Mirrored

It started with a blink.

Sasha stumbled into the bathroom, groggy and disoriented, still wrapped in sleep. She twisted the faucet handle, splashed cold water on her face, and looked up—only to see herself still staring straight ahead.

Not blinking.

Not dripping.

Just… watching.

Her breath caught. She laughed nervously and rubbed her eyes. She’d seen enough horror movies to know sleep deprivation played tricks on the brain.

She raised her hand. So did her reflection.

Good. Normal.

She turned her head. So did the reflection.

Fine. See? Everything was—

Her reflection smiled.

Sasha hadn’t.

She staggered back, knocking into the towel rack. “What the hell—”

The smile in the mirror widened. Not a grin. Not playful. A calculated, toothy stretch of skin. Like someone mimicking the concept of a smile without understanding the purpose.

She ran.

The Wrong Side

She didn’t go back into the bathroom all day. She brushed her teeth at the kitchen sink. She changed in the hallway. She told herself it was just stress, sleepwalking, maybe a mild psychotic break—anything that could be managed.

But when the sun dipped and shadows grew, curiosity scratched at her like claws.

She returned to the bathroom.

The mirror was still. Still just a mirror. She approached slowly, breath shallow.

The reflection looked normal again—herself, exhausted and on edge.

Sasha raised one hand. So did the reflection. She frowned. The reflection frowned.

She exhaled, relief flooding her body.

But just as she turned away—

The reflection didn’t move.

She froze. Slowly, she turned back.

Her reflection stood there, still facing forward, no longer copying her movement. Its eyes were locked onto hers.

Then, it raised its hand and waved.

Unmoored

Sasha didn’t sleep. She sat curled on the couch, lights on, TV blaring a reality show she wasn’t watching. Every reflective surface was covered: the microwave, the oven door, the hallway mirror. The bathroom door remained shut.

She tried calling her sister. No answer. Tried FaceTiming a friend. Her camera wouldn’t turn on.

Static filled the screen.

At 3:42 a.m., the power went out.

And somewhere in the darkness, she heard a faint tapping.

From the bathroom.

She grabbed a flashlight. The beam shook in her hand as she approached the door.

Tap.
Tap.
Tap.

A voice whispered from behind the door, soft as wind through broken glass:

“Let me out.”

Refraction

The mirror was fogged, but a single handprint pressed from the inside.

Sasha backed away, heart slamming against her ribs.

“No,” she whispered. “No, you’re not real. You’re not—”

“I’m more you than you are.”

The whisper came not from the door—but from behind her.

She turned.

Nothing.

She turned back.

The bathroom door was open.

The mirror was clear.

Her reflection stood within it. Not moving. Not copying. Just smiling, head tilted slightly to the side.

Then it stepped forward—and walked straight out of the mirror.

Through the Looking Glass

Sasha screamed, stumbling backward. But her limbs suddenly felt heavy. Slow. Like her body wasn’t fully responding.

The figure approached, eyes glowing faintly in the dark.

“I’ve waited so long,” it said. “Now you can take my place.”

She tried to run—but her legs no longer obeyed. Her arms lifted, not by her will. Her feet moved on their own.

The last thing she saw was her own body—her reflection—stepping out of the mirror and walking into the world.

And she?

She watched from behind the glass as the bathroom door swung shut.

Her scream left no sound.