BEHIND THE MIRROR
Chapter 1- A new home
I didn’t believe that houses could be wrong.
A house is just walls. Just concrete. Just a place where you sleep.
But this house felt… too quiet right away.
Not peaceful. Empty.
When we stepped inside, my mother said it was “cheap and close to work.” She was smiling, but her fingers trembled when she signed the papers with the landlord.
I didn’t pay much attention. I just looked around.
And I immediately noticed the mirrors.
They were everywhere.
In the hallway. In the corridor. On the kitchen wall — a long, narrow one, as if it was специально made so you could see yourself even while walking past. And another one in the living room, прямо opposite the sofa.
“Who even hangs this many mirrors?” I muttered.
My mother didn’t answer.
She only said shortly: “Don’t pay attention.”
Her voice sounded like she didn’t believe it herself.
In the evening, I unpacked my things. The boxes were still on the floor, the light in the room was cold and unpleasant.
Every time I looked up, it felt like the reflection was lagging behind by a fraction of a second.
I blamed it on exhaustion.
Moving. A new city. Lack of sleep.
Normal things.
But the feeling that someone else was in the room didn’t go away.
At night, I woke up.
Not because of a sound.
Not because of a nightmare.
But because of the feeling that I was being watched.
The room was dark, but not completely. Streetlight from the window cast a thin strip across the wall.
And the mirror opposite my bed was clearly visible.
I didn’t want to look at it.
But I did anyway.
At first — nothing.
Just me. Sitting on the bed. Sleepy. Alert.
Then I blinked.
And noticed something strange.
The reflection didn’t blink with me.
I froze.
My heart started beating louder than the silence in the room.
Slowly, I raised my hand.
The reflection copied the movement… but with a delay.
Too small to be a coincidence.
Too precise to be normal.
I quickly lowered my hand.
The reflection did it a moment later.
And in that moment, it… smiled.
Even though I didn’t.
I pulled back, almost falling off the bed.
A moment later — the mirror looked normal again.
I saw myself.
Normal.
Scared.
Alone.
I closed my eyes for a few seconds, trying to convince myself it was a dream.
Moving. Exhaustion. Imagination.
When I looked again — everything was normal.
Except…
Someone had dragged their fingers across the glass from the inside.
Quietly.
Slowly.
Like a nail on ice.
And the sound was so real that for the first time I didn’t think “maybe it was nothing,” but:
“In this house, I am not alone.”