I had always been drawn to old and unique objects. So when my grandmother passed away and left me her antique mirror, I was thrilled. It was a beautiful piece, with an ornate golden frame and a large, rectangular glass. I couldn’t wait to hang it in my bedroom and admire it every day.
But it wasn’t long before I started to notice something strange. Every morning, when I walked into my room, I would see that the mirror had been moved slightly. At first, I thought I was just imagining things, or maybe I had moved it myself and forgotten. But as the days went on, the mirror began to move more and more, until it was clear that something was happening.
I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was being watched through the mirror. It was as if someone, or something, was peering out at me from the other side. I would catch glimpses of shadows and shapes in the glass, but when I looked closer, they would disappear.
I tried to ignore it at first, thinking it was just my imagination playing tricks on me. But the mirror continued to move, and the shadows grew more frequent. I began to have nightmares about a dark figure standing behind me, watching me in my sleep.
I decided to do some research on the mirror, hoping to find some answers. But all I could find was that it was an old piece, possibly from the 19th century, and it had been passed down through my grandmother’s family for generations. There was no mention of any strange occurrences or paranormal activity.
I couldn’t take it anymore. I decided to get rid of the mirror. I wrapped it in a blanket and put it in the trunk of my car, planning to drop it off at a thrift store the next day. But that night, as I lay in bed, I heard a loud crash from the living room. I got up to investigate and found that the mirror had somehow fallen out of the trunk and shattered on the floor.
I was relieved that the mirror was gone, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that it wasn’t over. And I was right. The next morning, I woke up to find the mirror had been reassembled and was back in my room, hanging on the wall. It was as if it had never been broken.
I was terrified. I knew that this was no longer just a strange coincidence. I knew that the mirror was possessed by something evil, something that wanted to keep me under its gaze. I couldn’t take it anymore. I moved out of that house and never looked back.
Years have passed, but I still remember the mirror. I still have nightmares about it and I can’t shake the feeling that it’s still out there, waiting for me to return. I’m not sure if it’s still in that house, or if it’s following me, but I know one thing for sure: I’m still being watched. Through my mirror.