Emma G. Smith

It all started when Emma’s family moved into the old house on the edge of town. It was big, eerie, and filled with strange creaks and whispers at night, but it had a charm about it. The walls were thick, the floors creaked with every step, and the rooms seemed to stretch endlessly, as if they held secrets from another time.

Emma was 12 years old when they moved in. She’d always been a curious girl, the kind who liked to explore the hidden corners of old houses and discover things others might miss. One evening, after everyone had gone to bed, Emma decided to explore the attic. She’d been up there once, but there was one room in particular she hadn’t dared to enter: the small, dusty room behind a heavy wooden door, covered in peeling wallpaper. Her curiosity gnawed at her, so she grabbed a flashlight and quietly made her way to the attic.

The air was thick with dust. The light from her flashlight flickered as she stepped deeper into the room. She wasn’t sure why she’d never been allowed in, but there was something about it—something... wrong. The room was nearly empty except for a tall, antique mirror that leaned against the wall. The mirror’s surface was tarnished, and the edges of the glass were cracked. A thin layer of dust covered the floor, but there were footprints in the dust, small ones, leading right up to the mirror. Emma felt a shiver run down her spine.

She reached out to touch the mirror. As her fingers brushed against the glass, a sudden chill filled the air. Her reflection... wasn’t quite right. In the reflection, Emma could see herself clearly, but something behind her was wrong. A small figure—barely visible—was standing in the corner of the room. Emma spun around, her heart racing, but there was no one there.

She turned back to the mirror. The figure in the reflection had stepped closer. It was a girl—about Emma’s age, with dark, hollow eyes and long, tangled hair. The girl was staring at Emma with a strange, unsettling smile. Emma’s breath caught in her throat. She didn’t know why, but she felt drawn to the girl in the mirror, as if she knew her. But how could she? She’d never seen anyone like her before.

"Who are you?" Emma whispered.

The girl’s smile widened.

Then, suddenly, the girl reached out, pressing her hand against the glass, her fingers stretching impossibly long. Emma gasped, stepping back, but she couldn’t tear her eyes away. The girl in the mirror began to move.

She reached her hand out toward Emma, who stumbled backward, knocking over a pile of old boxes. The girl in the mirror kept moving, her hand now inches from Emma’s own reflection.

"Let me out..." The voice echoed in Emma's mind, soft and pleading. It wasn’t the girl’s voice. It was something else—dark and cold.

Emma backed away from the mirror, her breath coming in sharp gasps. She turned to run, but her foot caught on something, sending her crashing to the ground. When she looked up, the mirror was... different. The girl in the reflection wasn’t standing anymore. She was lying on the floor, her face twisted into a grotesque, unnatural grin. Her hollow eyes were fixed on Emma, and the whispering voice grew louder, more insistent.

"Let me out..."

Emma bolted out of the room, slamming the door shut behind her. Her heart pounded in her chest as she ran downstairs, her mind racing. What had she seen? What was that girl in the mirror?

That night, as Emma lay in bed, she could hear faint scratching noises coming from upstairs. The house was silent, but the sound was unmistakable. Scratching. Like nails on wood.

She pulled the blanket over her head and squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block out the noise. But then, it stopped.

And then, from the darkness, she heard the voice again, softer this time—almost sweet.

"Emma... come back to the mirror... I’m waiting..."

The next morning, the mirror was gone. No one knew where it had gone or when it had disappeared. It was as if it had never been there at all. But Emma knew better. She couldn’t shake the feeling that whatever was in that mirror, whatever it was, was still watching her.

Weeks passed, and Emma tried to forget about the mirror, but the dreams came. Every night, she saw the same reflection. The girl was always there, waiting in the corner of the room, her fingers stretching toward Emma. The smile never left her face.

Then, one night, after weeks of restless sleep, Emma woke up to find a small, pale handprint on her bedroom window. It was smeared, as if someone had touched it from the outside. The same cold, dead hand she had seen in the reflection.

The girl was still there.

And this time, she was no longer just in the mirror. She was in the real world, watching, waiting.

Emma never went back to that house after the day she left. She moved far away, to a place where no one knew her name. But even then, every night, in the reflection of the window, she could still see the girl’s dark eyes staring back at her, waiting for her to come closer.

Waiting for her to open the door.

The End.