Years passed, and the old Victorian mansion was sold to a young couple, Mia and Ethan, who had always dreamed of restoring historic homes. They knew the house had a grim reputation—local legends spoke of a woman who vanished mysteriously—but they dismissed the stories as small-town gossip.
On their first night in the house, Mia couldn't sleep. She wandered the darkened halls, her footsteps echoing against the old wooden floors. Something about the house felt alive, as though it were watching her. She paused beneath the attic door, staring up at it. A faint tapping sound came from above.
"Probably squirrels," she muttered to herself and went back to bed.
The next morning, Ethan discovered the mirror in the attic while searching for tools. Its gilded frame caught the sunlight, gleaming despite its age. "This is beautiful," he said, dragging it downstairs. He leaned it against the living room wall, admiring the craftsmanship. But when Mia saw it, her stomach turned.
"Something about it feels… wrong," she said, avoiding its gaze. "Let's keep it up in the attic."
Ethan laughed. "It's just a mirror, Mia."
That night, Mia awoke to whispers. They were faint, like voices carried on the wind, but unmistakable. She sat up, her eyes adjusting to the dark. The whispers seemed to be coming from downstairs. Against her better judgment, she crept out of bed and followed the sound.
When she reached the living room, the whispers stopped. The house was silent, except for the steady ticking of the old grandfather clock. Mia's eyes landed on the mirror. Its glass shimmered faintly, though no light source was nearby. She stepped closer, unable to resist the pull.
Her reflection stared back at her, but something was wrong—its eyes were darker, hollow. As she leaned closer, the reflection smiled, though Mia did not.
Suddenly, the mirror cracked, the sound splitting the silence. Mia stumbled back, her heart pounding. Ethan came rushing down the stairs.
"What happened?" he asked, staring at the shattered glass.
"The mirror—it moved, Ethan. I swear, it—" She stopped. Behind Ethan, in the hallway, a shadow flickered.
Ethan turned to look, but the shadow was gone.
The couple decided to cover the mirror with a sheet and store it back in the attic the next morning. But when they woke, the mirror was no longer in the living room. They found it propped against their bedroom wall, its surface flawless, as though it had never cracked.
That night, Ethan began to change. He grew distant, his eyes dull and unfocused. He'd sit in front of the mirror for hours, staring into its depths. Mia begged him to stop, but he would only murmur, "She's calling me."
One evening, Mia came home to find Ethan standing in the attic, staring into the mirror. He didn't turn when she called his name. As she stepped closer, she saw his reflection in the glass—but it wasn't Ethan. The figure in the mirror was grinning, its eyes glowing faintly.
"Ethan, come away from there!" she screamed, but it was too late. Ethan stepped forward, and to Mia's horror, he disappeared into the mirror's surface. His reflection remained, waving goodbye.
Panicking, Mia grabbed a hammer and smashed the mirror. The shards scattered across the floor, their edges glinting like teeth. But as she turned to leave, she felt a cold breath on the back of her neck.
The whispers returned, louder this time, echoing all around her. Mia turned to see the shards of the mirror rearranging themselves, crawling back into place like living things.
The last thing Mia saw before the mirror reassembled was her own reflection, smiling back at her with glowing, hollow eyes.
Now, when people pass the old Victorian mansion, they swear they hear faint whispers and see flickers of movement in the attic window. The house stands abandoned, but the mirror remains, waiting for its next victim.