The Reflection's grin 1

Claire had heard the rumors. The tenants, always in hushed tones, spoke of the door at the end of the hall—how it was never opened, how strange noises slipped through its cracks at night.

One evening, after the landlord left for the night, Claire couldn't shake the feeling of curiosity gnawing at her. The hallway seemed unusually quiet, the dim lights casting long shadows on the worn carpet. She had to see what lay beyond that door.

With each hesitant step toward the end of the hall, her heart pounded harder. She glanced back—no one was watching. The door was just there, plain and ordinary, yet suffused with an almost oppressive aura. Claire reached out and grasped the cold doorknob. It didn't resist. Slowly, she turned it.

The door creaked open, and Claire stepped inside. The room was small, claustrophobic. Faint light spilled from a dusty bulb overhead, revealing a solitary chair in the center. A mirror hung on the far wall, tarnished with years of neglect. The air was thick and cold, tinged with the smell of rust.

Her flashlight flickered, casting dancing shadows that seemed to twitch and move of their own accord. Claire froze, a shiver crawling down her spine.

There was something unsettling about the mirror. When she looked into it, her reflection seemed... off. Slightly too slow, as if it had a mind of its own. But she shook it off, convinced it was just the dim light playing tricks. She stepped further into the room.

The door slammed shut behind her.

The flashlight blinked out, leaving Claire in complete darkness. Panic surged in her chest. She reached for the doorknob, but it wouldn’t budge. No matter how hard she twisted, it stayed locked, as if the door itself were mocking her.

Then, the room began to hum. A low, vibrating sound that felt as if it was emanating from the very walls. Claire’s breath caught in her throat. She strained her ears, trying to make sense of it.

“Hello?” she whispered, her voice trembling.

Suddenly, the mirror on the far wall seemed to move. The surface rippled like water disturbed by an unseen force. Claire’s blood ran cold as her own reflection, which had been still moments before, now moved—its face twisting into a grin that didn’t belong to her.

She took a step back, her body pressed against the door.

The reflection stepped closer.

Claire stared in disbelief as the reflection of herself in the mirror continued to move independently. The other “her” pressed its hands against the glass, its face drawn with sharp, unnatural features. Its grin stretched too wide, too many teeth.

"Let me out," it said, but it wasn’t just her voice anymore. There was something darker in its tone—a rasp, a whisper from somewhere deep and ancient.

Claire’s hand trembled as she reached for the door again. The reflection mirrored her actions—its hand coming up to press against the glass, tapping once, twice.

“Let me out, Claire,” it repeated. The voice was layered, and the room seemed to shake as if something was trying to break through the mirror.

The glass cracked.

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