It started with the whispers. Late at night, when the house was silent, Mia would hear faint murmurs drifting from the attic above her room. At first, she thought it was the old pipes or the wind slipping through cracks. But the whispers formed words—soft, desperate words.
*"Mia… come closer…"*
One night, curiosity outweighed her fear. Clutching a flashlight, she climbed the narrow staircase leading to the attic. The wooden boards creaked under her weight as she pushed open the door.
The room was empty, save for a single, antique mirror leaning against the far wall. Its glass was tarnished, its frame carved with intricate, twisted figures. Mia stepped closer, drawn by the faint glow emanating from its surface.
As she peered into the mirror, her reflection didn’t look back. Instead, she saw a woman—pale, gaunt, and hollow-eyed—staring at her from within. The woman’s lips moved, and Mia heard the whispers louder now.
*"Help me… I'm trapped…"*
Frozen, Mia watched as the woman’s skeletal hand pressed against the glass, reaching toward her. Against her will, Mia’s own hand rose, mirroring the motion. When her fingers touched the icy surface, a sharp pain shot through her arm, and the mirror cracked, splintering into a thousand shards.
The woman was gone.
Mia turned to leave, but the attic door slammed shut. Behind her, the shards of the mirror began to rise, spinning in the air like a vortex. The whispers turned into screams.
She tried to run, but her feet wouldn’t move. The last thing Mia saw was her reflection in one of the shards—her face now pale, gaunt, and hollow-eyed.
The next morning, the house was silent again. But in the attic, the mirror stood whole, its surface gleaming—and a new whisper called out.
*"Help me…"*
