Creepypasta

Reflection

A young man was investigating the high street of the neighbourhood into which he'd recently moved. He found the usual – bookshops, gadget stores, cafes, the likes of an ordinary high street.

But after some browsing, he turned a corner, and came to a separate part of the street.

Cemented between two buildings and more like an alley than a street, it was eerily quiet, in comparison with the bustling outside.

There was only one shop here, an art shop, that looked as though it had been there since the 1800's at least. The name was indistinguishable through a tangle of cobwebs and vines, though oddly, a fire had been lit inside.

It was clearly still in use, and with a feeling of unease in the pit of his stomach, he walked forward and opened the door.

The soft tingle of a bell over the door announced him to whomever owned the shop, though there was no one inside, there was a large collection of paintings lining the walls, all supporting rather stern looking people.

Perhaps it was simply the flickering light of the fire, but the eyes appeared to follow him as he crossed the threshold, and rang a small bell left on the counter.

No one replied, and as he was considering leaving, a door opened a glance, revealing a thin strip of dark against the faint blue walls.

Dread washing over him, the man stepped around the corner, and pushed the door ajar.

There was no immediate sight of who had opened it. Perhaps a draft had caught it? He couldn't fathom how, for it had been shut on a proper, lever-activated handle, but that thought was by far more preferable to the prospect of whatever else it might have been.

Maybe the old owners decided that these paintings weren't fit for human eyes, and the man couldn't help but agree. They showed the same people as were in the main shop, but this time, they were grotesquely bent into doing hideous things to themselves.

Unsure of why he was, he continued walking forward, the scenes worsening. A pretty young girl, whom he hadn't seen in the main shop, was being violently raped by a half human thing. A woeful father was chopping up his child, while one particularly unfortunate individual was raking his eyes out with a cactus.

Finally, the corridor ended, revealing one final picture on what appeared to be the far door. However, unlike the others, the depicted figure in this portrait was wearing modern clothing. A pale-faced young man, who, upon closer inspection, was being tailed by a dark, almost incomprehensible figure. But the glinting, long, thin object it was holding couldn't be anything but doom for the poor subject of the portrait.

As his eyes skimmed the frame, taking in its peculiar glint, the eyes of the man in the portrait followed.

It became clear to him that this wasn't a portrait...

It was a mirror.