Samantha had always had an eye for the unusual. Her home was a patchwork of mismatched furniture, ornate antiques, and strange knick-knacks collected from her travels. Yet, as soon as she laid eyes on the mirror, dusty and hidden away in the corner of an old thrift store, she felt an undeniable pull.
It was enormous, almost too large for any one room, encased in a tarnished silver frame adorned with intricate carvings of serpentine creatures and twisted vines. The glass, though covered in years of grime, shimmered faintly, as if holding some secret it was eager to reveal.
“I haven’t seen anyone interested in that old thing in years,” the shopkeeper muttered, eyeing her warily. “You sure about this?”
Samantha nodded, her gaze never leaving the mirror. There was something about it—something ancient, something powerful. She paid the man and arranged for delivery, ignoring his vague warnings about the mirror’s peculiarities. Her excitement outweighed any hesitation.
When the mirror finally arrived at her home, it took up nearly an entire wall in her bedroom, opposite her bed. Once she had it properly cleaned, the silver frame gleamed, and the reflection it offered was crisp and clear. Almost too clear.
The first time Samantha noticed something strange, she had been getting ready for bed. She stood in front of the mirror, brushing her hair, when her reflection seemed… delayed. Just for a second. A blink, a flicker, like a poorly edited movie. She shook her head and laughed at herself—too many late nights, probably.
But the next night, the reflection didn’t just flicker. It changed.
She had been standing in her usual spot, pulling a sweater over her head, when she caught something in the corner of her eye. It was subtle, at first—a feeling that her reflection wasn’t entirely in sync with her movements. And then, as she glanced at the mirror, her breath caught in her throat.
The woman in the reflection was her, but not quite. Her hair was longer, messier, as if she hadn’t washed it in weeks. Dark circles bruised the skin under her eyes, and her clothes were tattered. But the most disturbing detail was the wound on her arm—an angry, festering gash that oozed blood down to her fingers.
Samantha stumbled backward, knocking over a chair in her panic. But when she looked again, her reflection was normal, mirroring her wide-eyed horror. She laughed, albeit shakily. Maybe it was a trick of the light, or her imagination playing games. Stress could do strange things to the mind, after all.
But the next night, things got worse.
She had barely glanced at the mirror before noticing her reflection was wrong again—this time, the version of herself in the glass was older. Much older. Her once youthful skin sagged, her hair was thinning, and her eyes were cloudy with age. Yet, even in this altered state, the reflection stared back at her with an unsettling intensity. It was as if this version of herself knew something she didn’t.
Over the next week, the reflections became more disturbing, more erratic. Sometimes, she saw herself with grievous injuries—gashes, bruises, and on one occasion, a deep, jagged cut across her throat. Other times, her reflection appeared ghostly, her skin pale and lifeless, her eyes sunken and hollow.
No matter what version of herself she saw, there was one constant: in each reflection, she was dead or dying.
Sleep became elusive, as each night brought new horrors. She tried covering the mirror with a sheet, but it seemed to call to her, whispering from beneath the fabric, coaxing her to look. She would wake up in the middle of the night, inexplicably drawn to the mirror, only to find herself staring at another horrific version of her fate.
Desperate, Samantha sought answers. She scoured the internet, searching for any mention of haunted mirrors, alternate realities, or visions of the future. But nothing seemed to explain the phenomenon she was experiencing.
Until, one night, the reflection spoke.
She had been brushing her hair again, trying to ignore the subtle distortions in the mirror. But this time, when she glanced up, the reflection didn’t match her movements at all. The version of herself in the glass was standing still, eyes fixed on Samantha with a look of deep sorrow.
“You shouldn’t have bought it,” the reflection whispered.
Samantha froze, her heart pounding in her chest.
“What…?” she stammered, backing away from the mirror.
The reflection stepped closer, its eyes filled with a grief that mirrored Samantha’s growing dread.
“The mirror is a window,” the reflection said, its voice trembling. “A window to every choice you didn’t make. Every path you didn’t take. But no matter which version you see… we all end the same.”
Samantha’s mouth went dry as the words sank in. A window to alternate dimensions—different versions of herself, each reflecting a life shaped by a different decision. But in each version, she died. Every path, every choice, led to her death.
