The depth of short stories and micro-fiction 2

The Stranger in the Mirror

Priscilla stared into the antique mirror that hung above her dresser, its ornate gold frame gleaming in the dim light of her bedroom. She had always been drawn to the old mirror, with its bevelled glass and intricate etchings, but lately, she had begun to feel a creeping sense of unease whenever she investigated its depths.

At first, it was just a faint feeling of being watched, a shiver that ran down her spine as she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror's silvered glass. But as the days passed, the sensation grew stronger, until she could have sworn, she saw movement out of the corner of her eye - a flicker of shadow, a hint of something lurking just beyond the edge of perception.

Priscilla tried to shake off the feeling, telling herself it was just her imagination playing tricks on her. But as the nights drew in, and the moon cast an eerie glow over her room, she couldn't shake the conviction that something was living in her mirror.

She started to notice strange things. The mirror seemed to ripple and distort, like water disturbed by a thrown stone. She would catch glimpses of a figure, tall and imposing, standing just behind her reflection. And then, there were the whispers - faint, raspy murmurs that seemed to come from the mirror itself.

Priscilla's friends and family thought she was losing her mind. "There's no one living in your mirror, Priscilla," her best friend, Emily, would say, rolling her eyes good-naturedly. "You're just stressed out from work, that's all."

But Priscilla knew what she had seen. She knew what she had heard. And she was determined to get to the bottom of it.

One night, as the moon hung low in the sky, Priscilla decided to confront whatever was living in her mirror. She stood before the glass, her heart pounding in her chest, and said, "I know you're there. Show yourself to me."

At first, nothing seemed to happen. The mirror reflected her own image back at her, calm and serene. But then, as she watched, the glass began to ripple and distort, like the surface of a pond on a summer's day.

A figure coalesced behind her reflection - tall, imposing, with eyes that glowed like lanterns in the dark. Priscilla gasped, her hand flying to her mouth, as the figure began to take shape.

It was a woman, gaunt and spectral, with skin as pale as the moon. Her eyes seemed to burn with a malevolent intensity, and her mouth was twisted into a snarl of rage.

"Who are you?" Priscilla whispered, her voice barely audible.

The woman didn't seem to hear her. She simply stared, her eyes fixed on Priscilla's reflection with a hungry, devouring gaze.

As Priscilla watched, frozen in terror, the woman began to whisper. Her voice was a low, raspy hiss, and it seemed to come from all around Priscilla, echoing off the walls of her room.

"You shouldn't have looked," the woman whispered. "You shouldn't have seen. Now, you'll never be able to escape me."

Priscilla's heart was racing, her breath coming in short, ragged gasps. She tried to turn and run, but her feet seemed rooted to the spot.

The woman's eyes seemed to bore into her very soul, burning with a fierce, otherworldly intensity. And as Priscilla watched, the mirror seemed to shatter, its surface breaking apart like a cracked vessel.

The woman stepped out of the mirror, her eyes never leaving Priscilla's reflection. She seemed to grow and expand, filling the room with a dark, malevolent presence.

Priscilla stumbled backward, tripping over her own feet. She crashed to the floor, the room spinning around her like a whirlwind.

As she looked up, she saw the woman looming over her, her eyes burning with a fierce, triumphant light.

And then, everything went black.

When Priscilla came to, she was lying on her floor, the room cold and dark around her. The mirror hung quietly above her dresser, its surface smooth and unbroken.

But as she investigated its depths, she saw something that made her blood run cold. The woman was still there, watching her, waiting for her. And this time, she knew that there was no escape.

Priscilla scrambled to her feet, the room spinning around her like a madhouse. She stumbled toward the door, but as she reached for the handle, she saw her own reflection in the mirror.

It was no longer alone.

The woman stood behind her, her eyes burning with a fierce, otherworldly light. And as Priscilla watched, frozen in horror, the woman's mouth seemed to twist into a triumphant smile.

"You'll never be able to escape me," she whispered, her voice echoing through the room.

Priscilla knew then that she was trapped, caught in a living nightmare from which there was no escape. The woman in the mirror had taken over her life, and she would never be free again.

As the darkness closed in around her, Priscilla realized that the mirror had been a portal, a doorway to a realm of unspeakable horrors. And now, she was trapped in that realm, forever bound to the woman who lived in her mirror.

The last thing Priscilla saw was the woman's face, her eyes blazing with a fierce, otherworldly light. And then, everything went black.

When the police found Priscilla's body, she was lying on the floor, her eyes wide open in a frozen scream. The mirror hung above her dresser, its surface smooth and unbroken.

But as the officers investigated its depths, they saw something that made their blood run cold. A figure stood behind their own reflections, her eyes burning with a fierce, otherworldly light.

The woman in the mirror was waiting for them, her eyes fixed on their reflections with a hungry, devouring gaze. And as they watched, frozen in terror, she began to whisper, her voice echoing through the room.

"You shouldn't have looked," she whispered. "You shouldn't have seen. Now, you'll never be able to escape me."

The officers knew then that they were trapped, caught in a living nightmare from which there was no escape. The woman in the mirror had taken over their lives, and they would never be free again.

As they stumbled backward, tripping over their own feet, the woman's eyes seemed to bore into their very souls, burning with a fierce, otherworldly intensity.

And then, everything went black.

The house was abandoned, left to rot in the darkness. But the mirror remained, hanging quietly above the dresser. And in its depths, the woman continued to wait, her eyes fixed on the reflections of the living, her mouth twisted into a perpetual, malevolent smile.

For in the mirror's silvered glass, she had found a doorway to the living world. And she would never let it go.