The Reflection Doesn’t Blink”

The Reflection Doesn’t Blink”

Part I: The Mirror

They say every old house has a secret.

When Amelia moved into the 180-year-old Victorian manor her grandfather left her, she wasn’t looking for mystery. She was looking for solitude.

Her divorce had shattered her, and the stillness of the countryside was the only thing that didn’t scream at her to feel better. Her grandfather, Arthur Beaumont, died under strange circumstances—found dead in his study with his eyes wide open and mouth frozen mid-scream.

They said it was a heart attack.

But Amelia always suspected more.

It was a gray November morning when she discovered it—the mirror.

Covered in a thick dusty sheet in the attic, it leaned against the wall, seven feet tall, framed with blackened silver and strange symbols etched along the corners. At first glance, it looked like any antique mirror. But when she pulled the sheet down, something felt… wrong.

Her reflection looked normal, yet somehow off. She couldn’t explain it. She chalked it up to nerves, dust, bad lighting.

She placed it in the guest bedroom and forgot about it.

For a while.

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Part II: The Blink

The first time she noticed the reflection not blinking was a week later.

She had walked past the guest bedroom late at night and caught a glimpse of her own face in the mirror—even though the door was slightly ajar and she was in the hallway.

She stopped.

Her heart ticked faster.

She stepped back and looked again—nothing. Just her reflection. Maybe she imagined it.

The second time, she was brushing her teeth. She turned her head to grab a towel and glanced at the mirror from the bathroom across the hall.

Her reflection was still staring forward.

Unblinking.

She gasped and looked directly at it.

Now it blinked.

Like normal.

Her stomach knotted.

“This house is just too quiet,” she told herself. “I need to get out more.”

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Part III: The Journal

In the basement, tucked behind dusty crates of books, she found a leather-bound journal. Her grandfather’s handwriting filled every page.

The last few entries grew increasingly frantic.

> "It watches.

It doesn’t copy me anymore.

Sometimes it moves when I don’t.

The mirror is not a mirror.

It shows what’s on the other side."

Amelia slammed the journal shut.

She couldn’t breathe.

That night, she locked the guest bedroom and refused to go near it.

But mirrors don’t care about locks.

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Part IV: The Dream

She began to dream of the mirror. Or rather… what was inside it.

In the dreams, she’d stand in front of it, and her reflection would smile when she didn’t.

It would wave slowly… fingers bending backwards… neck cracking to one side.

One night, the dream ended with her reflection whispering:

“Let me out.”

Amelia woke up screaming.

The next morning, the lock on the guest bedroom was broken.

She hadn’t gone near the door.

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Part V: The Silence

She called a priest.

Father Daniels was old, skeptical, and smelled of tobacco.

After seeing the mirror, he grew visibly pale. He placed his hand on the frame, muttered something in Latin, and quickly stepped away.

“There’s… a presence,” he said. “Do not interact with it. Do not speak to it. I’ll return with help.”

He never came back.

His church said he had taken a leave of absence. No one knew where he’d gone.

That night, the mirror began whispering her name.

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Part VI: The Switch

Amelia stopped eating. Stopped sleeping.

She watched the mirror from across the hallway now, afraid to look too long.

Sometimes, she’d see herself already in the room when she passed by—standing still, smiling.

It was becoming bolder.

One night, she entered the guest room with a hammer.

“I’m ending this,” she muttered.

She raised her hand to strike—but her reflection didn’t move. It smiled wider.

The hammer dropped.

Her body stiffened.

Her reflection whispered:

“Too late.”

And blinked.

Amelia didn’t.

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Part VII: The House

A month later, a distant cousin came to visit the manor, concerned about Amelia’s silence.

The house was still, untouched, empty.

Except… the mirror stood tall in the hallway now.

And Amelia’s reflection waved gently as her cousin walked by.

But Amelia wasn’t behind the mirror.

Not anymore.

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End.