The Shapeshifter's Window

It was midnight when Lila moved into her new apartment. The place was small and unremarkable, save for one strange feature: a large, old mirror embedded in the wall of the bedroom. The mirror was gilded, its edges curling into ornate, twisted shapes, and though it was beautifully crafted, something about it felt… off.

On her first night, Lila sat in bed, scrolling on her phone, when she noticed something odd in the mirror’s reflection. She leaned closer, squinting. The person in the mirror looked just like her—same tired eyes, same messy hair. But then, as she watched, her reflection smiled.

Her heart froze. She wasn’t smiling.

The grin spread slowly across her reflection’s face, stretching wider than it should, until the corners of its mouth seemed to quiver with something almost inhuman. Lila forced herself to look away, convincing herself it was a trick of the light, a hallucination, anything but real.

But the next night, it happened again.

As she got ready for bed, she caught her reflection watching her intently, eyes dark and knowing. Lila took a step back, holding her breath. Her reflection took a step forward, mimicking her movements perfectly. She began to tremble as her reflection tilted its head, moving out of sync for the first time.

Then it whispered, a faint, raspy sound: “Let me in.”

Lila stumbled back, horrified. She covered the mirror with a sheet, hoping to block out whatever she had seen. But that night, sleep was impossible. Every time she closed her eyes, she heard the whisper in her mind, coaxing her to return, to pull away the sheet, to look once more.

The following night, she was determined to get rid of the mirror. She reached for the sheet to pull it down and dispose of it, but when she touched the cloth, she froze.

The sheet was wet. She yanked her hand back, staring in disbelief. Dark stains—was it blood?—had soaked through, as if something behind the mirror had tried to claw its way out. Her heart pounded, and her hands shook as she heard a soft tapping from behind the glass.

Her own voice spoke, faintly at first, then louder, desperate. “Please, let me out…”

Lila couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. She backed away, horrified, as the tapping grew into a frantic scratching sound, like nails scraping against glass. Her own voice pleaded, growing more desperate, until it sounded like a scream.

That night, Lila packed her bags and left, never returning to the apartment. The landlord tried to reach her for months, asking if she would come back for the rest of her things, but she ignored every message.

Rumors began to spread about the strange tenant who had left the apartment in the dead of night, leaving behind her belongings—and an old mirror, covered with a stained sheet.

Those who dared to look into it swore they could see her face staring back, wide-eyed and pleading, trapped in the dark glass.

Thank you for reading The Shapeshifter’s Window. If this story sent a chill down your spine, please like and share with others who enjoy the thrill of horror. And remember, sometimes your reflection isn’t just looking back—it’s waiting.