In a forgotten corner of a bustling city, there was a peculiar antique store. It was a hoarder’s paradise filled with eccentric artifacts and curios. But among these artifacts, one stood out – a large, ornate mirror, ornately framed in blackened silver, its glass strangely dark, almost absorbing the light around it.
The shopkeeper, an old woman named Agnes, warned every customer about the mirror. “It’s not for sale,” she’d say, “Some things are better left undisturbed.” Her stern gaze and serious tone kept most customers away from the ominous relic.
However, one day, a man named John, eager for something unique for his new home, walked into the store. Intrigued by the mirror, he ignored Agnes’s warning and offered an irresistible sum of money. Finally, she relented, but not before she offered him one last warning. “Never gaze into the mirror after midnight. It does not reflect. It devours.”
Laughing it off as an attempt to add to the mirror’s allure, John took it home. It fit perfectly in his study, adding an air of antiquity and mystery. Life carried on as normal, and he almost forgot Agnes’s cryptic warning.
Then, one night, while working late on a project, John glanced at the clock. It was exactly midnight. Remembering Agnes’s warning, curiosity got the better of him, and he found himself standing in front of the mirror. He was expecting his reflection, but what he saw sent a chill down his spine.
His reflection was there, but it was distorted. His eyes were hollow, his complexion pale. He reached out towards his reflection, and it reached out too. But it wasn’t synchronous; it was deliberate, independent. Suddenly, his reflection’s hand shot out of the mirror and grabbed his wrist.
In the grip of utter terror, John tried to pull back, but his reflection was incredibly strong. It pulled him towards the mirror, inch by inch, his arm slowly disappearing into the glass. As his reflection dragged him closer, it began to transform, taking on a grotesque form. Its eyes were completely black, its mouth full of sharp, jagged teeth, smiling in horrific anticipation.
With a last-ditch effort, he managed to break free. He fell back, panting heavily, his arm covered in frost. The mirror returned to its original state, but his fear was now replaced by dread. He locked the study and decided never to enter again.
The next night, he awoke to a ghastly sound. It was a mix of laughter and growling, coming from the locked study. He approached cautiously, pressing his ear against the door. It fell silent. With a deep breath, he unlocked the door and stepped inside. The room was empty, but the mirror was shattered, pieces of glass strewn all over the floor.
He heaved a sigh of relief, thinking that the ordeal was over. But as he turned to leave, he felt a cold grip on his shoulder. He was not alone. His reflection had escaped.
John was never seen or heard from again. The only evidence of his strange encounter was his empty home and the shattered mirror, a chilling testimony to the horrors that lurked beyond the glass.
Now, Agnes’s mirror stands back in the old antique shop, pieced together but forever scarred, a reminder of the eerie truth: “Some things are better left undisturbed.” The void in the mirror waits, ever patient, ever hungry.
