The girl in the glass

The house had been abandoned for years—or at least that’s what Clara had been told. It was always the subject of quiet rumors, but it was also one of those places that didn’t seem to want to let go of the stories people whispered about it. The kind of place that drew people in, even if they didn’t believe in ghosts or anything like that.

Tonight, she stood in front of it. The wind was sharp, biting her skin, but it wasn’t enough to make her turn around and walk back. The door was cracked open just enough that she could see the dust, the decay, the thick layer of neglect that had built up over the years. It was almost like it was waiting for her, in some twisted way.

The dare had been easy enough. Her friends had dared her to go inside; none of them would, but they all wanted to know what was in there. Clara didn’t care about proving anything to them. She just wanted to know if the house really was... haunted, or whatever. Maybe there was some weird, old secret locked inside, or maybe it was just an old house falling apart.

Clara stepped inside. The floor creaked under her boots, and a musty smell hit her as soon as the door closed behind her. She jumped, a little surprised by how loud it sounded, but then the quiet settled back in. There wasn’t a sound—just the low hum of the wind outside. The flashlight in her hand flickered once, then stayed on, and she sighed in relief. She didn’t want to be stuck in the dark.

Everything looked older than she expected. The wallpaper was peeling in places, and the floorboards looked like they hadn’t been walked on in decades. Some parts of the walls had large stains, like water damage. It made everything feel so... still. Like no one had lived here in forever.

Her steps echoed as she moved down the hallway. The air was cold, a kind of chill that got under her skin and made her feel like she wasn’t really alone. But she wasn’t scared—not yet.

It wasn’t until she saw the mirror at the end of the hallway that the unease settled in. It wasn’t a big mirror—just a cracked old thing hanging crookedly, its frame an ornate mess of peeling gold.

At first, it didn’t even seem important. But then... she saw it.

A figure.

A little girl. In the reflection, standing just beside her, her small face pale and framed by dark hair. Clara’s heart slammed against her ribs, and for a second, she thought her eyes were playing tricks. But no. The child was there.

The girl’s eyes were too wide, too empty. And when Clara stepped closer, she could see the faintest hint of a smile on the child’s lips—a smile that didn’t feel right, not at all.

Clara blinked hard, trying to shake the feeling that something was off. She knew it was probably just her mind running wild—old houses did that to people. But she couldn’t stop herself from staring at the reflection.

The child didn’t move. She just stood there, watching. And then, slowly, she tilted her head, the smile stretching just a little wider.

Clara’s breath caught in her throat. It wasn’t just the girl in the reflection that was unnerving—it was the fact that she was there. So still. So... real.

"Go away," Clara whispered, but it wasn’t like she really believed it would work. Her voice sounded small in the huge emptiness of the house. Her own reflection seemed almost distant, distant from herself in a way that made her feel... small.

The girl in the mirror didn’t listen.

Instead, she took a small step forward, mirroring Clara’s movement, like she was trying to match her every move. And Clara, despite herself, felt her feet move back, stepping away, wanting to run. But when she looked behind her—nothing. Just the long, dark hallway. But the reflection... the girl in the mirror had followed her.

Clara’s hand shook as she reached out toward the glass, her fingers brushing against the cold surface. She didn’t know why—maybe to prove it wasn’t real, maybe just to see if something would happen. Her breath was sharp, shallow, and she expected the mirror to feel like normal glass, but it didn’t. It felt *wrong*. Like there was something *on the other side*.

Then, for a split second, the child in the reflection raised her hand, pressing it against the glass with cold fingers, and that’s when Clara *felt it*—a pressure, as if the space between them wasn’t just air, but something else.

The child smiled again—no, it was more like a grin. One that stretched, impossibly wide. And then, in a voice so faint she could hardly hear it, the girl whispered something. Not words—more like... a hum, a broken thing that crawled into Clara’s chest and wrapped around her heart.

Clara’s mind scrambled. Her body froze. *This wasn’t right.*

And then, like a bolt of lightning, the girl *moved*.

Clara stepped back in panic, stumbling into a chair that tipped over with a loud crash. The reflection was still there, still watching, but the little girl was *closer now*—too close. Too close to the point where Clara could almost feel her breath on the other side of the mirror. And then, for one horrible moment, the girl’s reflection tilted her head and mouthed, “*Stay.*”

Clara’s stomach twisted, and she spun around to get out of the room, but the hallway had... changed. It wasn’t the same. The walls were bending, stretching like they weren’t part of the house anymore. She could feel her pulse pounding in her throat. The door was farther away than it should have been.

She ran. Her feet hit the floor, but no matter how fast she moved, the door never seemed closer. The whispering grew louder, more desperate, the sound of something far too familiar.

The last thing she remembered was the child’s face—so close, too close—her grin never fading. And then, nothing.

They found her flashlight on the floor, but no Clara. The house, as always, stood still. Quiet. Watching.

And in the mirror? A little girl’s smile stretched wider every time someone dared to look.