The Mirror That Watched Back

I bought the mirror because it was cheap. The second-hand shop in the alley smelled like old wood and mildew. The man behind the counter didn’t speak English, but he pointed at the cracked glass and shrugged. I paid him ten dollars anyway.

I put it in my bedroom because it was the only thing that fit in the corner without breaking the wall.

At first, it was just my reflection. Same tired eyes, same messy hair, same guy who had been staring at his phone too long.

Then it started moving.

Not at first. Slowly. Like the way a shadow moves when the sun goes behind a cloud. It would tilt its head a little when I did. Blink when I blinked. But never quite at the same time.

I started taking photos of it.

The first photo looked normal. My face in the mirror, the room behind me, everything exactly as it should be.

The second photo was different.

In the reflection, I was standing in front of the mirror… but my reflection was standing behind me, in the room. Looking straight at me.

I took another photo. Same thing.

I deleted both.

The third time I looked, the mirror was fogged up. Not steam — something thicker, like blood. When it cleared, there was no reflection at all. Just my back, and behind me… nothing.

I slammed my hand against the glass.

It felt cold.

I haven’t slept since.

Every night, I sit in the dark and watch the mirror. I talk to it. I tell it stories about my day. I ask it questions.

It never answers.

But sometimes… sometimes I hear it breathing.

And when I look away, I feel like I’m being watched from the other side.

Creepypasta by Anonymous. Read at your own risk.