Broken Mirror

As soon as I hung the antique mirror on my bedroom wall, I knew something was wrong.

It was an old, ornate mirror that I had purchased at an estate sale, and despite its age and wear, it still radiated an eerie beauty. But as soon as I hung it up, strange things began to happen.

At first, it was just small things. I would catch glimpses of movement in the reflection, but when I turned around, there was nothing there. I would hear whispers coming from the mirror when I was alone in the room. And sometimes, when I would look into the mirror, my own reflection would seem distorted, as if it were melting.

I tried to ignore these strange occurrences, chalking them up to my own overactive imagination. But the longer the mirror hung on my wall, the more sinister the happenings became.

One night, I woke up to the sound of glass shattering. I stumbled out of bed and found the mirror lying on the floor, its glass shattered into thousands of tiny pieces. But when I looked closer, I realized that the glass hadn't been broken from the outside. It had shattered from within.

I should have known then that something was seriously wrong with the mirror. But I couldn't bring myself to get rid of it. There was something about it that held me captive, that drew me in.

Days turned into weeks, and the strange occurrences only grew worse. Sometimes I would see a figure moving behind me in the reflection, but when I turned around, there was no one there. Other times, I would see faces in the mirror that were not my own, twisted and contorted in pain.

I was losing my grip on reality, and the mirror seemed to be the only constant in my life. I would spend hours staring at it, trying to discern the secrets it held within its ancient glass.

One night, I fell asleep with the mirror staring down at me. When I woke up, I found that I was no longer in my bedroom. Instead, I was standing in a dark, empty room, the mirror standing in front of me like a gatekeeper to some unknown realm.

I felt a presence behind me, and when I turned around, I saw a figure standing in the shadows. It was a woman, dressed in a long, flowing gown, her face obscured by a veil. She beckoned me forward with a bony finger, and I felt myself moving toward her against my will.

When I reached her, she lifted the veil, revealing a face that was both beautiful and grotesque. Her eyes were hollow pits, and her lips were stretched into a rictus grin.

"You belong to me now," she said, her voice like rusted metal. "You are mine, forever."

I tried to scream, but no sound came out. I was trapped in this strange world, this place beyond the mirror.

Days turned into weeks, and weeks turned into months. I lost track of time in that dark, twisted realm. The woman would visit me every day, tormenting me with visions of my own past and future. I was no longer myself. I was a puppet, a plaything for the woman's twisted games.

But then, one day, I woke up in my own bed, back in my own world. The mirror was gone, and I was alone. But the memory of that twisted realm stayed with me, haunting me day and night.

I never found out what happened to the mirror. But I knew that I could never go back to that place beyond the glass. The mirror had become a gateway to something beyond our world, something dark and twisted and dangerous.

And I knew that if I ever saw that mirror again, I would run as fast and as far as I could.