HauntedMirror - Tumblr Posts

The Ghost in the Mirror Shaina Tranquilino September 10, 2024

Detective James Harlan had seen his fair share of strange cases, but nothing could have prepared him for the mirror. It was a cold, gray evening when he first encountered it. The sky threatened rain, and the shadows of the city loomed long and distorted as Harlan stood in front of the old curiosity shop on the corner of Willow Street. The store was set to be demolished the following week, its last few days spent selling off an assortment of peculiar antiques and oddities.

Harlan wasn't one for curiosities, but something had drawn him inside—an invisible pull that led him through the cluttered aisles to the back of the store, where an ornate, dusty mirror stood propped against the wall. The mirror’s frame was heavy and intricately carved, dark wood curling into what seemed like a thousand twisted faces, each one more grotesque than the last.

The shopkeeper, a frail old man with sunken eyes and trembling hands, had appeared beside him as if summoned by his curiosity.

"Ah, the mirror," the shopkeeper rasped, his voice a mere whisper of sound. "You're the first person to show any interest in it. Most people avoid it… say it gives them the creeps."

Harlan, skeptical but intrigued, asked, "What's the story behind it?"

The old man hesitated, his eyes narrowing as he studied the detective’s face. "They say it’s cursed, haunted by a restless spirit. It belonged to a woman who… who was murdered many years ago. They say if you look into it long enough, you can see the past… see things that shouldn’t be seen."

Despite the chill creeping up his spine, Harlan found himself drawn to the mirror. It was as if it had a voice of its own, whispering to him, beckoning him to look deeper, to see what lay beyond the surface.

The shopkeeper’s bony hand gripped Harlan’s arm, his voice a desperate warning. "Take it if you must, but know this: the mirror demands a price. It will give you what you seek, but it will take something in return."

Harlan, always one to dismiss superstition, paid the old man and took the mirror with him. He told himself it was just a peculiar antique, nothing more. A piece of history to decorate his apartment.

But as soon as he hung the mirror on the wall of his living room, strange things began to happen.

At first, it was subtle—a flicker of movement in the corner of his eye, a faint whisper on the edge of his hearing. But as the days passed, the visions became clearer, more intense.

One night, as he sat alone with a glass of whiskey, Harlan found himself staring into the mirror, unable to look away. The room around him began to fade, and in its place, a scene unfolded within the glass.

He saw a woman, her face pale and frightened, running through the woods. Her breath came in ragged gasps as she glanced over her shoulder, terror etched into her features. Behind her, a figure loomed, a man with a knife glinting in the moonlight.

Harlan watched in horror as the man caught up to her, dragging her to the ground. The woman’s screams echoed in his mind as the knife descended, again and again, until the woods were silent.

The vision faded, leaving Harlan staring at his own haunted reflection, his heart pounding in his chest. He recognized the scene—it was an unsolved murder from twenty years ago, a cold case that had haunted the precinct for years.

Driven by an obsession he couldn’t explain, Harlan dove into the old case files the next day. The details matched perfectly. The victim, the location, even the murder weapon. The mirror had shown him the truth, the answer to a mystery that had eluded detectives for decades.

He began to spend every night in front of the mirror, searching for more. And the mirror obliged. Each time he looked into it, another crime unfolded before his eyes—unsolved murders, disappearances, cold cases long forgotten by the world. Harlan solved them all, bringing justice to victims whose voices had been silenced for too long.

But with each case he solved, Harlan felt something slipping away from him. His energy, his spirit, his very sense of self seemed to dwindle. The mirror took its toll, draining him bit by bit, just as the old shopkeeper had warned.

One evening, after months of this relentless pursuit, Harlan looked into the mirror and saw a face he recognized all too well—his own.

He was standing in his apartment, holding a gun, his eyes empty and hollow. Before him, a man lay crumpled on the floor, a pool of blood spreading beneath him. Harlan’s hand trembled as he watched the scene unfold, as he watched himself commit a crime that hadn’t yet happened.

He staggered back from the mirror, his breath coming in ragged gasps. The mirror had shown him the future, and it was a future he could not escape.

Desperate, he tried to rid himself of the mirror, to break the curse that had ensnared him. He took a hammer to it, smashing the glass into a thousand glittering shards. But even in the broken pieces, he could still see the scenes playing out, could still hear the whispers of the past echoing in his mind.

