Emma stood in front of her bathroom mirror every night, after the house was quiet and the only sounds were the soft hum of the refrigerator and the distant muffle of traffic. Her reflection caught her eye, and she was both anticipating and hoping for a change.
Her appearance was not her vanity or some strange obsession. Not at all, it was something completely different. A few months ago, she became aware of the soft and flickering static on the edge of the glass. It was similar to watching a TV that had been left on the wrong channel and was just out of focus.
At first, she thought it was her eyes playing tricks. The result of too much screen time or maybe not enough sleep. But as the days went by, it became more pronounced. As the static grew, it curled around the edges of the mirror, resembled smoke drifting through a room with no exit.
She’d tried cleaning the glass, scrubbing it down with every cleaner she could find. It didn’t make a difference. No matter how hard she tried to wipe it away, static was always present.
Upon standing before it again one evening, she noticed something different. The flicker at the edge of the mirror seemed to be moving. It was insignificant, almost unnoticeable, but it was present. The static was no longer the only thing. It was alive at that moment.
“Emma,” a voice whispered, just below the hum of the static.
She froze. There was no one else present in the room, and her reflection remained unchanged. But the voice had come from inside the mirror. Her pulse quickened.
“Emma,” the voice repeated, this time louder, more distinct.
She took a hesitant step back. A figure began to form in the glass after the static swirled and became a blur of white noise and static.
It wasn’t her, but it looked like her. Although the mirror possessed her eyes, hair, and features, the expression in it was different. It was empty, hollow, and almost lifeless. It stared back at her, unmoving, like it was waiting for something.
“Who are you?” Emma whispered, her voice trembling.
The figure’s lips parted slowly. “I am you,” it said, but it didn’t sound like her voice. It was distorted, muffled by the hum of static.
Emma recoiled, her heart racing. The static grew stronger, consuming the edges of the mirror like a slow-moving storm. The figure in the glass began to move, jerking into motion as if struggling to break free from some invisible barrier.
“No… no,” Emma gasped, stepping back further. “This isn’t real.”
But it was.
The figure reached out, its hand pressing against the glass. The movement was reflected in Emma’s reflection, but the fingernails of the figure in the mirror began to stretch and distort, just as it did with the movement. The reflection twisted, fingers elongating, and suddenly, it wasn’t her in the mirror anymore. The figure’s hand was reaching out of the glass, claw-like and contorted.
Emma screamed and stumbled backward, but the hand continued to push forward, now partially through the surface of the mirror. The static around it buzzed violently, like a swarm of angry bees.
“Emma…” the voice came again, but this time it was more sinister. The words dripped with malice. “Let me out.”
She backed into the wall, her chest heaving with panic. The mirror showed a figure that was no longer hers, with wide eyes and a twisted smile on its mouth. The reflection was changing, warping. The static was everywhere now, overwhelming her senses.
It spoke again, but this time, the words felt like they were being fed into her mind rather than spoken aloud.
Let me out, Emma. Let me out, or you will be trapped here forever.
Her breath caught in her throat. The mirror had always been a reflection, hadn’t it? A mere surface that showed what was before it. But now? Now, she wasn’t sure what was real anymore. Could she be looking at a reflection or was this thing in the mirror actually reflecting something else? A dark mirror of herself?
“Please,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “What do you want from me?”
She noticed something behind them, something ancient and cold, as the figure’s eyes narrowed. A hunger.
“I want you to stay,” it said, its grin widening impossibly. “But you must let me out first.”
Emma’s pulse raced as the hand, now fully through the mirror, reached toward her. She could feel the cold, like the touch of death itself, brush against her skin. The static crackled, louder now, deafening.
With all the strength she had, she yanked herself away, running out of the bathroom and slamming the door behind her. But even as she did, she heard it.
The voice.
Whispering her name from beyond the door.
“Emma…”
And then, in the dark silence that followed, Emma heard a faint static hum.
It had followed her.
And it was waiting.
Thank-you for reading.
Remember there are many paths back to God.
Follow your own path,
Brenda Marie
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