Story 1: "The Girl in the Mirror"

Story 1: "The Girl in the Mirror"

There was a mirror in Maya’s room that she hated.

It wasn’t because it was old, or dusty, or cracked — in fact, it was polished to perfection. Her grandmother had gifted it to her, claiming it was a family heirloom passed down through generations. It stood over six feet tall, with an ornate silver frame etched in strange symbols Maya had never seen before.

From the moment it entered her room, things began to change.

At first, it was subtle. Small items would go missing — her comb, her school ID, even her phone charger. Sometimes she’d wake up and find her closet open, even though she remembered shutting it tightly before bed.

One night, around 3:17 a.m., Maya woke up with a jolt. There was no sound, no movement, but something felt... wrong. Her eyes slowly adjusted to the dark, and they drifted toward the mirror.

That’s when she saw her.

A girl — her exact double — standing inside the mirror. But she wasn’t mimicking Maya’s actions like a reflection should. She was just staring. Still. Pale. Smiling.

Maya froze.

She blinked. Rubbed her eyes. When she looked again, the mirror was empty. Her own reflection stared back.

She told her parents the next day, but they brushed it off as a dream. "Too much late-night horror stuff," her dad joked.

But Maya knew what she saw.

The next few nights, it escalated.

At exactly 3:17 a.m., she would wake up and see the mirror version of herself again. But each time, the girl inside grew… different. Her skin turned grayer. Her smile wider. Her eyes darker. And she no longer just stood still — she began to move.

One night, the reflection reached out — her hand pressed against the inside of the glass, fingers twitching, nails long and black.

Maya screamed.

Her parents came rushing in, only to find her trembling and pointing at the perfectly normal mirror.

They called a therapist. Suggested it was stress. Suggested removing the mirror.

But Maya’s grandmother was furious when they brought it up.

“You don’t remove the mirror,” she snapped. “It doesn’t like that.”

That night, Maya locked her door. She covered the mirror with a blanket. She left the lights on.

But at 3:17 a.m., the lights flickered — and then went out.

She heard whispering. It wasn’t coming from the hallway, or the room. It was inside her head.

“Let me in.”

The blanket was gone.

The mirror stood exposed, and the girl was still inside — now pressing her face against the glass, mouth open wide in a silent scream.

Maya couldn’t look away. Her body was frozen. Her breath caught in her throat as the girl raised a hand and tapped the inside of the glass three times.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

The mirror cracked.

Maya shrieked and threw a chair at it.

The mirror shattered — but no sound came from the glass. Instead, the reflection girl stepped through the shards like mist.

The last thing Maya saw before blacking out was her own face — her real face — screaming back at her as the reflection smiled.

Maya's parents found her in the morning, curled in a ball in the corner of her room, shaking violently. The mirror was gone.

All that remained were the etchings from the frame, now scorched into the floorboards.

She doesn’t speak anymore.

She only stares at the wall — and at 3:17 a.m., she smiles.

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