This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/TheAuthor_Lily_Black on 2025-01-30 21:41:01+00:00.

I moved into the apartment on a Thursday. It wasn’t much—peeling paint on the walls, uneven floors, and a kitchen that looked like it hadn’t been updated since the ‘70s—but it was cheap, and I needed cheap. The landlord handed me the keys with a nod, barely saying a word. He seemed eager to be rid of me, like he didn’t want to stick around.

The first thing I noticed was the smell. It wasn’t overpowering, but it was there. A damp, musty scent, like old wood left out in the rain. I shrugged it off. Old buildings smell like that sometimes.

The apartment was mostly empty, except for a few pieces of worn furniture that looked like they came from a thrift store. In the hallway, there was a mirror. It was tall, maybe six feet, with a thick gold frame that had intricate carvings along the edges. The glass was cloudy, smudged with dust and fingerprints.

I wasn’t sure why, but the mirror made me uneasy. It felt out of place, like it didn’t belong there. I told myself I was just being paranoid. Moving is stressful, and this was my first place on my own. Everything was bound to feel strange at first.

That first night, the apartment was eerily quiet. The kind of quiet that makes you feel like you’re being watched. I couldn’t sleep. Every creak of the floorboards made my skin crawl.

The next morning, I decided to clean. The mirror was the first thing I tackled. I grabbed an old rag and some glass cleaner and started scrubbing. As I wiped away the grime, I caught my reflection staring back at me.

Something about it didn’t feel right. I don’t know how to explain it, but it didn’t look like me. Not exactly. The movements were the same—I waved my hand, and the reflection waved back—but the eyes felt different. Like they were too aware, too focused.

I shook it off and finished cleaning. By the time the mirror was spotless, it looked like any other mirror. Just a piece of glass in a fancy frame.

That night, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I told myself I was imagining things, that I was just spooked from being in a new place. But when I turned off the lights and climbed into bed, I could feel it—the mirror. It was like it was watching me.

I kept waking up. Every time I did, I found myself staring at the doorway where the mirror stood, just out of sight. My heart would race, and I’d have to remind myself to breathe. It’s just a mirror, I thought. Glass and wood. Nothing more.

By the third night, I started noticing things. Little things. A flicker of movement out of the corner of my eye. A shadow that didn’t match anything in the room. I told myself it was the light, the way it bounced off the glass.

But then, late that night, I saw something I couldn’t explain. I was in bed, staring at the ceiling, trying to calm my mind. I glanced toward the hallway and froze.

The reflection wasn’t mine.

It was standing in the mirror, staring into the bedroom. The face was mine, but the expression wasn’t. It was twisted, wrong. The eyes were wide, unblinking. The mouth was curled into a faint, unnatural smile.

I blinked, and it was gone.

I stayed awake until dawn, my back pressed against the headboard, clutching the blanket like it could protect me.

The mirror hasn’t moved, but something tells me it doesn’t need to. Whatever is in there, it’s waiting. Watching.

And I don’t know how much longer I can ignore it.

I didn’t sleep that night. Every creak, every groan of the old apartment sent my heart racing. I kept looking at the hallway, expecting to see that twisted face again. It didn’t show up, but that didn’t make me feel any better.

When the first bit of sunlight crept through the blinds, I finally got up. My legs felt shaky as I made my way to the hallway. The mirror was right where it had been, tall and still, with the morning light glinting off its surface.

For a moment, I just stood there, staring at it. The reflection was normal now—just me, tired and pale, with dark circles under my eyes. I wanted to believe that what I’d seen was a dream, but deep down, I knew it wasn’t.

I grabbed a sheet from the closet and threw it over the mirror. The fabric caught on the edges of the ornate frame, covering it entirely. I stood back, feeling a small sense of relief. If I couldn’t see it, maybe it couldn’t see me either.

That didn’t last long.

The rest of the day, I couldn’t focus on anything. I tried unpacking more boxes, but every time I walked past the hallway, I felt it. The mirror was still there, even hidden under the sheet. I couldn’t explain it, but it was like the air around it was heavier.

By the time night rolled around, I was on edge. I left the lights on, every single one. Even then, I kept glancing toward the hallway.

Around midnight, the sound started.

