The Reflection That Lied
233 Words
Anya stared at the word on the mirror.
“STAY.”
It was written backward… but from inside the glass. Her reflection was frozen, still staring even after she stepped back. Then it did something she didn’t.
It smiled.
Not a soft, comforting smile.
A wide, broken grin that stretched far beyond what a mouth should.
She ran from the room. Locked herself in the bathroom, heart racing. Her breath fogged the mirror there too — but no words appeared. Just her own trembling face, for now.
The next morning, Priya arrived. Anya clung to her like a lifeline. She showed her the scratches, the mirror, the sealed door. But now… the cross was back in place. The mirror was clean. No word, no breath, no eye.
Priya was skeptical. “I think you need sleep, Anya. Maybe even help.”
Anya didn’t argue. But she didn’t sleep either.
That night, she set up her phone to record the bedroom while she slept on the couch. She watched the footage the next morning with shaking hands.
At 2:17 a.m., the door creaked open.
A hand — long, blackened, bone-thin — reached out, picked up the cross, and placed it aside. Then, slowly, something emerged. Not fully. Just a shape. Tall. Twisted. It turned to the mirror.
And smiled.
The screen went black.
A final frame remained:
Her reflection walking away — without her.
- Writer
