I’ve always been afraid of mirrors. Not just the ordinary fear of catching your own reflection when you look disheveled, but a deep, unsettling terror that has plagued me since childhood. My parents dismissed it as an overactive imagination, but I knew better. Mirrors held a secret, and it was one I needed to uncover.
My journey into the world of the supernatural began on a stormy night. The rain lashed against the windows, casting eerie, dancing shadows across the room. I found myself alone in my small apartment, surrounded by reflective surfaces. As I stared into a cracked antique mirror hanging on the wall, I could feel something watching me.
It started as a faint, distant presence. A shadow that seemed to move independently of me. When I turned, it would linger, a silhouette of a person I couldn’t quite make out. The more I stared, the more it solidified. It looked like a man, a grotesque and distorted version of one, with hollow eyes and a malevolent grin.
The next night, I couldn’t resist the urge to investigate further. Armed with a flashlight, I started examining every mirror in my apartment. Each one, no matter how small or insignificant, held the same strange, twisted reflection of the man. I even found one in the back of an old cabinet, untouched for years.
I decided to document my findings. I took photos, made sketches, and wrote down every detail. The more I looked at these images, the more convinced I became that this malevolent entity was trying to communicate with me. But I couldn’t decipher its message. It was as though the secret it held was just beyond my grasp.
As the days turned into weeks, my life spiraled into chaos. Sleepless nights, unexplainable sounds, and strange occurrences became the norm. The shadow in the mirror was growing stronger, more insistent, and its intentions were far from friendly.
Then one evening, as I was gazing at my reflection in a dimly lit bathroom, the shadow manifested more clearly than ever before. It spoke, but not with words. Instead, it sent a chilling wave of thoughts directly into my mind. It wanted something, something I couldn’t comprehend.
I decided to reach out to a paranormal investigator, a woman named Eliza, who had dealt with such cases before. She arrived with an assortment of equipment, determined to help me uncover the truth.
Eliza examined my collection of mirror images and was immediately taken aback. She explained that the distorted figure was a malevolent spirit, bound to the mirrors by a dark ritual. It was trying to break free, and it needed a host to do so.
Desperation drove me to seek a solution. Eliza and I attempted to break the curse that bound the spirit to the mirrors, but it fought back with a vengeance. It threw objects, shattered glass, and even tried to possess Eliza. We barely escaped with our lives.
In the end, there was only one way to contain the malevolent spirit. We gathered all the mirrors, broke them, and buried the pieces deep in consecrated ground. As we did, the shadow in the mirrors howled, its sinister presence weakening with each shattered piece.
Years have passed since that fateful night, but I still can’t shake the feeling that the shadow in the mirror is out there, waiting to be set free. I know one thing for sure: I’ll never look at a mirror the same way again.