Static in the Mirror

There was something wrong with the mirror.

Talia first noticed it on a rainy Tuesday evening, the kind that makes the world feel like it’s melting in slow motion. She had just returned from work, her body aching, her mind humming with unfinished tasks and unresolved arguments. She tossed her keys onto the counter, kicked off her shoes, and headed for the bathroom.

That’s when she saw it.

Her reflection blinked a second too late.

Not enough to scream "paranormal activity"—just enough to make her question her sanity.

She leaned in closer, pressing her fingers lightly against the fogged glass. Her breath made soft clouds that smeared across the surface, and her mirrored self did the same... eventually. A delay. Barely noticeable. But now that she saw it, she couldn’t unsee it.

“Maybe I’m just tired,” she muttered.

The reflection mouthed the same words—only her lips didn’t move. It was like watching a dubbed film with audio just slightly out of sync.

That night, she dreamed of broken glass and static.


---

It continued. Over the next few days, the reflection grew... stranger.

It would smile when she didn’t.

Tilt its head when hers remained straight.

Blink slowly while she stared, wide-eyed and rigid.

And the worst part? There was a strange buzzing now. A low, electrical hum that began every time she entered the room with the mirror. She checked the lights. The wiring. Called her landlord. Nothing was wrong. Not with the bathroom. Not with the mirror.

But something was wrong with her.

Talia stopped sleeping well. Her dreams were longer, darker. She would wake drenched in sweat, convinced someone had been watching her in the night. She tried to avoid the mirror altogether, brushing her teeth in the kitchen, dressing in the hallway, applying makeup by the window using her phone screen.

But the reflection wanted to be seen.

One morning, while brushing her hair in the bedroom, she glanced up at her switched-off television—and there it was. Her reflection. But this time, it wasn’t just mimicking her. It was doing something else entirely. Its hands were reaching forward, pressing against the inside of the screen, as if trying to claw its way out.

She screamed. Threw the remote. The TV snapped on, blaring static.


---

Talia started researching.

Doppelgängers. Mirror folk. Quantum glitches. She found everything from Reddit threads to ancient folklore. One theory stuck with her:

> "A fractured self may split across dimensions. The mirror doesn’t lie—it remembers who you used to be and who you’re afraid you might become."



She didn’t know if that was comforting or horrifying.

Was the reflection her past? Her potential future? Or something else entirely?

She began talking to it. At first cautiously. Then with more desperation.

"Who are you?"

The reflection only mouthed the words back. But the delay remained. The smirk lingered longer. The eyes flickered differently. And then, one night, something changed.

She wrote three words on the mirror with lipstick:

"Am I you?"

And the reflection nodded.

Before she did.


---

It escalated fast after that.

Talia began losing time. Hours vanished. She would wake up in different clothes. Find texts on her phone she didn’t remember sending. A half-finished message to her ex. A strange photo in her camera roll—of her, standing in front of the mirror, eyes glowing faintly white.

She called her best friend, Mira.

“You sound... off,” Mira said after a long pause.

“Off how?” Talia asked, heart racing.

“Just different. You keep asking the same questions. You keep saying you don’t feel real. Are you okay?”

Talia looked at her hand. It trembled. She wasn’t sure anymore. The line between real and unreal, between glass and flesh, had blurred completely.


---

One final night, she stood in front of the mirror again. It was storming outside. Lightning cracked across the sky like the world was tearing open.

She stared into her reflection’s eyes.

It didn’t blink. Neither did she.

For the first time, they were perfectly in sync.

“I know what you are now,” she whispered.

The reflection smiled.

“You’re the version of me I buried. The one who fought. Who spoke her truth. The one who didn't settle.”

The mirror Talia nodded. Slowly. And then—without warning—she lifted her hand and pressed it to the glass.

Talia pressed hers too.

The static buzz turned deafening. White light flared. Glass cracked.

And then—silence.


---

The next morning, Mira knocked on Talia’s door.

No answer.

Inside, everything was still.

Except the mirror.

Where Talia stood. Smiling.

Not quite like herself.

But perfectly calm.