The Shattered Mirror

The Shattered Mirror

It was 2:37 a.m. when Ethan woke up again. The same sound—sharp, metallic, like glass cracking in slow motion—echoed through his apartment. He sat upright, staring at the tall mirror across the room. His reflection was there, of course, but something felt wrong. The face staring back looked heavier, darker, as if carrying emotions that Ethan himself didn’t feel.

For weeks, he had been seeing things in that mirror—things that should not exist. At first, it was subtle: a shadow shifting, a blink that came half a second too late. Then it escalated. His reflection smiled when he didn’t. Sometimes, it whispered words he couldn’t hear. Ethan thought it was stress. He was working long hours at the firm, barely eating, barely sleeping. “Hallucinations,” he told himself. “It’ll pass.”

But tonight, the reflection didn’t wait. It stepped forward.

Ethan gasped, stumbling out of bed, his heart pounding against his ribs. The glass rippled like water, and from it emerged a figure identical to him—same messy hair, same pale skin, same trembling hands. Yet the eyes were different. Darker. Colder. Hungrier.

“Who are you?” Ethan whispered, though he already knew the answer.

The figure smirked. “I’m you. The part you bury. The rage you swallow. The guilt you pretend doesn’t exist.”

Ethan’s breath caught in his throat. He wanted to run, but his legs felt nailed to the floor. The double tilted its head. “Do you remember the accident? The girl in the crosswalk? You never told anyone, did you? You kept driving. You let her die.”

Ethan’s chest tightened. His mind screamed, No, it was an accident! She stepped out too quickly! But the guilt was there, festering for years. He had buried it deep, yet here it was, staring back at him.

The double’s smile widened. “I am the truth you hide. And the truth is always stronger.”

The reflection lunged. Ethan felt a cold weight slam into him, pushing him against the wall. He clawed at the thing’s wrists, but its strength was inhuman. Its face was inches from his, whispering in his ear.

“Let go, Ethan. Let me live for you.”

Something inside him cracked. His vision blurred. He felt himself slipping, his thoughts scattering like broken glass. And then—silence.

When Ethan opened his eyes, he was standing in front of the mirror again. But something was different. His breathing was steady. His shoulders relaxed. For the first time in years, he felt free—no guilt, no fear, no hesitation.

He leaned closer to the glass. His reflection smiled. This time, the smile was his.

But across the surface of the mirror, faint handprints pressed against the inside, banging, screaming. Ethan tilted his head, watching with cold amusement.

The reflection—the real Ethan—was trapped behind the glass now, pounding desperately, eyes wide with terror. The other Ethan, the one who had crossed through, simply turned away and walked toward the door.

Outside, the city slept under flickering streetlights. He inhaled deeply, almost joyfully.

“Finally,” he whispered. “I am whole.”

And behind him, in the mirror, the real Ethan screamed soundlessly, forever imprisoned in the glass.

For weeks, he had been seeing things in that mirror—things that should not exist. At first, it was subtle: a shadow shifting, a blink that came half a second too late. Then it escalated. His reflection smiled when he didn’t. Sometimes, it whispered words he couldn’t hear. Ethan thought it was stress. He was working long hours at the firm, barely eating, barely sleeping. “Hallucinations,” he told himself. “It’ll pass.