Ghost in the Mirror

March 22, 2025

by Rachael

When I was about six or seven, my family took a trip to visit my uncle and aunt in Ohio. We stayed at my grandmother’s old house, a place filled with creaky wooden floors, old furniture, and a big antique mirror in her bedroom. Since the house had only two guest rooms, my parents, my little brother, and I all slept in my grandma’s room. The bed was huge, and I always slept near the window.

That night, I wasn’t feeling tired, so I just lay there, staring at the ceiling, listening to the distant sound of crickets outside. Eventually, I drifted off to sleep. But sometime in the middle of the night, I woke up.

A voice.

A soft, gentle voice was calling my name. Not my first name—my middle name. Almost no one ever called me by that. It was strange, but what made it even stranger was how calm and soothing the voice sounded, like a lullaby floating in the air.

I sat up, looking around the dark room. My parents and brother were fast asleep. The voice was coming from the other side of the room—near the mirror.

I don’t know why, but I got out of bed and walked toward it, my bare feet making no sound against the cold floor. As I got closer, my heartbeat quickened. The air felt different, heavier somehow.

I stood in front of the mirror, staring into the darkness. Then—she appeared.

A girl, around my age, staring back at me. But she wasn’t a reflection.

She stood there in the mirror, wearing a flowing white dress that shimmered faintly. Her long brown hair framed her pale face, and her eyes—they weren’t frightening, but they weren’t exactly warm either.

I gasped and stumbled backward. My elbow scraped against something sharp, sending a sting through my skin.

I ran back to bed, throwing the blanket over my head. My heart pounded so hard I thought it would wake my parents.

The next morning, I woke up to the smell of breakfast. The fear from last night felt almost like a dream. But when I stretched my arm, a sharp pain shot through my elbow. I pulled back my sleeve—and there it was. A fresh scratch, right where I had scraped against something.

I looked back at the mirror. It stood there, silent and empty. No girl.

I never told anyone. They would’ve said I imagined it.

But I know what I saw.

And sometimes, late at night, when I think back to that whispering voice… I wonder if she’s still waiting.

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