The moment Mia stepped into her new apartment, she felt it—a presence, subtle and cold, lingering in the air. It wasn’t the creak of old floorboards or the distant hum of the city outside. No, this was something far darker. The large, ornate mirror at the end of the hallway caught her eye, its cracked surface glimmering in the dim light. She told herself it was just an old, forgotten relic of the past, nothing more. But as she walked past it, she caught a glimpse of something that didn’t belong: a figure in the reflection that didn’t move quite like her. It was watching her, waiting. And the longer she stared, the more she realized that what was reflected back at her was no longer a simple mirror—it was a doorway to something much more sinister.
Mia had always hated mirrors. She didn’t know why, but from the time she was a little girl, something about them unsettled her. Her parents had always chalked it up to childhood fears. “It’s just your imagination,” her mother would say as Mia stood frozen, staring into the bathroom mirror, convinced she saw something shifting behind her. But her mother was wrong, and Mia knew it. The reflections weren’t always… right.
Now, at twenty-eight, she had learned to live with the strange discomfort that came whenever she found herself facing her own reflection. It wasn’t that she was vain or obsessed with her appearance. Simply the way she felt—a sense of unease creeping over her skin every time she looked into the glass.
It wasn’t until Mia moved into her new apartment that things began to change. A cozy, two-bedroom unit in a quiet neighborhood. The kind of place people would call “charming”—but Mia didn’t believe in charm. She believed in patterns. She had learned long ago that there were certain things that happened repeatedly, and in this case, she was certain that the strange energy surrounding her new apartment wasn’t by accident.
It was the mirrors.
When she first moved in, Mia barely noticed the large, ornate mirror in the hallway. It was positioned at the end of the narrow corridor, right in front of her bedroom door. The previous tenants must have left it behind. It wasn’t a particularly beautiful piece, but it was undeniably… old. The kind of mirror that had a thick, carved frame with intricate designs that almost looked like they were trying to whisper something.
Mia wasn’t sure why, but she kept finding herself drawn to it, catching glimpses of her own reflection, sometimes when she wasn’t even looking. The feeling of being watched began as a dull, almost imperceptible thing. Then, one evening, it was undeniable.
Mia had just finished a long day at work and was exhausted. She stumbled into her apartment, dropped her keys on the hallway table, and caught sight of herself in the mirror. For a moment, she just stared, trying to focus on the reflection in front of her, willing herself to feel normal. She had no reason to feel off—nothing had changed, nothing at all—but she couldn’t shake the nagging discomfort.
She ran a hand through her hair, adjusting it absentmindedly, and then froze.
The figure in the mirror hadn’t moved the same way she did.
Her reflection was a second behind her, mimicking her every move with a slight delay. First, Mia twirled a strand of hair around her finger. The reflection followed—but it was just a moment too late. Then she blinked, and the reflection blinked… after her.
Mia’s stomach twisted into a tight knot.
She stepped back quickly, her heart racing. Her pulse thudded in her ears as she turned, fully expecting to find the room empty behind her.
Nothing. No one.
But when she glanced back into the mirror, the reflection was… waiting for her.
The only thing out of place was the faint, cold air brushing her skin.
“Just a trick of the light,” she whispered to herself, though the words didn’t feel right. She hurried into her bedroom, dismissing the feeling that something was wrong. Something wasn’t right.
Over the next few days, Mia began to notice more peculiarities. It started with the smallest things: an extra shadow in the mirror, or a flicker of movement when she was sure she hadn’t moved at all. The figure began to take on a more distinct appearance, but only when she wasn’t looking directly at it. Whenever she turned, it seemed to watch her. It felt like it was… waiting.
One evening, after a particularly long day, Mia returned home, but as she passed by the hallway mirror, something stopped her in her tracks. She could hear a whisper—low and guttural, like it was coming from behind her.
Turning quickly, she found herself face-to-face with the reflection. This time, it wasn’t mimicking her.
Instead, the figure was… smiling.
Her heart skipped a beat. No. That wasn’t possible. She didn’t smile. She hadn’t moved.
Then the voice came again.
