Something in the Mirror
In a quiet town, there was a little antique shop owned by an old man named Mr. Perez. He had white hair, glasses, and always wore a brown vest. His store was filled with old and strange things—dusty books, shiny clocks, wooden chairs, and even music boxes that no longer played music.
People liked to visit his store. They walked around, pointed at the items, and smiled. But most of them didn’t buy anything. They just enjoyed looking.
One afternoon, a young man came into the store holding something big, covered with a white cloth.
“Good afternoon,” the young man said.
“Hello,” Mr. Perez smiled. “What do you have there?”
“It’s a mirror,” the young man said. He lifted the cloth, and Mr. Perez saw a tall mirror with a golden frame. The frame had beautiful carvings—flowers, vines, and little faces.
Mr. Perez’s eyes lit up. “Wow. This is very old. Very rare.”
“Do you want to buy it?” the young man asked.
Mr. Perez nodded. “Yes, I do.”
They agreed on a price. After the young man left, Mr. Perez carefully placed the mirror at the front of the shop, near the door. “This will bring in customers,” he whispered.
But the next day, a woman named Mrs. Torres came into the shop. She looked at the mirror, then quickly turned away.
“What’s wrong?” Mr. Perez asked.
“That mirror,” she said quietly. “I saw someone behind me. But when I turned around, no one was there.”
Mr. Perez laughed. “It’s just the light. Or maybe your imagination.”
Mrs. Torres shook her head. “It felt real. Too real.”
After she left, more people came into the store. Some looked at the mirror. Some refused to go near it. A man named Mr. Juan said, “I felt cold standing in front of it.”
Another woman said, “It feels like the mirror is watching me.”
Mr. Perez didn’t believe them. “It’s just an old mirror,” he said.
But then strange things started to happen.
One morning, Mr. Perez came into the shop and saw a pile of books on the floor.
“I cleaned this last night,” he said to himself.
Another day, he found the clocks ticking loudly, even though they had no batteries. He checked them one by one, confused.
At night, when he was alone in the shop, he felt like someone was behind him. But when he turned to look, no one was there. Only the mirror.
One evening, as he locked the door and turned off the lights, he heard something.
“Help me…”
A whisper. Soft, and coming from the mirror.
Mr. Perez froze. His hands shook. He looked at the mirror. Nothing. Just his own reflection.
“No,” he muttered. “I’m just tired.”
He rushed out and locked the door behind him.
The next day, he tried to sell the mirror. He told a few collectors about it, but no one wanted it.
“It gives me the chills,” one man said.
“It feels cursed,” said another.
One morning, a boy named Nico came into the shop. He was ten years old and loved old things.
“Mr. Perez, what’s that big mirror near the door?” Nico asked.
Mr. Perez looked at the mirror and then at the boy.
“It’s just a mirror, Nico.”
“It doesn’t look like just a mirror,” Nico said. “It looks like something from a storybook.”
“Don’t stand too close to it,” Mr. Perez warned gently.
“Why not?”
“Because some mirrors don’t just show your reflection. Some show things you don’t want to see.”
Nico blinked. “Like what?”
Mr. Perez bent down and whispered, “Like shadows that don’t belong to you.”
Nico's eyes widened. He took a step back. “That’s scary.”
“It’s best you don’t ask too many questions,” Mr. Perez said.
Weeks passed. Mr. Perez couldn’t sleep well. The whisper returned at night. Sometimes louder.
“Help me…”
He had enough.
One early morning, Mr. Perez wrapped the mirror in a blanket, put it in the back of his truck, and drove to an old abandoned house on the edge of town. It was a broken house with shattered windows and weeds everywhere.
“This is far enough,” he said to himself.
He placed the mirror against the wall inside the dusty living room. Then he turned and left quickly.
“I don’t want to see it ever again,” he whispered.
Days later, a woman named Mrs. Aguinaldo was walking near the old house. She loved old places. She carried a camera and always looked for old treasures.
She saw the mirror through the broken window.
“Oh, my,” she gasped. “That’s beautiful!”
She went inside, brushed the dust off the mirror, and smiled.
“I’ll take you home.”
She brought it to her small house and placed it in her living room. The golden frame sparkled in the sunlight.
That night, she brushed her hair in front of the mirror. She smiled at her reflection.
But then, her smile faded.
A dark figure stood behind her in the mirror.
It was not her. And it was not anyone in the room.
She turned around. Nothing.
She looked back at the mirror. The figure was closer now.
“Who… who are you?” she whispered.
No answer. Only silence.
She felt cold. Her hands trembled. But she couldn’t look away.
The next morning, neighbors walked by and saw Mrs. Aguinaldo sitting on her porch. She was laughing and talking.
But no one else was there.
“She’s talking to herself,” one neighbor said.
Another whispered, “Is she okay?”
Later, her sister visited. “What’s wrong, Rosa?” she asked.
Mrs. Aguinaldo pointed to the air. “He’s here. He’s watching. He’s waiting.”
“Who?”
“The one in the mirror,” she whispered.
Her sister touched her forehead. “You have a fever?”
Mrs. Aguinaldo shook her head. “He told me secrets. He told me things I didn’t know. I must listen.”
She began to babble, laughing, crying, whispering all at once.
Her family took her to the doctor, but the doctor said she was fine—physically.
“It’s in her mind,” he said.
But her family knew something was wrong.
“She was normal until she brought home that mirror,” her niece said.
Soon, people in town started talking.
“It’s the mirror,” someone said. “It makes people go crazy.”
Another said, “You see a shadow that gets closer every time you look.”
Mr. Perez heard the stories. He sat quietly in his shop, thinking.
“I shouldn’t have taken that mirror,” he whispered.
He never told anyone where the mirror came from. He never spoke about the whisper.
And from that day on, Mr. Perez never sold another mirror in his store.
People stopped buying mirrors in the town. Some even covered their mirrors at home.
One day, a boy dared another to peek through the window of Mrs. Aguinaldo’s house.
“I dare you,” he said.
The other boy stepped up, peeked in, and screamed.
“What did you see?”
“I saw her,” he whispered. “But she wasn’t alone.”
Now no one goes near her house. The grass grew tall, the curtains stayed closed, and no one knocked on the door.
And late at night, if you pass by and listen closely, you might hear her voice.
“Something is in the mirror…”
.jpeg)
.jpg)