There was no escape. The mirror had claimed him, body and soul.

In the days that followed, Harlan’s colleagues noticed the change in him. He became distant, paranoid, his once sharp mind dulled by an unseen weight. They didn’t understand what had happened to him, didn’t know about the mirror or the horrors it had revealed.

And then, one night, Harlan disappeared.

They found his apartment empty, the shattered mirror lying in a heap on the floor. But of Harlan, there was no sign. It was as if he had vanished into thin air.

The cold cases he had solved were closed, the victims finally at peace. But the price had been steep, too steep. Detective James Harlan was never seen again, his fate sealed within the haunted glass that had lured him to his doom.

And somewhere, in a forgotten corner of the city, a new curiosity shop opened its doors, with a new old mirror standing in the back, waiting for its next victim.

Whispers from the Mirror Shaina Tranquilino October 2, 2024

Sara stood in front of the bathroom mirror, the warm steam from her shower fogging the edges of the glass. Her reflection stared back at her, tired eyes and tangled hair. She sighed, reaching for her toothbrush, when something—faint, almost imperceptible—caught her attention.

“Sara…”

The voice was soft, like the barest breath of wind. She froze, her hand gripping the toothbrush. Her eyes flicked to the foggy mirror, heart pounding in her chest. For a moment, all was silent. She shook her head, brushing it off as the remnants of sleep clinging to her mind.

The next morning, the whisper returned.

“Sara…”

This time, it was louder, clearer. She whipped her head toward the mirror, scanning her reflection for any sign of the voice’s source. But it was just her, standing in the dull morning light, staring into her own eyes. She swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry, and hurried out of the bathroom.

Days passed, and each morning, the voice grew stronger. At first, it called her name in that soft, eerie tone, but as the days wore on, it became insistent, demanding.

“Sara… Look at me…”

Her mornings were now filled with dread. She began avoiding the mirror altogether, brushing her teeth in a hurry, refusing to meet her reflection. But the voice was always there, louder, more desperate. Even in the middle of the night, she swore she could hear it calling her, muffled but present, pulling her from sleep.

One night, after waking drenched in cold sweat, she made a decision. She had to know what it was. She had to face it.

The next morning, she stood before the mirror, hands trembling, her reflection distorted by her fear. The voice was loud now, deafening, an urgent, hoarse whisper.

“Sara… Look at me. Please…”

She slowly raised her eyes, staring into her own reflection. But as she looked, something strange began to happen. Her reflection didn’t move in sync with her. It stood still, staring at her with a cold, dead-eyed gaze, while Sara’s breath hitched in her throat.

“Who are you?” Sara asked, her voice shaking.

The reflection’s lips curled into a sinister smile. It wasn’t her anymore. It was something else, something wrong. The face in the mirror was twisted, eyes dark and hollow, mouth stretching unnaturally wide as it spoke.

“I’ve been waiting,” it hissed. “So long, waiting for you to let me in…”

Sara stepped back, her chest tight with panic. Her reflection followed, not in motion, but as if it glided toward her. The air in the bathroom grew colder, thick with a suffocating presence.

“What do you want?” Sara whispered, her back pressing against the door.

The figure in the mirror tilted its head, its grin widening.

“You,” it said, voice dripping with malice. “I want you.”

Without warning, the bathroom lights flickered, and the mirror began to ripple, the surface warping as if the glass were made of liquid. The reflection's hands, once flat against the mirror, began to push through, stretching into Sara's world. The pale fingers reached for her, grasping the air, clawing for her skin.

Sara screamed, stumbling backward, but the hands were faster. Cold, clammy fingers latched onto her wrists, pulling her toward the mirror with an unnatural strength. She fought, thrashing and kicking, but the mirror seemed to drag her closer, its surface swallowing her inch by inch.

As her reflection’s face loomed closer, its empty eyes locked onto hers, Sara’s breath hitched. The last thing she heard before the darkness consumed her was its final whisper.

"Now, you belong to me."

The mirror fell silent. The bathroom returned to its usual stillness, the air warm once more.

A day later, Sara’s friend, Emily, knocked on her apartment door. When no one answered, she let herself in. Everything looked normal, except for the bathroom. The door was ajar, the mirror perfectly clean, gleaming in the dim light. Emily stepped closer, calling Sara’s name.

When she looked into the mirror, there was no reflection.

But a faint whisper echoed from the glass.

"Emily..."