It started the night after my 17th birthday. I was brushing my teeth, half-asleep, when I noticed something off about my reflection in the bathroom mirror. It wasn’t the way my messy hair fell over my shoulder or the sleepy look in my eyes. No, it was something deeper—something wrong.
My reflection blinked a fraction of a second too late.
I froze, toothpaste dripping from my mouth. My heart pounded as I slowly raised my hand. The reflection followed, but there was a hesitation. A lag. A whisper of delay that shouldn’t have been there.
I told myself I was just tired. Just imagining things.
But the next night, it got worse.
As I was washing my face, eyes squeezed shut under the stream of water, I had this... feeling. The kind that crawls up your spine, the kind that whispers you are not alone.
I snapped my eyes open. My reflection was already staring at me.
My stomach dropped. No delay this time. Just a cold, knowing stare.
I stumbled back, knocking over the soap dispenser. My reflection stayed perfectly still, watching me. I forced myself to breathe, shaking my head. “I’m just tired,” I muttered, flipping off the light and rushing to my room.
But sleep didn’t come easy.
The next night, I tested it. I moved slowly, deliberately. My reflection followed perfectly. I sighed in relief—maybe I had just been paranoid.
Then I turned off the light.
In the darkness, just before the room was swallowed whole, I swear I saw my reflection smile.
Not a normal smile. Not my smile. A wide, twisted grin—one that stretched just a little too far, teeth too white, too sharp.
I didn’t sleep at all that night.
I avoided the mirror as much as I could, but it didn’t help. It was always there, waiting. My reflection lingered too long when I walked away, eyes trailing after me. Sometimes, when I wasn’t looking directly at it, I caught glimpses of something else. My face shifting, my lips moving even when I was silent.
And then, last night, the worst thing happened.
I woke up to a soft creaking sound. My bedroom door was open.
I knew I had closed it.
My throat tightened. My pulse hammered in my ears. The room was silent, except for my own breathing. But something felt wrong.
Then I saw it.
The full-length mirror on my closet door.
It was empty.
No reflection.
Just an open, dark void.
I couldn’t move. Couldn’t scream. I could feel something watching me from inside the glass. My reflection was gone—or worse, it wasn’t gone at all. It had stepped out.
The last thing I remember before everything went black was a whisper.
Right behind me.
“Your turn.”
No one knows what happened to me. My parents think I ran away. My friends put up missing posters. But I didn’t run. I didn’t disappear.
I’m still here.
Inside the mirror.
Watching.
Waiting.
And sooner or later... you’ll look into the glass and see me.
And then?
It’ll be your turn.
1 comment:
Oooooooh, creepy!
Post a Comment