Mia… Mia…
The name was barely a whisper, but it carried a weight to it. A familiarity. A memory she couldn’t place. The sound felt like something from a dream. No, it was from something darker.
She backed away from the mirror, terror flooding her veins.
Her reflection continued to smile at her, the face of someone she didn’t recognize. The figure was an amalgamation of features—someone from her past, but their identity was distorted, blurry. A woman, someone she once knew… but from where?
It wasn’t until she closed her eyes and tried to breathe through the panic that it hit her.
Her mother.
The figure in the mirror was her mother. But it wasn’t. The eyes were wrong, the skin too pale. It wasn’t her. But it looked like her.
The next morning, Mia couldn’t shake the feeling. She kept replaying the image of that figure, smiling in a way her mother never had. That’s what disturbed her most. The smile wasn’t loving or warm—it was mocking, twisted, like it was trying to remind her of some hidden shame. Some buried pain.
The voice came again. Mia… Mia, I’m waiting for you.
She had to do something. She had to get rid of the mirror, get rid of whatever this was. But the more she tried to ignore it, the more it began to bleed into her everyday life.
Her nightmares grew worse, filled with images of her mother—her face twisted and broken. Each time Mia closed her eyes, it was as if the reflection was watching her. She could hear the whispers even when she wasn’t near the mirror.
Mia… come back to me.
The voice no longer sounded like her mother. It was distorted, guttural. Mia tried to tell herself it was her mind breaking, that she was imagining it all. But deep down, she knew it wasn’t.
The whispers escalated. One night, Mia couldn’t take it any longer. She called Lily, an old friend who dabbled in the supernatural. Lily had always been sensitive to things Mia didn’t understand. She had heard rumors of strange occurrences, of things that couldn’t be explained. Maybe, Mia thought, she could help.
“Mia,” Lily said softly over the phone, “I think I know what’s going on. The mirror… it’s not just a reflection. It’s more than that. It’s pulling on something from the past. Something you haven’t faced.”
“What are you talking about?” Mia asked, desperate. She didn’t want to believe it, but she had no choice.
“Your mother,” Lily said, her voice trembling. “She never really left, did she? That mirror… it’s a door. A way for her to reach you.”
Mia felt her stomach churn. She hadn’t even realized it, but Lily was right. Her mother had died years ago. But Mia had never truly processed it. She had never dealt with the grief, the anger, the feeling of abandonment that haunted her. It was all still buried deep within her, like a festering wound.
And now, the mirror had brought it all to the surface.
It wasn’t just a ghost of her mother that had been calling to her—it was a manifestation of her own guilt. Her suppressed grief and rage had given it life.
Mia hung up the phone and stood in front of the mirror once more. She no longer recognized the face staring back at her. The reflection was twisted, grotesque. It wasn’t just a mirror—it was an abyss, pulling her into its depths.
The voice was louder now, no longer a whisper. It was clear, unmistakable.
Mia… you left me. You abandoned me.
Mia stepped closer, her pulse racing. The reflection of her mother, or whatever it was, began to shift. It reached out of the mirror, its fingers stretching beyond the glass, as if it wanted to drag her in. Her heart hammered in her chest.
“No,” she whispered, trembling. “I’m sorry. I never wanted this.”
But the figure only smiled. The same twisted smile from the night before. It was too late now. Mia had ignored it for so long that it had become part of her, a shadow that could never be cast away. She stepped closer to the mirror, her breath shallow, and reached out, fingers brushing the glass.
And then the reflection moved, first.
Mia gasped as the mirror cracked, a sharp, piercing sound filling the room. Her reflection no longer mimicked her. It was no longer her at all.
She felt a coldness seep into her bones, freezing her in place. The figure smiled again, but this time it was alive. The eyes were hollow, devoid of any humanity. Mia couldn’t move. She couldn’t breathe.
The figure reached through the mirror, its icy hand wrapping around her wrist, dragging her toward the glass.
The last thing Mia saw was her own face, twisted with something that was no longer her own.
The mirror fell silent.
The room was empty.
But the mirror… still reflected the face of someone who was no longer there.