The antique mirror, found dusty in the attic, was too beautiful to discard. I hung it in my bedroom, and immediately the room felt colder. Late that night, a scratching sound pulled me from sleep. I looked at the mirror. My reflection was looking back, but its eyes were wide with terror, and its mouth was silently screaming a word I couldn't hear. Then, the reflection slowly raised a hand and pointed behind me. I didn't turn around. I spent the rest of the night rigid, staring at the ceiling, waiting for dawn.
Kurt16