The Whispering Mirror
Elias was a collector of things that others had forgotten. His small apartment was filled with ticking clocks, rusted keys, and dusty books. But his favorite find was a tall, silver-framed mirror he bought from an old woman who refused to look at it while selling.
The mirror was beautiful, but the glass was strange—it didn't reflect light quite right. It felt deeper, like looking into a lake at night.
The First Night
On the first night, Elias noticed something odd. When he brushed his teeth, his reflection in the mirror was slightly delayed. When he walked away, his reflection stayed for a split second longer, staring at his back with a cold, blank expression.
The Whisper
By the third night, the silence of the room was broken. A soft, scratching sound came from the glass. "Help... me..." a voice drifted out, thin as a thread.
Elias approached the mirror. His reflection wasn't moving anymore. It was standing perfectly still, even though Elias was trembling. The reflection leaned forward until its face pressed against the inside of the glass.
The Exchange
"Who are you?" Elias whispered.
The reflection didn't answer with words. Instead, it placed its hand on the glass. Instinctively, Elias placed his hand against it. The glass wasn't cold—it felt like ice-cold skin.
Suddenly, the world spun. A violent tug pulled Elias forward, and for a moment, everything went black.
The Aftermath
The next morning, the sun shone into the room. "Elias" stood up, stretched, and looked at the mirror. He smiled—a sharp, hungry smile that he had never used before.
Inside the mirror, the real Elias was screaming, his hands beating against a surface that felt like solid stone. But from the outside, he was just a faint, blurry shadow in the silver depths, forgotten among the other trinkets.
The mirror was no longer whispering. It was finally silent.