mirror man

It all started on a rainy Sunday afternoon, the kind where the grey sky seems to seep into your bones. You’d been sorting through the forgotten corners of your home, cleaning out the attic for the first time in years. Among the boxes of old photographs and dusty heirlooms, you found it: an antique mirror, its frame ornate with twisting vines and strange symbols you couldn’t quite place.The glass was cloudy, but when you wiped it clean, you saw yourself staring back—yet something about the reflection felt... off. It wasn’t the dusty film or the age of the glass. No, this was something else, something deeper. For a fleeting moment, you could have sworn your reflection smiled—just a fraction of a second too late.You dismissed it as a trick of the light, brought the mirror downstairs, and hung it in the hallway. But the more you passed by, the more you noticed it: a shiver in the air, a coldness that seemed to emanate from the mirror’s depths.