Elias had just moved into a cheap, old Victorian house on the edge of town. He didn't mind the creaky floorboards or the peeling wallpaper, but there was one thing that felt out of place: a massive, silver-framed mirror bolted to the wall in his bedroom.
On the first night, the house was silent. But as Elias drifted off to sleep, he heard a faint sound.
"...help... me..."
He sat up, heart racing. The room was empty. He looked at the mirror. In the dim moonlight, his reflection looked normal, but something felt... off. His reflection's eyes seemed to blink a second later than his own.
The second night, the whisper returned, louder this time.
"He's coming... hide..."
Elias walked up to the mirror, his breath fogging the glass. As he wiped the condensation away, he froze. In the reflection, there was a tall, shadow-like figure standing right behind him. Elias spun around instantly. The room was empty.
He turned back to the mirror, trembling. The shadow figure was still there in the reflection, its long, bony fingers now reaching for Elias's reflected shoulder. Suddenly, the reflection of Elias did something terrifying: it turned its head and looked directly at the real Elias with a face of pure horror, then it screamed.
But the real Elias didn't make a sound.
Before he could run, a cold, physical hand—grey and decaying—reached out from the surface of the glass and grabbed his throat. The last thing Elias saw before being pulled into the cold, dark silver was his own reflection stepping out into his bedroom, wearing his clothes and a wicked, silent grin.