I Looked in the Mirror… And Someone Looked Back
At a scream echoed from house number 13 on Raven Street. When the police arrived, there was no door, only a solid wall with a message carved in blood. The mirror chose me.
Jack Miller burst into the Brighton Police Department, his shirt torn and his face bleeding. His phone was playing a looped recording. You're next, you're next. He grabbed Officer Harris by the collar, gasping, Lena is gone, the house, the house is alive. Harris froze. House number 13, that place is condemned. It burned down in 87. No one ever rebuilt it. Back to the beginning.
Three days earlier, Jack and Lena arrived in the quiet English town of Ashford Hollow. They had inherited a house from Jack's aunt, house number 13 on Blackthorn Lane. The town felt silent, too silent. The house looked strangely untouched despite being abandoned for decades. Inside, furniture covered in white sheets, a grandfather clock stuck at 3.13, and a tall hallway mirror draped in black velvet. Lena felt drawn to it. Jack refused to go near it.
That night, Lena heard knocking inside the walls. Three knocks, paws. Two knocks, paws. One. Jack brushed it off. Old pipes? But Lena saw something in the mirror, a shadow moving behind her.
On the second day, Lena explored the attic and found an old leather journal. Reflections are not always yours. Sketches showed a woman with black, hollow eyes standing behind a mirror.
Jack discovered a hidden room behind the library, sealed with chains. On the wall was written, Do not open unless you're ready to see your true self. Lena opened it. Inside, a massive, ornate mirror, candles melted into the wooden floor, and a freezing draft despite the lack of windows. She lifted the cloth. Her reflection smiled, but she didn't. Behind her stood the black-eyed woman. Lena screamed.
Jack rushed in, but the room was gone. Only Lena's phone remained on the floor recording. I'm here, don't let them take you too.
Jack went to see Mrs. Whitmore, the town historian. She told him about a cult called the Final Reflection, who believed mirrors were gateways. In 1987, the house burned down, but every thirteen years, it rebuilds itself. To feed, to choose, to reflect.
Jack returned to the house. The frozen clock began ticking. 3:12, 3:13. The mirror started glowing. Lena's voice echoed from inside, Jack, help me. Her hand reached out from within the glass.
The mirror whispered, take her place, or forget she ever existed. Jack touched the surface. He was pulled inside. The mirror shattered. Silence.
The next morning, the police arrived. No door, no windows, only a wall with fresh blood spelling. The house is ready for its next victims.
From her window, Mrs. Whitmore watched. She whispered, Every thirteen years? And every time, the mirror chooses the first one who looks.
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