudded in her chest as she raced through the maze of hallways. She could hear the whispers all around her, growing louder, calling her name.

But no matter how fast she ran, they were always there. The figures. Their laughter echoed through the house, twisted and mocking, growing closer with each step. She ran through the rooms, the shadows stretching, closing in on her.

Finally, she reached the front door, her hands trembling as she fumbled for the handle. It wouldn’t open. It was locked. The door that had once been an exit was now a trap.

Behind her, she heard the sound of footsteps. Soft, slow, deliberate.

She turned around, and there, in the doorway, stood the figure. It smiled at her with that same twisted expression, its hollow eyes locking with hers. It raised a hand.

“Welcome,” it said, its voice a low rasp. “We’ve been waiting for you.”

And as Sarah screamed, the last thing she saw was the face of the woman in the mirror—her face. Twisted and smiling, pulling her into the dark.