The Reflection

he first time Nora saw the reflection move, she thought it was a trick of the light.

She had been living alone in her grandmother’s old house for three weeks, cleaning it out after the funeral. It was a creaky, narrow place that smelled faintly of lavender and dust, with mirrors everywhere. Her grandmother had loved them, though Nora never understood why. There was one in nearly every room, some small and ornate, others tall and warped with age.

On that rainy Tuesday night, Nora was brushing her teeth in the upstairs bathroom when she saw it. Her reflection blinked a fraction too late.

It was barely noticeable, just a small lag in the motion. Nora stared for a moment, toothbrush halfway to her mouth. She laughed softly, trying to brush it off. She was tired. She’d been cleaning all day and barely sleeping since she moved in. Maybe her mind was just playing tricks on her.

The next morning, she caught it again. She was tying her hair back in the mirror above the hallway table when her reflection’s lips curved into a smile that she didn’t make. It was a slow, knowing smile, like the reflection understood something she didn’t.

Nora froze. Her heart began to thump against her ribs, but she forced herself to look closer. The reflection’s expression was normal again. She swallowed hard and whispered, “I’m just tired,” as if saying it aloud would make it true.

That night she covered most of the mirrors with old bedsheets. It made her feel foolish, but at least she could sleep.

For a while, things went quiet. She stopped seeing strange movements. The wind stopped howling through the attic vents. She even began to feel at ease in the house again. But on the fourth night, she woke to a faint scraping sound.

It was coming from downstairs.

Nora sat up in bed, straining to listen. The noise was soft, rhythmic, and wet. Like someone dragging a hand across glass. She wanted to believe it was just the branches outside, but the house was surrounded by open fields. There were no trees near enough to scratch the windows.

She grabbed her phone, its flashlight trembling in her hand, and crept down the stairs.

The sound grew louder as she neared the hallway. It was coming from behind the sheet that covered the tall mirror by the front door.

The sheet was moving. Slowly. As if something beneath it was pressing outward.

Nora’s breath caught. She reached forward, every instinct screaming for her to run, but she needed to see. She had to know.

She pulled the sheet away.

Her reflection was standing there, staring back at her. But it wasn’t copying her movements. Its head was tilted, eyes too wide, smile stretched too far.

Then it lifted its hand and pressed it against the glass. The skin looked wrong. Pale, translucent. Almost like wax.

Nora stumbled back, but her reflection didn’t lower its hand. It began to tap, once, twice, three times. The sound echoed through the house. Tap. Tap. Tap.

“Stop it,” Nora whispered, her voice shaking.

The reflection’s smile widened. Its mouth began to move, forming words she couldn’t hear. Then, slowly, it leaned forward until its forehead touched the glass.

The mirror cracked.

Nora screamed and fell backward, scrambling away. The crack split wider, spiderwebbing across the surface. The reflection’s eyes glowed faintly in the fractured glass.

Then the house went silent.

When the police arrived the next morning, they found Nora sitting in front of the mirror, her eyes blank and distant. The glass was perfectly smooth again. There were no cracks, no sign of damage.

But the reflection was wrong.

It was smiling.

And Nora wasn’t.