The Mirror in the Lavender Room

The autumn of 2016 was unseasonably warm, and the small town of Millbrook was celebrating its annual Harvest Song Festival. My name is Elena, and I had recently joined a small architectural firm in the neighboring city. To mark the occasion, I invited a handful of colleagues to my grandmother’s old farmhouse, which I had inherited and lovingly restored. The house was a charming but creaky Victorian, painted a faded butter yellow, with a wraparound porch and a garden overrun with lavender. I had never felt anything unsettling about the place, despite its age.

On the evening of the festival, the house was filled with laughter, the scent of spiced cider, and the clatter of dishes. My guests were a mix of familiar faces and newer ones: Carla, a sharp-witted project manager; Miriam, a quiet draftsman; Janice and Tessa, who worked in marketing and were always joking; Marcus, a jovial structural engineer; and Sam, a junior intern who seemed perpetually nervous. I had also invited my ex-boyfriend, Daniel, who happened to be in town for a conference. He had never visited the farmhouse during our time together, and I thought it would be a nice, mature gesture.

We gathered in the large farmhouse kitchen, its old pine table pushed against the wall, laden with dishes of roasted vegetables, crusty bread, and a pumpkin pie. The windows were fogged with warmth, and the string lights I’d hung gave everything a golden glow. Conversation was light, ranging from office gossip to the upcoming design competition. Daniel sat across from me, and at one point, he excused himself to use the restroom. The only bathroom on the main floor was just off the kitchen, down a short, narrow hallway, its door painted a dark green.

A few minutes passed, and Daniel returned. He slid into the chair beside me, his face pale, his eyes avoiding everyone. I assumed he was just overheard something or had a bit too much cider. I leaned in and asked softly, ‘Are you okay?’ He looked at me, his expression blank, and then said, ‘In your restroom, you know.’ I frowned, not understanding. He continued, his voice barely a whisper, ‘Why is there a lady in white facing the wall? I was just washing my hands and I saw her reflection in the mirror. She was just standing there, her back to me, in a long white dress, her hair completely covering her face.’

I felt a chill run down my spine. The restroom was small, with a single mirror above the sink. There was no reason for anyone to be in there. ‘Daniel, there’s no one else here,’ I said, trying to keep my voice steady. ‘You must have seen a reflection from the hallway.’ But he shook his head, his eyes wide. ‘No, she was right there. I felt a cold breeze, and I looked in the mirror, and she was just… there. Then she turned her head, and even though her face was hidden, I knew she was looking at me.’ He shuddered. ‘I ran out.

I tried to laugh it off, but Carla noticed the tension. ‘What’s going on?’ she asked. I didn’t want to alarm everyone, so I said, ‘Daniel just had a bit of a scare in the bathroom. Probably a trick of the light.’ But Daniel insisted, ‘I’m not joking. There is something in there.’

Despite my reassurances, the cheerful mood had been broken. A few of the women looked at each other nervously, and Marcus said, ‘Probably a ghost in the old house, eh?’ He tried to chuckle, but his voice was strained. Sam, who had been quiet, suddenly said, ‘Did you see her eyes?’ Everyone turned to him. ‘What do you mean?’ I asked. Sam’s face was ashen. ‘When I was a kid, my grandmother used to tell me stories about this house. She said that a woman in white appears to people who are about to die. She’s a death omen. But I never believed it until now.’

A cold silence fell over the kitchen. The string lights flickered momentarily, and the house creaked, as if settling. Daniel grabbed my arm. ‘Elena, I think we should leave.’ But before I could respond, Janice pointed toward the hallway. ‘What’s that?’ she said. We all turned to see a faint, ghostly light emanating from the bathroom door, which was now slightly ajar. The light was like moonlight, silvery and cold. Then we heard a sound: a soft, ethereal humming, like a lullaby, but off-key.

I felt a primal fear grip me. This was my house, my grandmother’s house, and I had never experienced anything like this. I walked cautiously toward the bathroom, ignoring the pleas of my friends to stay back. The corridor was narrow, the light growing brighter. I pushed the door open. The bathroom was empty, but the mirror was completely fogged, and on its surface, as if written by a finger, were the words: ‘He saw me. Now he must come.’

I stumbled backward, colliding with Daniel, who had followed me. ‘It’s real,’ he whispered. ‘I’m not crazy.’ Suddenly, the humming grew louder, and the lights in the house went out. We were plunged into darkness, except for that eerie glow from the bathroom. Then we heard a scream from the kitchen. It was Carla. We rushed back to find Carla pointing at the window. ‘There’s a woman in the lavender garden, watching us,’ she said, her teeth chattering. She was standing by the window, her hand trembling.

We all peered out. Among the lavender bushes, there was a figure in a white dress, facing us, her face still obscured by long black hair. She stood perfectly still, and though we couldn’t see her eyes, we felt they were fixed on us. Then, slowly, she raised a hand and beckoned. Not to all of us, but specifically to Daniel. He let out a guttural cry and fell to his knees, clutching his chest. ‘No, no, no,’ he repeated.

I ran to the window and drew the curtains, blocking the sight. ‘Everyone, stay calm,’ I said, my voice shaking. ‘We need to get out of here.’ But as I turned, I saw the bathroom door was now wide open, and the light was gone. The hum had stopped. A heavy stillness settled over the house.

The silence was broken by a low, guttural sound. It came from the hallway, from the bathroom. We slowly made our way to the door, and there, standing in the doorway, was the woman. She was taller than any of us, and her dress was not white but a dull, stained grey. Her hair was matted, and when she lifted her head, we saw that her face was a blank, smooth surface, like a mannequin, with no eyes, no mouth. I screamed, and we all scrambled back.

But the woman didn’t advance. Instead, she pointed a long, bony finger at Daniel, and then turned and walked back into the bathroom, dissolving into the wall. Daniel let out a breath he had been holding. ‘She wants me,’ he said, his voice hollow. ‘She has been waiting for me since I was a child. My grandmother saw her too, before she died. It’s in my blood.’

I looked at my friends, their faces drained of color. ‘We need to leave,’ I said. ‘All of us.’ We grabbed our coats and hurried out the front door, not looking back. As we drove away, I saw in the rearview mirror that the farmhouse was bathed in a soft white glow, and the figure was standing on the porch, still facing us, her featureless face somehow conveying a smile.

None of us ever spoke of that night again. I sold the farmhouse to a developer who razed it and built a shopping center. But sometimes, when I close my eyes, I see the mirror, and the words she left: ‘He saw me. Now he must come.’ And I know that the woman in the lavender room is still waiting, not for Daniel, but for him to fulfill his promise. And I wonder if she will ever come for me, just for having seen her.