The One In The Mirror Isn't Me

My grandmother's old house was being cleaned out when it all began. The attic had been unoccupied for decades until she died earlier that year.

The room was cluttered with dusty books, cobwebs, and photo albums that had been ignored. The furniture was covered in old white blankets. In one corner, hidden behind a broken lamp and a pile of boxes, I found it—a tall mirror. Ornate wooden frame, carved roses along the sides, slightly faded, but still elegant. It looked like something that belonged in a gothic film.

“That mirror used to be in her bedroom,” my mom said. “She believed it was… special.”

I laughed. “Special like haunted?”

She didn’t smile.

Still, I brought it home. It felt antique, unique—like it could give my plain bedroom a bit of personality. put it next to my bed, against the wall, without giving it any more thought.

Everything appeared to be going OK the first few nights.

But then things took a turn for the worst.

I was cleaning my teeth one evening when I noticed something odd. Even though I was standing motionless, my reflection in the mirror shifted. Only for a moment. A flicker. I blinked. Everything looked normal again. I told myself I imagined it. Maybe I was just tired.

But then it happened again.

And again.

Then came the smile.

I wasn’t smiling.

But my reflection was.

Slow. Wide. Off.

It wasn’t a natural smile. It felt like something was enjoying watching me.

I started covering the mirror at night with a sheet. Every evening before bed, I’d tape the corners so it wouldn’t slide off.

But by morning, the sheet would always be on the floor.

Always.

I started waking up exactly at 3:00 AM—every night. Never a minute before or after. And every time, the sheet would be gone, and the mirror would be uncovered, almost as if something inside wanted to be seen.

One night, I decided to confront it.

I stayed up with my phone camera on, watching the mirror. At exactly 3:00, the reflection shimmered. Like a ripple in water. And then… my reflection was gone.

The mirror was empty.

And then, something stepped into view.

It looked like me. Same hair. Same face. But its eyes were wrong—cold, glassy, dead. It stared at me, unblinking.

Then it whispered,

“You’ve had your time. Let me out.”

The lights in my room flickered, and everything went black.

I woke up in bed, drenched in sweat. It was morning. Birds chirping. Normal.

Until I stood in front of the mirror.

At first glance, everything seemed okay.

Until I moved my hand—and the reflection moved just a bit too late.

When I turned my head, it tilted the other way.

When I smiled nervously, it didn’t smile at all.

That’s when I knew.

That’s not me anymore.

Something else is there now. Watching. Waiting. Pretending to be me.

Sometimes, I see it move when I’m not in front of the mirror.

Sometimes, it shows up even when I’m nowhere near.

And sometimes… I see my reflection in other mirrors doing things I never did.

I think it got out.

I don’t know how much longer I’ll feel like myself.

Some nights, I hear it whispering through the mirror, saying it’s only a matter of time.

Please—if you find an old mirror in your home, don’t bring it into your room. Don’t let it stay uncovered at night. And whatever you do, don’t look into it after 3:00 AM.

Because if you ever see something smile before you do…

Run.

💀 Final Warning:

A mirror reflects more than your face. Sometimes, it shows the thing that wants to be you.