"The Mirrors in the Attic"

Ella had never been one to believe in superstitions or the supernatural. When
she inherited her grandmother’s house in the quiet, fog-enshrouded town of
Ravenswood, she thought little of the strange stories that had surrounded
the property for generations. The house was old, with creaky floorboards and
peeling wallpaper, but it had its charm. It was a place of memories—some of
her happiest moments as a child had been spent there.

It wasn’t long before Ella began to notice the oddities. They were subtle at
first: the way the shadows in the hallways seemed to shift when no one was
there, or how, when she walked past certain rooms, the temperature would
drop sharply, like a chill brushing against her skin. She told herself it was the
house settling, old buildings had their quirks. But there was one thing she
couldn’t ignore—the mirrors.

The attic had always fascinated her. She had spent countless hours as a child
playing there, though her grandmother had always warned her not to linger
too long. “It’s not a place for children,” she would say, her voice trembling
slightly as if she were holding back a secret. But Ella had never been afraid
of the attic.

When she first moved back into the house, the attic door creaked open
easily, revealing dust-covered boxes and forgotten trinkets. And there, in the
center of the room, stood three large mirrors, each framed in dark, ornate
wood. They were covered in cloth, as if someone had gone to great lengths
to keep them hidden.

Ella, curious, pulled the cloth off one of the mirrors. It was old, its surface
cloudy with age, but when she looked into it, she felt an odd sense of
unease. Her reflection seemed... off. There was a subtle distortion in the way
her face appeared. The angles of her eyes, the shape of her lips—everything
seemed slightly altered, like a shadow of herself.

Shaking her head, Ella dismissed the feeling and turned away. But the next
morning, the mirror was no longer covered. She hadn’t uncovered it, and yet,
it was revealed. She checked the other mirrors, and they, too, had been
uncovered.

The strange occurrences started happening more frequently after that. At

night, when she wandered the halls of the old house, she could hear the
faintest sound of movement coming from the attic—soft scraping, like nails
dragging against the floor. And once, just once, she swore she saw
something move in one of the mirrors—a figure, a dark silhouette, standing
behind her reflection. But when she turned around, the room was empty.

One evening, after a particularly restless night, Ella decided to confront

whatever was haunting the attic. Armed with a flashlight, she climbed the
creaky stairs and entered the room with the mirrors. The air was thick with
dust and stillness. She took a deep breath, her heart racing, and approached
the largest mirror. Its surface seemed to shimmer in the dim light, the
reflection of the attic appearing behind her. But this time, something was
different.

A figure was standing in the reflection. Not behind her, but beside her. It was
a woman, pale and gaunt, with hollow eyes that seemed to stare directly into
her soul. The figure wore a long, flowing dress, tattered at the edges, as if it
had been dragged through time itself.

Ella gasped and stepped back, her breath catching in her throat. The figure
in the mirror didn’t move, but its eyes followed her every motion.

“No,” Ella whispered, her voice trembling. “This isn’t real.”

But the figure smiled.

It wasn’t a comforting smile, but one twisted with malice. The woman’s lips
curled upward in a way that made Ella’s stomach turn. Slowly, as if moving
through water, the figure lifted a hand and pointed toward the other mirrors
in the room.

Ella hesitated, a cold sweat breaking out on her brow, but her legs carried
her toward the other mirrors against her will. She could feel her pulse
pounding in her throat, the air growing heavier with each step. As she looked
into each reflection, the same woman appeared, standing just behind her
own image. But with each mirror, the woman grew more distorted, more
monstrous—her face elongated, her limbs twisted unnaturally. The last mirror
showed her face entirely obscured by a thick, black void where her features
should have been.

The woman in the mirrors began to speak, her voice a low, rasping whisper.

“You shouldn’t have come back.”

Ella stumbled back, her breath catching in her throat. The words echoed in
her mind. She wanted to run, but her legs felt rooted to the floor, as if the
very air had thickened, trapping her in place. Her eyes darted to the door,
but it was no longer there. The stairs had disappeared, and all that was left
was the reflection of the room—now dark and distorted, as if it were no
longer part of the real world.

The figure in the largest mirror smiled wider, revealing rows of jagged,
blackened teeth. “You belong to us now.”

Ella screamed, but no sound came out. The woman reached forward, her
hand pressing against the glass, and Ella could feel a cold, clammy sensation
wrap around her neck. The mirrors—those cursed mirrors—were pulling her
in.

Suddenly, she heard a voice—a familiar voice, her grandmother’s voice—soft

and broken, echoing through the attic.

“Don’t let her touch you, Ella. Don't...”

But it was too late.

In the next moment, the woman’s fingers touched the glass, and the mirror
cracked. The pieces fell to the floor like shattered glass, but when Ella looked
into the mirror’s broken fragments, she saw not her own reflection, but a
dark, endless void. The mirrors began to pulse, their surfaces undulating like
waves on the ocean, and Ella could feel herself being drawn toward them.

Her body moved against her will, her feet dragging as though they were
made of lead. Her grandmother’s voice echoed again, but now it was
drowned out by the sound of a thousand whispers, all coming from the
mirrors, from the figures within them.

With a final scream, Ella was pulled forward, into the mirror. The glass
shattered around her, but there was no sound—only an eerie silence that
stretched on forever.

The house in Ravenswood was quiet once more, the mirrors hidden once
again. But late at night, if you listened closely enough, you might hear a faint
scratching from the attic. And if you dared to go up there, you might find one
of the mirrors uncovered, its surface reflecting not the room around you—but
something else entirely.

Something… waiting.

And if you stared too long, you might see a figure standing just behind your
own reflection, its hollow eyes fixed on yours.

Whispering.
“You belong to us now.”