The Voice Behind the Mirror

There’s an old superstition in my village: never speak to your reflection after midnight. As children, we laughed it off. It sounded like the kind of tale told to keep kids from playing in the dark. But that was before I experienced the voice behind the mirror.

It happened last year when I was staying at my grandmother’s house. Her home is a relic from the 1800s — creaky wooden floors, oil lamps, and a tall, antique mirror mounted in the hallway. That mirror always gave me chills. Not because it looked creepy, but because it was too perfect. No dust, no cracks. And it always reflected things just a split second too late.

That night, I couldn't sleep. The power had gone out, and the wind howled like it was alive. At 12:03 AM, I walked into the hallway to grab a candle from the shelf. As I passed the mirror, I caught my reflection — except, it didn’t move with me.

I froze.

My reflection was still staring forward, unblinking, even though I had turned slightly. Then… it smiled.

I hadn’t smiled.

I backed away slowly, thinking maybe I was hallucinating from lack of sleep. But just as I turned to leave, I heard it. A whisper.

“Don’t go. I’ve waited so long.”

I spun around. My reflection — if that’s what it still was — now had its hand pressed against the inside of the glass. My real hand hung by my side. The candlelight flickered, and the hallway grew colder. I could see my breath.

I should’ve run. I wanted to run. But curiosity — or something darker — rooted me in place.

“Who are you?” I asked, barely whispering.

The thing in the mirror tilted its head. “I’m you… without the fear.”

It raised its hand and slowly pressed its palm against the glass. My hand lifted on its own, as if being pulled by invisible strings, mimicking the gesture. When our hands met on either side of the mirror, I felt a jolt — ice-cold, burning through my veins.

Suddenly, I was inside the mirror.

Or at least, it felt that way. I looked around, and the hallway was reversed, upside down, like a dream melting into a nightmare. The version of me — the one on the outside — turned away and walked down the hallway.

I screamed. I pounded on the glass.

No sound came out.

No one could hear me.

For what felt like hours — or maybe days — I remained trapped in that upside-down world. I watched my mirror-self live my life. Talk to my family. Laugh. Eat. Sleep. But at night, when everyone else was asleep, it would stand in front of the mirror and smile at me — the real me — trapped forever.

Then, just as suddenly as it had begun, I woke up.

On the floor. Candle burned out. Cold sweat.

Had it all been a dream?

I rushed to the mirror.

My reflection smiled back — normally.

But just as I turned away… it winked.