The weather was unnervingly cold for October as Sarah and Tom entered the dimly lit antique store. They were searching for Halloween decorations, something unique to impress the friends who’d be visiting their house for the annual Halloween bash. Most of the decor they found in big chain stores felt repetitive. They wanted something eerie, something that could bring an authentic chill to their home.
An elderly shopkeeper with silver hair and tired eyes greeted them with a faint nod. Shelves and display tables were littered with various trinkets: skull candle holders, rusted candelabras, and strange, old photographs. But nothing caught their eye like the mirror at the back of the store.
It was tall and beautifully carved, with edges adorned with intricate designs that seemed almost… alive. The wood was a deep shade of mahogany, and the glass was slightly tinted, giving it an otherworldly look.
“How much for the mirror?” Tom asked, almost in a trance.
The shopkeeper’s face darkened. “That mirror… is not for sale. It can only be rented, for special occasions,” he said, his voice slow and cautious. “But it comes with a warning: do not look into it at midnight, and never, ever, invite its reflections closer.”
Tom chuckled nervously, but Sarah felt a shiver run down her spine. The shopkeeper’s tone had left no room for humor. But despite his ominous words, they couldn’t resist. There was something mesmerizing about the mirror.
The deal was made, and the mirror was loaded into their SUV. As they drove home, the shopkeeper’s words kept replaying in Sarah’s mind. She tried to shake it off as some old man’s attempt to make the sale more enticing, but the way he’d looked at her… it felt genuine.
That night, they placed the mirror in the living room, positioning it near a cluster of dimly lit candles and scattered Halloween decor. As they stepped back, admiring the setup, a strange sensation crept over them.
“Feels like it’s watching us,” Sarah whispered, more to herself than to Tom.
Tom laughed it off. “Perfect for Halloween, right?”
Later that evening, as they watched a horror movie on the couch, Sarah found herself glancing at the mirror repeatedly. Every time she looked, she felt as though something in the reflection shifted, but whenever she tried to focus, there was nothing there—just the faint, almost shadowy glow of the candlelight.
Then, she noticed something. A figure. It was subtle at first, just a shadow in the background of their reflection, right between her and Tom. She squinted, trying to make sense of it, but the shadow faded.
“You see that?” she asked, nudging Tom.
He looked over at the mirror, tilting his head. “What? It’s just us.”
“No… I swear, there was something—someone behind us.”
“Sarah, relax,” he said, chuckling. But she couldn’t shake the feeling.
As the night crept closer to midnight, they went to bed. Sarah found herself staring at the mirror from their bedroom door, half expecting to see something lurking behind her reflection. Her nerves were taut, but fatigue soon pulled her into a fitful sleep.
Then, around midnight, a faint creak echoed from the living room. Tom stirred but didn’t wake. Sarah, however, snapped awake. She tiptoed out of the bedroom, trying not to wake Tom, and headed to the living room, clutching her phone like a makeshift weapon.
The mirror stood there, cold and silent. But as she looked into it, she saw her reflection. Only, her reflection wasn’t alone.
Behind her, there were people. Strangers. A man with hollow eyes, a woman whose face was contorted in a scream, and a child—no more than ten—standing silently with a lifeless gaze. They stared at her through the mirror, their faces twisted with terror, as if they were screaming for her help, but no sound came from their lips.
She whirled around. No one was there.
Heart pounding, Sarah glanced back at the mirror. The strangers were gone, replaced by her pale, terrified reflection. She stumbled back, covering her mouth to stifle a scream, and rushed to the bedroom, slamming the door shut behind her.
“What’s wrong?” Tom murmured, barely awake.
“I… I saw people in the mirror. People who aren’t there!” she whispered frantically, clutching his arm. “They looked like they were… trapped.”
“Sarah, it’s just a trick of the light,” he said, his voice heavy with sleep. “You’re just tired. Come to bed.”
The next day, Sarah convinced herself it had been her imagination. But as night fell, the eerie unease returned. She avoided looking at the mirror, hoping to escape the strange visions. But after a while, curiosity overtook her.
She glanced over her shoulder into the mirror, this time catching a glimpse of Tom sitting beside her—only his reflection wasn’t right. The Tom in the mirror was staring at her, his eyes hollow, his mouth twisted in a smirk that didn’t belong to her husband. It was a mockery of his face, something dark and malevolent wearing his skin.
“Tom,” she whispered, nudging him. “Look in the mirror.”
He raised an eyebrow, glancing over. “Okay, what now?”
He looked into the mirror, but his face showed no reaction. She was about to question him when his reflection slowly turned to her, locking eyes with her own reflection. Her blood ran cold. Tom wasn’t looking at her—his reflection was.
“I’m done with this,” he said, shaking his head. “I’m calling the antique shop in the morning.”
That night, Sarah woke to the faint sound of crying. She sat up, heart pounding, and strained her ears. The sound was coming from the living room.
Gathering her courage, she crept out of bed. The sound grew louder, and as she entered the living room, she froze. The figures in the mirror were back, but this time, they were moving, pressing their faces against the glass as if trying to break through.
The child was sobbing, his small hands leaving smeared prints on the inside of the mirror. The woman, her face drenched in ghostly tears, mouthed words Sarah couldn’t hear. Only the man, with his hollow eyes, stared directly at her, his mouth slowly stretching into a hideous grin.
“Please…” Sarah whispered, unable to look away. “What do you want?”
A chill spread through the room as the figures pressed closer, their faces distorting, their bodies twisting unnaturally. The man raised his hand, pressing it against the glass, and she could see the marks left by his palm as though he were alive, trapped inside.
A voice whispered in her ear, a hollow, chilling tone that didn’t belong to Tom.
“We want… out.”
She screamed, stumbling back into the hallway. Tom came rushing out, alarmed, and when she tried to show him the figures, they were gone. The mirror was just a mirror again, silent and empty.
The following morning, they returned the mirror to the antique shop. The elderly shopkeeper gave them a knowing look but said nothing as he helped them unload it. When they asked about the mirror’s origins, he only replied, “It has been passed down for generations… and those who look into it sometimes see things they weren’t meant to.”
That night, as they went to bed, Sarah couldn’t shake the feeling that they weren’t alone. She felt eyes on her, watching, waiting. And every time she caught her reflection in the window or a glass, she thought she saw them—the hollow-eyed man, the crying child, and the screaming woman—lingering, just at the edge of her vision.
As she closed her eyes, she whispered to herself, hoping it would be enough to drown out the haunting memories: “It was just a mirror… just a mirror.”
But deep down, she knew that the mirror had shown her more than just reflections—it had shown her the souls trapped within, souls that would forever haunt her, lingering in every reflection, watching her every move, waiting…
