The Shadow in the Mirror

The apartment was perfect—spacious, affordable, and in a quiet neighborhood. The only oddity was the large, antique mirror hanging in the hallway. Its ornate frame was chipped, and the glass had a faint, smoky tint. The landlord said it had been there for decades, left behind by the previous tenant. I didn’t think much of it at the time.

The first night, I woke up to a strange sound. It was faint, like a whisper, coming from the hallway. I grabbed my phone and tiptoed to the door, peeking out. The mirror was there, reflecting the dim light from the streetlamp outside. But something was off. The reflection wasn’t mine.

I froze, my heart pounding. The figure in the mirror was a woman, her face pale and her eyes hollow. She was standing behind me, but when I turned, there was no one there. I slammed the door shut, my hands trembling.

The next morning, I tried to convince myself it was a dream. But as I passed the mirror, I noticed something strange. The woman’s reflection was still there, faint but unmistakable. Her lips moved, forming words I couldn’t hear.

I decided to research the mirror, hoping to find some answers. After hours of searching, I found a newspaper article from the 1950s. It described a series of mysterious deaths in the building, all linked to a woman named Clara. She had lived in my apartment and was said to have vanished without a trace. The article mentioned a mirror she had brought with her—a family heirloom rumored to be cursed.

That night, the whispers returned, louder this time. I covered the mirror with a sheet, but it didn’t help. The woman’s reflection appeared in every surface—the TV screen, the bathroom mirror, even the window. Her eyes followed me, filled with a mix of sadness and rage.

I decided to confront her. Standing in front of the mirror, I asked, "What do you want?" The woman’s lips moved again, and this time, I heard her voice. "Help me," she whispered. "Set me free."

I spent the next day researching how to break a curse. I found a ritual that involved smashing the mirror under a full moon. That night, I gathered my courage and prepared to destroy it. But as I raised the hammer, the woman’s reflection changed. Her face twisted into a snarl, and her hands reached out of the mirror, grabbing my arm.

I screamed, dropping the hammer. The woman’s grip was icy, her fingers digging into my skin. "You cannot escape me," she hissed. "I am part of you now."

When I woke up, the mirror was intact, and the woman’s reflection was gone. But when I looked in the mirror, I saw her face instead of mine.