Image generated using AI / Art by vortexyem
The antique mirror looked completely out of place in the narrow hallway of our new old house. My wife, Clara, had found it at a local estate sale, insisting that its ornate, blackened wooden frame added a touch of rustic charm. I didn't argue; we were too tired from unpacking boxes to care about decor.
The strange part started on the third night. I woke up around 3:00 AM, thirsty and disoriented. As I walked down the dim hallway toward the kitchen, I caught a glimpse of movement in the glass. I stopped, turning back to look at the mirror.
At first, I thought it was just a trick of the moonlight filtering through the front window. The reflection showed the hallway, but it was slightly off—shifted by a few seconds, or so my sleepy brain tried to rationalize. I watched as my reflection in the glass slowly raised its right hand and touched the side of its neck, right where a faint scar from a childhood accident sat. I blinked, touching my own neck. The reflection moved a fraction of a second after I did.
A cold shiver crept down my spine. I forced a laugh, telling myself exhaustion was playing tricks on my eyes. I turned around and walked briskly to the kitchen, drank a glass of water, and tried to push the unsettling feeling away.
Two nights later, the exact same time, the pull brought me back to the hallway. This time, I didn't wait to catch a glimpse by accident. I stood directly in front of the mirror, heart pounding against my ribs. The glass was cool, almost freezing to the touch.
Inside the reflection, the hallway behind "me" wasn't empty anymore. Standing just a few inches away from my mirror-self was a tall, elongated silhouette—a figure wrapped in tattered dark fabric, with long, trembling fingers resting gently on the reflection's shoulders.
My breath caught in my throat. I wanted to scream, to run back to the bedroom, but my legs felt glued to the floorboards. In the glass, the reflection didn't look terrified. It slowly turned its head toward the dark entity standing behind it, and a wide, unnatural grin spread across its face. Then, its lips moved, whispering words I couldn't hear.
Before I could process what was happening, the hand of the entity in the mirror raised slowly... and pointed a long, bony finger directly forward, straight through the glass, pointing at me.
And then, I heard it—not from the mirror, but right beside my ear in the empty hallway:
"It's your turn to stand guard tomorrow."