The Man in the Mirror

Anna had little option when she leased the small, ageing apartment in the Carrington Building. The flat was dated but affordable and conveniently close to her college, which made the creaky floorboards and stained wallpaper bearable. The thin, grey-haired manager with a peculiar, tight-lipped grin reassured Anna of the apartment’s appeal. "It’s peaceful," the manager remarked. "A bit aged but sturdy. Just overlook the quirks. Older buildings have character."

Anna didn’t need convincing. She was on a tight budget, trying to escape the dorms where late-night parties and thin walls had become the soundtrack to her life. The Carrington was supposed to be her sanctuary, where she could finally focus.

But as she settled in, the quiet became unnerving. It wasn’t just the absence of noise from neighbours or traffic. There was an almost complete lack of life, as if the building held its breath, waiting for something to happen. Her apartment felt heavy with that silence, which seemed to centre around the large, gilded mirror in the bathroom.

The mirror was the first thing she noticed. It was out of place with the rest of the apartment’s drab decor—too large, with an ornate frame of twisting vines and flowers. The glass was thick, old, and slightly warped, like something from a different era. When she first moved in, Anna had thought the mirror added a bit of charm to the otherwise plain room. Now, it just seemed too present.

Anna felt an inexplicable chill run down her spine the first time she saw it. She attributed it to her nerves; new places always took time to feel like home.

It started with small things. One night, after an exhausting day of classes, Anna stumbled into the bathroom to brush her teeth. Bleary-eyed, she stood before the mirror and reached for the towel. As she lowered her hand, she saw her reflection blink.

But she hadn’t blinked.

Anna stood still, gazing at her reflection in the mirror. Was it just her imagination? She blinked intentionally, yet her image moved flawlessly in tandem this time. Shaking her head, she chuckled dismissively. She was simply worn out. Fatigue and sleepless nights had made her feel paranoid, that’s all. 

Over the next few days, though, it happened again. And again. Once, her reflection smiled when she didn’t. Another time, it seemed to turn its head slightly as if listening to something just out of frame. Anna’s nerves frayed quickly. She started avoiding the bathroom altogether, brushing her teeth in the kitchen and making quick trips inside without looking at the mirror.

But the reflections followed her. She caught glimpses in her phone screen, the darkened windows, the polished surface of the kitchen faucet. She would swear her reflection was there, watching her from angles that didn’t match up. One night, she was washing dishes when she saw her face in the window—staring back, grinning wide into the glass while her lips stayed tightly shut.

Anna dropped the glass she held, watching it shatter in the sink. Her heart pounded, her pulse loud in her ears.

“It’s just stress,” she told herself, cleaning up the broken shards with trembling hands. “I need more sleep.”

But the incidents became more frequent. During a late-night study session, Anna glanced at her laptop and felt a chill. Her face didn't quite match her expression in the screen's reflection. Her reflected face seemed alert, eyes wide and unblinking, while her natural eyes were bloodshot and drooping with exhaustion. Anna snapped the laptop shut and took a deep breath, trying to calm herself.

“Focus,” she muttered. “You’re just tired.”

It was a phrase she kept repeating to herself like a prayer. But the more she said it, the less she believed it. There was something wrong—something wrong.

That night, she couldn’t sleep. She lay awake, listening to the creaks and groans of the old building, which now seemed almost like whispers. Anna’s eyes drifted towards the slightly ajar bathroom door and the sliver of darkness beyond. She could see the edge of the mirror from her bed. It felt like it was watching her.

Anna couldn’t avoid her apartment forever. The next day, she confronted whatever was happening. She took a deep breath and stepped into the bathroom, facing the mirror with a determination she didn’t feel. She didn’t know what she expected—maybe for her reflection to suddenly smile again or move independently. But it just stared back, mimicking her every move.

“Okay,” Anna whispered, staring at herself. “What do you want?”

Nothing happened. She almost laughed at how ridiculous she felt—talking to a mirror-like she expected it to answer. But then she heard a faint whisper, like a breath on her neck. She spun around, but there was no one there. She turned to the mirror, and her breath caught in her throat.

Her reflection was staring at her—indeed, staring, not just mimicking. Its eyes were wide and unblinking, and a slow, eerie smile spread across its face. Anna’s stomach twisted into a knot.

“What…?” she stammered, taking a step back. The reflection didn’t move, but its eyes seemed to track her. She could almost feel them following her like a predator’s gaze.

“Help…” it whispered, the voice faint and distorted, as if coming from a long distance away.

Anna stumbled back, knocking over a bottle of soap that clattered noisily into the sink. She stared, horrified, as her reflection mouthed the word again, more urgently this time.

“Help me…”

“What are you?” Anna’s voice trembled, fear tightening her throat. Her reflection’s smile vanished, replaced by an expression of something that looked almost like sorrow.

“I’m you,” the reflection whispered, its voice echoing strangely in Anna’s ears. “But not from this world.”

Anna’s reflection leaned closer, almost pressing its face against the glass. Its eyes—her eyes—were filled with desperation.

“I’m trapped here,” it continued, voice quivering with urgency. “I’ve been here for so long. But I can take your place. Let me out.”

“No,” Anna choked out, stepping back. “This isn’t real.”

“Anna,” the reflection said softly, pleadingly. “I can make things better for you. I can give you what you want. All you have to do is reach out.”

Like water, the glass seemed to ripple, distorting the reflection’s face. Anna felt a strange pull—a sense of longing she couldn’t quite place. She thought of the endless nights of studying, the loneliness, the feelings of inadequacy that haunted her daily. Her reflection seemed to know all these things, and its eyes were filled with sympathy.

“Please,” the reflection whispered, voice low and hypnotic. “It’s so easy. Just touch the glass.”

Without thinking, Anna reached out. The mirror felt strangely warm under her fingertips, like skin. She gasped and tried to pull away, but the reflection’s hand shot out from the glass and gripped her wrist.

The cold that spread through Anna’s arm was like ice, freezing her in place. Her reflection’s grip tightened, and she felt herself being pulled into the mirror. The room around her seemed to stretch and blur, and she screamed as the world went dark.

Anna awoke in her bed, gasping for breath. She blinked rapidly, trying to make sense of her surroundings. It was just a nightmare, she told herself, her pulse still racing.

She sat up slowly, glancing around the room. Everything seemed normal, but there were minor details out of place—a book on her desk that she didn’t remember leaving there, a painting on the wall she didn’t recognise.

Anna felt a growing sense of unease. She stumbled to the bathroom and stopped in front of the mirror. Her reflection stared back at her, mimicking her perfectly. Feeling foolish, she let out a shaky laugh.

But as she turned to leave, the hairs on the back of her neck stood up. She couldn’t explain why, but she felt an overwhelming sense of dread. Slowly, she turned back to the mirror.

Her reflection was no longer following her movements. It stood perfectly still, its face pale and eyes wide with terror. Anna’s blood ran cold as the truth dawned on her.

Her reflection was pounding silently on the other side of the glass, its mouth moving frantically in a scream Anna couldn’t hear.

Anna reached out to the mirror, placing her hand against the cold glass. Her reflection’s face was now twisted in anguish, eyes wide and pleading.

And then, the reflection leaned forward, a slow, sinister smile spreading across its face. Anna felt a sickening realisation settle over her. She wasn’t looking at herself anymore—she was looking at someone else.

The reflection whispered one last word from the other side of the mirror: “Next.”

Anna tried to scream, but no sound came out. She was trapped behind the glass, watching as her double in the real world walked away, leaving her to stare out in silent, eternal terror.