It was faint at first. A soft tapping, like someone gently knocking on glass. I froze, my heart hammering in my chest. The sound was coming from the hallway—from the mirror.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

I didn’t move. I didn’t breathe.

The tapping grew louder, more insistent. It wasn’t random—it had a rhythm, like someone was trying to get my attention.

I grabbed my phone and turned on the flashlight. My hands were trembling as I crept toward the hallway. The tapping stopped the moment I stepped closer.

The sheet was still in place, draped over the mirror. Nothing had changed, but I knew better.

I wanted to walk away. To go back to my room, lock the door, and pretend none of this was happening. But something compelled me to stay. My hand reached out, almost on its own, and I pulled the sheet down.

The mirror was spotless, the glass smooth and perfect. My reflection stared back at me, but it wasn’t right. It looked normal, but the eyes… they felt too sharp, too alive.

I wanted to step away, but I couldn’t. My reflection leaned forward, even though I wasn’t moving.

“Why are you scared?” it whispered.

The voice wasn’t mine. It was cold, distant, like it was coming from deep inside the mirror.

I stumbled back, almost tripping over my own feet. The reflection didn’t follow me this time—it stayed in the glass, smiling faintly.

“Don’t ignore me,” it said.

The lights in the hallway flickered, and the reflection began to blur. For a split second, I thought I saw something else in the glass—a dark shape, taller than me, with hollow eyes. But then it was gone.

I ran back to my room and slammed the door shut. My breathing was shallow, my hands shaking as I pressed my back against the door.

I didn’t sleep at all that night.

By morning, I decided I couldn’t stay here. I didn’t care about breaking the lease or losing the deposit—I just needed to get out.

But when I tried to leave, the front door wouldn’t budge.

The lock turned easily, and the handle moved, but it was like something was holding the door shut. I pulled harder, throwing my weight into it, but it didn’t make a difference.

Behind me, I heard the tapping again.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

I turned slowly, my stomach twisting into knots. The mirror was still in the hallway, uncovered now, and my reflection was back.

It wasn’t smiling anymore. It looked angry.

“You can’t leave,” it said.

The voice wasn’t a whisper this time. It was loud, filling the apartment.

I backed away, pressing myself against the front door. My reflection stepped closer, even though I hadn’t moved.

“You belong to me now,” it said.

The lights flickered again, and the apartment felt colder. I don’t know how long I stood there, staring at the mirror. But when the lights finally came back on, the reflection was gone.

The mirror was empty.

I tried the door again, and this time it opened. I didn’t think—I just ran. Out of the apartment, down the stairs, into the street.

I haven’t gone back.

But sometimes, when I pass by the building, I can feel it. The mirror is still in there, waiting.

And sometimes, I think it’s watching me.

I didn’t know what to do after that. I’d left the apartment behind, but it didn’t feel like I’d escaped. The first few nights at my friend Taylor’s place were quiet. I slept on her couch, with the TV on for background noise, and told myself everything would be fine.

But it wasn’t fine.

I hadn’t told Taylor much, just that the apartment creeped me out and I needed a place to crash. She didn’t ask questions, which I appreciated. But I couldn’t keep pretending nothing was wrong.

The first sign came three nights later. I woke up in a cold sweat at 3 a.m. The TV was still playing some late-night infomercial, but the sound was muted. I glanced around the room, heart racing, and then I saw it.

My reflection.

There was a large window behind Taylor’s couch, and in the faint glow of the street lights outside, I could see my reflection in the glass. Except it wasn’t just mine.

Something else was there, standing just behind me.

It was the same dark figure I’d seen in the mirror, its hollow eyes staring at me through the glass.

I whipped around, but there was nothing there. My breath came in short, shallow gasps as I stared at the empty room. When I turned back to the window, the figure was gone.

I didn’t sleep for the rest of the night.

The next morning, Taylor noticed the bags under my eyes. “You look like hell,” she said, handing me a cup of coffee. “You sure you’re okay?”

I wanted to tell her everything, but where would I even start? “Yeah,” I mumbled. “Just couldn’t sleep.”

She gave me a look but didn’t push it.

That day, I tried to keep busy. I scrolled through apartment listings, went for a walk, even helped Tayl...

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