The Mirror’s Secret

Emma loved collecting antiques. She found beauty in old, forgotten things. So, when she discovered a tall, ornate mirror at a flea market, she knew she had to have it. The vendor, an elderly woman, hesitated before selling it.

"Be careful with this one," she warned. "It doesn’t just show your reflection."

Emma laughed it off, thinking it was just a sales trick. She took the mirror home and placed it in her bedroom. It was beautiful—tall, with a golden frame covered in intricate carvings. That night, as she was brushing her hair, she noticed something strange.

Her reflection smiled… but she hadn’t moved her lips.

Emma froze. She blinked, and the reflection was normal again. Just my imagination, she told herself.

The next night, it happened again. This time, as she turned away, she saw movement in the glass. When she looked back, her reflection stood still, watching her.

A shiver ran down her spine.

Determined to prove herself wrong, she lifted her hand. Her reflection did the same. Then, slowly, the reflection’s hand twisted in an unnatural way—bending backward at an impossible angle.

Emma screamed and stumbled away. The mirror shook violently, but nothing else in the room moved.

The next morning, she covered it with a bedsheet. But at night, she could hear whispers coming from beneath the cloth.

"Let me out."

Unable to sleep, she decided to get rid of it. She called a friend to help her move it, but when they arrived, the mirror was uncovered.

"Did you take the sheet off?" her friend asked.

Emma shook her head.

That’s when she noticed something terrifying—the reflection in the mirror wasn’t hers anymore. It was a woman, pale and grinning, her eyes black voids.

The woman lifted her hand and placed it on the inside of the glass.

Then, she stepped out.

Emma’s friend screamed as the lights flickered. Emma tried to run, but an invisible force pulled her toward the mirror. The last thing she saw was her own reflection, now trapped inside the glass, pounding on the surface.

The mirror sat still once more, and the woman—now free—smiled.

The next week, the mirror was back at the flea market.

Waiting for its next owner.