Her pulse quickened as a horrible thought dawned on her.
“How do I stop it?” she whispered, her voice barely audible.
The reflection tilted its head, its lips twisting into a sorrowful smile. “There is only one way,” it replied. “You must face the darkest version of yourself. Only she can show you the way out.”
With that, the reflection faded, and for the first time in days, Samantha was left staring at a perfectly normal version of herself.
Her mind raced. The darkest version of herself? What could that mean?
That night, as she lay in bed, she couldn’t stop thinking about the reflection’s words. What could be darker than the versions she had already seen? The wounded, the dying, the dead? But she knew, deep down, that there was something worse. Something lurking just out of sight, waiting for her in the depths of the mirror.
When she finally fell asleep, her dreams were plagued by shadows—dark figures that whispered her name, pulling her toward the mirror, urging her to look deeper.
The next day, she decided she couldn’t wait any longer. She had to confront whatever was inside the mirror. She stood in front of it, her fingers trembling as they brushed the cool glass. At first, nothing happened. She stared at her reflection, waiting for the familiar flicker, the shift that would reveal another version of herself.
And then it came.
This time, the reflection was almost unrecognizable. Her skin was ashen, her eyes black as coal. Her hair hung limp, dripping with something dark and wet. And her smile—twisted, cruel—sent a shiver down Samantha’s spine.
“Are you ready to see?” the reflection asked, its voice echoing in Samantha’s mind.
Samantha swallowed hard, nodding slowly. She had come this far; there was no turning back now.
The reflection’s grin widened, and without warning, it reached out of the glass, its cold, bony fingers wrapping around Samantha’s wrist. She gasped, trying to pull away, but the reflection’s grip was like iron, dragging her closer to the mirror.
As her body pressed against the glass, she felt herself being pulled through—into the mirror, into the world on the other side.
The air on the other side was thick, suffocating, and the sky was a sickly shade of red. The landscape was twisted and nightmarish—an endless expanse of jagged rocks and gnarled trees that seemed to writhe and twist like living things.
But the worst part was the figures. They were everywhere, scattered across the landscape—versions of herself, all in various stages of death and decay. Some lay crumpled on the ground, their bodies broken and bloodied. Others wandered aimlessly, their hollow eyes filled with despair.
In the distance, she saw the reflection—the darkest version of herself—standing at the top of a hill, watching her with that same cruel smile.
Samantha knew what she had to do.
With every step, her heart pounded louder in her ears. The closer she got to the reflection, the heavier the air became, pressing down on her like a weight. When she finally reached the top of the hill, the reflection was waiting.
“You wanted answers,” it said, its voice like nails on a chalkboard. “But the truth is, there’s no escape. No matter what you do, no matter what choices you make, this is where it ends. Every version of you dies here.”
Samantha shook her head, tears streaming down her face. “There has to be a way out,” she whispered.
The reflection tilted its head, considering her for a moment. Then, with a slow, deliberate movement, it raised its hand and pointed to the ground at her feet.
Samantha looked down and saw something she hadn’t noticed before—a small, ornate box, half-buried in the dirt. She knelt down, her hands shaking as she brushed away the dirt and lifted the lid.
Inside was a key, ancient and worn, but undeniably powerful.
The reflection’s smile faded, replaced by a look of fury. “No!” it screamed, lunging at her. But Samantha was quicker. She grabbed the key and shoved it into the lock on the mirror, twisting it with all her strength.
The mirror shattered, and in that instant, the entire world seemed to implode, collapsing in on itself. The air was sucked out of her lungs, and everything went black.
When Samantha opened her eyes, she was back in her bedroom, the mirror nothing but shards on the floor. But something had changed. The air was lighter, freer, and when she looked around, there were no more versions of herself.
For the first time in weeks, Samantha was truly alone—and free.
Or so she thought.
From the corner of her eye, she caught a flicker of movement—a shadow that lingered just beyond the edge of her vision.
The mirror may have been shattered, but its secrets still lingered, waiting for the right moment to pull her back in.
After all, some reflections never truly fade.
Want to read a bit more? Find some more of my writings here-
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