The Shadow in the Mirror
Nisha had never liked the mirror in her grandmother's old house. It wasn’t just any mirror—it was tall, heavy, and framed in dark wood, intricately carved into swirling patterns. If you stared at it long enough, the designs began to look like faces, watching you. The glass was old, tarnished, and dotted with small black spots that distorted reflections, making them look… wrong. Every time Nisha visited, she made a point to avoid the hallway where the mirror stood. She always told herself it was childish—just an old house with an old mirror—but something about it made her feel uneasy.
The mirror had always been there, at the end of the second-floor hallway, in the deepest part of the house's shadows. Her grandmother had lived in that house for as long as Nisha could remember, and as a child, she had been warned never to look into the mirror at night. It was just a superstition, of course, but Nisha never quite got over the feeling that there was something off about it.
After her grandmother passed away, Nisha’s family asked her to help sort through the house. It was a task she felt obligated to do, even though it brought up so many memories. On the day she arrived to begin packing, Nisha spent most of her time in the lower part of the house, going through old books, clothes, and trinkets. The house felt strange without her grandmother in it. The air was still, and the silence was unsettling.
By the time the sun began to set, Nisha was too tired to drive home, so she decided to spend the night in the guest room on the second floor. She knew the room well from childhood visits, but this time, being alone in the house felt different. She couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that she wasn’t really alone.
As she climbed the stairs to the second floor, her gaze naturally fell on the mirror at the end of the hallway. In the dim light of evening, it seemed larger than she remembered, its tarnished glass almost glowing faintly. Nisha paused for a moment, then shook her head. “It’s just a mirror,” she muttered to herself. She was an adult now—there was no reason to be afraid of it.
She went into the guest room, unpacked her things, and climbed into bed. But sleep didn’t come easily. The house was too quiet, and the silence made her overly aware of every creak of the floorboards, every shift of the house. It felt like the house was breathing, alive with the memories of all those who had lived there.
Then came the sound.
At first, it was so faint that Nisha almost thought it was just her imagination. Tap, tap, tap. It was a soft, rhythmic sound, like someone knocking gently on glass. Her heart skipped a beat. She told herself it was nothing—just the wind, a loose window somewhere, anything but what it sounded like. But the tapping continued, growing louder.
Tap, tap, tap.
Nisha’s heart began to race. She sat up in bed, her breath quickening. The sound was unmistakable—it was coming from the hallway. Gathering her courage, Nisha grabbed her phone and turned on the flashlight, hoping to make sense of what was happening. She opened the door slowly and stepped out into the dark hallway.
The tapping stopped.
The hallway was empty. The old wooden floors creaked beneath her feet as she shone the light around, trying to find some explanation. And then, her eyes were drawn to the mirror at the end of the hallway. It stood there, silent and imposing, reflecting the dim glow of her flashlight.
“Hello?” she called out, her voice shaky, her throat dry. No answer. Just the eerie stillness of the house.
But something moved in the mirror.
It wasn’t her reflection. No, this was something different. A shadow, darker than the surrounding dimness, shifted behind the glass. Nisha’s breath caught in her throat as she took a step closer, unable to look away. The shadow slid across the surface of the glass, moving like ink in water, twisting and turning with a life of its own.
“Who’s there?” she whispered, her voice barely audible.
The shadow stopped. For a moment, there was nothing. Then, with a sudden, jerky movement, it surged forward, pressing up against the glass, as if trying to escape. Nisha’s heart thudded in her chest, and her legs felt weak. She stumbled backward, dropping her phone in the process. The flashlight spun wildly, casting strange shadows on the walls.
When she looked up again, the shadow was gone. The hallway was empty. Silent.
Her hands trembling, Nisha picked up the phone and hurried back to the guest room. She locked the door behind her and sat on the edge of the bed, her mind racing. She tried to steady her breathing, but the silence in the room felt suffocating, as though something was waiting just out of sight.
But the quiet didn’t last long.
Tap, tap, tap.
It was louder this time, and it wasn’t coming from the hallway. No, this time, the sound was coming from the mirror above the dresser in the guest room. The small mirror, which had once seemed so harmless, now vibrated slightly, its surface rippling like water.
Nisha’s blood ran cold. She turned slowly toward the mirror. The shadow appeared again, darker and more defined, pressing against the glass. This time, cracks began to form on the surface of the mirror, spreading out like spiderwebs.
“Let me out,” a voice hissed, low and guttural.
Nisha’s heart pounded in her chest. She grabbed her bag, her hands shaking so badly she could hardly hold onto it. Without thinking, she ran out of the room, down the stairs, and out of the house. She didn’t stop until she reached her car.
As she fumbled with the keys, she glanced back one last time at the house. In the second-floor window, she saw it—the shadow, watching her. It was as if the mirror had somehow followed her.
The next day, Nisha’s family returned to the house to clear out the rest of her grandmother’s things. When they entered the guest room, the mirror was gone. No one knew where it had gone or what had happened to it. Nisha didn’t care. She never went back.
But sometimes, in the middle of the night, when the world is still, she swears she can hear it: tap, tap, tap. And she wonders if the mirror has found her again.
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