The rain drummed relentlessly against the windows of the old Victorian house, each droplet merging with the shadows that danced within the dimly lit room. Clara Kinsley had inherited the estate from her late grandmother, an eccentric woman who was rumoured to have dabbled in the occult. Clara had always been drawn to the macabre stories of her childhood—stories about the strange occurrences that enveloped the house like a fog creeping through the moors. Yet, standing in the drawing room now, with its peeling wallpaper and dusty chandeliers, she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was amiss.
She wrapped her cardigan tighter around her shoulders, glancing towards the tall mirror that occupied the room’s far wall. The ornate frame was gilded and intricate, but the glass itself seemed to ripple under the muted lightning outside, creating an unsettling effect. Perhaps it was merely a trick of the light, she thought, but unease curled around the edges of her mind like fog.
Clara had decided to stay a week to sort through her grandmother’s belongings and prepare the house for sale. Memories flooded her brain: summer visits filled with warmth, laughter, and ghostly tales spun over cups of tea. As a child, she had relished in the stories, each one more embellished than the last. As an adult, the reality of the estate felt heavy, laden with too many secrets and too much history.
She fought the urge to cover the mirror with a cloth, opting instead to distract herself with her grandmother’s old trunk, a battered thing brimming with relics of another era. As she rifled through photographs, trinkets, and letters, a chilling breeze seeped through the cracks of the windowpanes. It felt unnatural, laden with memories that pierced her skin. She shivered, her breath hitching at an unseen presence, a reminder that she was not alone.
Later that evening, Clara prepared for bed, the swirling wind outside a constant companion. Wrapped in her duvet, she stared at the ceiling, feeling the weight of silence around her. Just as sleep threatened to claim her, a sound echoed through the hall—a soft whisper, almost childlike. It tugged at her curiosity. Was it the wind, or perhaps a loose board?
Swallowing her apprehension, Clara rose, her heart drumming against her ribs like a wild bird fighting its cage. She tiptoed from her room, the wooden floor creaking underfoot. The whispering continued, luring her towards the drawing room where the mirror stood like an ominous sentinel. She hesitated, staring at her reflection, half-amused and half-terrified at how pale she appeared in the dim light. The candle flickered, casting elongated shadows that danced menacingly across the room.
As she stepped closer, a sensation washed over her—an electric tingle that rushed through her limbs. Clara hesitated, transfixed by the glass before her. Then it happened. The surface shuddered, rippling like water, and she caught a glimpse of something—or someone—on the other side. Leaning in, heart pounding, she gasped as she beheld what appeared to be a girl trapped in the mirror’s depths.
The girl had short black hair that framed her face beautifully, her sharp blue eyes filled with fear and a haunting familiarity. Clara’s breath quickened. The girl’s mouth moved silently, forming words that Clara couldn’t decipher. “Help me,” the girl seemed to plead, though no sound escaped the confines of the reflecting glass.
Clara stepped back, her mind racing. Was she dreaming? The stories of her grandmother echoed in her mind—whispers of spirits trapped in mirrors, of fractured souls seeking freedom. Could this be true? Clara rubbed her eyes, and when she opened them again, the girl was gone, leaving only the distorted reflection of herself behind.
The incident unsettled her, and sleep proved elusive. Morning light breached the horizon, casting a pale glow through her window. Shaking off the remnants of the night, she resolved to investigate. The girl—who was she? Clara rummaged through her grandmother’s old journals, scouring pages yellowed with age for any mention of the mysterious figure from the night before.
There, in the margins of a leather-bound book, she found a passage about a young girl who had once visited the house long before Clara’s birth. Her name was Lila, the daughter of a travelling magician who had visited the town. According to the entry, Lila had vanished one fateful evening, her disappearance becoming the stuff of local legends. Clara’s heart sank as the realisation dawned—it was Lila’s reflection she had seen.
Days passed, each night bringing Clara closer to the mirror, re-visiting that dark moment, feeling the compelling draw of Lila’s eyes. Clara became obsessed, driven by a desire to understand why the girl lingered trapped within the glass. Each time she caught a glimpse of Lila, the turmoil of the past rocked Clara’s sanity; she could almost hear the faint echoes of despair resonating within the house, a chorus of voices only she could hear.
One night, she stood before the mirror, determined to reach out to Lila. “You’re not alone,” she whispered, her fingers grazing the glass. As her touch met the surface, a surge of energy coursed through her, a jolt unlike anything she’d ever experienced. In an instant, the room darkened, and Clara’s vision blurred. She fell to her knees, aware of an overwhelming force tugging at her consciousness.
Clara awoke in a symmetrical room that mirrored her reality yet felt disturbingly foreign. The air was thick with a sense of dread, and she instinctively understood she had crossed a threshold—the mirror realm. Across the room stood Lila, her form now clearer, a heartbreaking wistfulness in her gaze.
“Why did you come here?” Lila asked, her voice echoing in the vastness, tinged with a melancholy that felt palpable.
“I want to help you,” Clara replied, her heart aching for the girl. “What happened to you?”
Lila’s face twisted with pain. “I was running from something dark—a curse,” she said, her eyes glistening. “It trapped me here, and now it wants you too.”
Before Clara could respond, an ominous shadow swept across the floor, swirling like smoke. The temperature dropped, and a figure emerged from it, twisted and grotesque. It was a dark silhouette, a manifestation of terror that seemed to revel in their fear. Clara felt it reach for her, a whisper of cold air clawing at her skin.
Lila screamed, “Run! He feeds on fear! Hold onto your light!”
In that instant, Clara remembered her grandmother’s teachings—the candles, the rituals, the way to light the dark. She closed her eyes and willed light to fill her, imagining a barrier of warmth encircling her. To her astonishment, it worked; golden light burst forth, illuminating the void. The shadow recoiled, hissing in fury as Lila stepped closer, her eyes now blazing with hope.
As the darkness began to dissipate, Clara felt a bond form between them, a shared understanding. “You’re stronger than this!” she urged Lila, feeling the vibrations of strength thrumming through her.
With a monumental effort, Lila nodded, and together they conjured the light, merging their wills, casting the shadow back into the depths from whence it came. With a final, anguished wail, it vanished, and the surrounding realm began to shift.
Suddenly, Clara found herself back in the drawing-room, breathless, heart racing. The mirror shimmered, and Lila’s reflection appeared once more. “Thank you,” she said, her expression serene. “You’ve freed me.”
Clara watched as Lila’s image began to fade, a soft whisper lingering in the air. “Remember, Clara, love binds us together. Do not fear the darkness; embrace the light.”
As the final remnants of Lila evaporated from within the glass, the mirror still before her now felt alive, a gateway sealed. The rain had lessened outside, and Clara felt the warmth returning to her heart. No longer would she view the house through the lens of fear, but as a repository of love and memories.
The tales of her grandmother had been true. Only now, Clara understood their essence. It was not just about the supernatural; it was about connection and the strength found in vulnerability. Clara smiled at her reflection, knowing, despite the murky shadows that lay beyond, she had emerged into the light, determined to honour the bond forged that night through fractured reflections.
