The Mirror’s Appetite

In the sweltering summer of 2005, I was fourteen, and my cousin Elena was sixteen. We were bored, restless, and foolishly bold. Our town of Redwood Hollow was a dry, dusty place where nothing ever happened, and we craved something beyond the humdrum of school and chores. Elena had read about witchcraft online, and the idea of tapping into something dark and forbidden was irresistible. We pooled our allowances and drove to the occult shop on the edge of town, a musty place run by a woman with a knowing smile. We bought a leather-bound book titled ‘The Unspoken Rites,’ a bundle of black candles, and a brass chalice. We decided to set up our altar in the abandoned greenhouse behind Elena’s house, a place of broken glass and dead plants. There, we found an old, cracked mirror, leaning against a rusty watering can. It was perfect.

We traced a pentagram on the back of the mirror with chalk, but we were careless and drew it inverted, a sign of chaos and darkness. For weeks, we performed rituals, chanting nonsense from the book, lighting candles, and feeling a heady rush of power. We offered up trinkets and droplets of our own blood, laughing at how ‘edgy’ we were. Little did we know that our amateur dabbling had opened a door. After three months, strange things began to happen.

I started seeing a little girl in the reflection of the greenhouse glass. She was pale, with dark hollow eyes, and she wore a tattered yellow dress. She would stand just behind my shoulder, her reflection warped and wavy. I whirled around, but there was nothing there. Elena confessed she had seen a tall, gaunt man in the mirrors of her house, and a scrawny, mangy dog with red eyes. She saw a small boy too, crouching in the corner of her vision. We tried to shrug it off, telling ourselves it was just our imagination, that old houses have lingering shadows. But the mirror we had used seemed to pulse with a cold energy, and we began to feel watched.

One night, while the moon was hidden behind clouds, we heard a low, guttural hum coming from the greenhouse. We snuck out to investigate. As we approached, we saw that the mirror was glowing from within, a sickly green light seeping through the cracks. The reflection was not our own. It showed a decrepit hallway, with peeling wallpaper and a row of doors. At the end of the hallway, a figure stood motionless. It was the little girl in the yellow dress. She slowly raised her arm and pointed at us, her lips moving soundlessly. Then, she mouthed a word: ‘Come.’

We were paralyzed with terror, but Elena, brave or foolish, stepped forward. As she reached out to touch the mirror’s surface, the glass rippled like water and her hand plunged through. She screamed, pulling back, but her hand was now covered in a black, sticky substance that wouldn’t come off. The hum grew louder, and the lights in the greenhouse flickered. We ran back to the house, slamming the door behind us.

The next morning, Elena was gone. Her bed was empty, the sheets cold. We searched everywhere, but there was no sign of her. Then I remembered her hand. I ran to the greenhouse, my heart pounding. The mirror was still there, still glowing faintly. In the reflection, I saw Elena. She was standing in that same decrepit hallway, her face pressed against the glass, her eyes wide with terror. She was screaming, but I couldn’t hear a sound. The little girl was behind her, smiling, and the man and the boy and the dog were closing in.

I tried to smash the mirror, but it wouldn’t break. It was as hard as steel. I threw rocks, I used a hammer, but nothing worked. The mirror just absorbed the blows, rippling like water. I fell to my knees, sobbing. Then I heard a whisper, dry as old leaves, in my ear: ‘You opened the door. Now, you must feed it.’

I looked at the mirror and saw my own reflection, but it was wrong. My face was gaunt, my eyes hollow. The little girl was perched on my shoulder, her cold hand on my cheek. ‘Feed it,’ she said. ‘Bring me another.’

I stumbled away, horrified. I knew I had to stop the mirror, but I didn’t know how. I went to the town librarian, a woman who collected local legends. She told me about the Green Mirror of Redwood Hollow, a cursed artifact that had been hidden away decades ago. It was said to devour souls, trapping them in a hellish realm. The way to destroy it was to feed it a soul that was pure and willing to sacrifice itself. But I was too afraid to do that.

Weeks passed. I couldn’t sleep, couldn’t eat. I saw the little girl everywhere, in every reflection, in the corner of my eye. She was always laughing, always pointing at me. I knew she wanted me to bring her another victim. I thought about my friends, my family, but I couldn’t do it. I was paralyzed by guilt and fear.

One night, I returned to the greenhouse, determined to free Elena. I carried a can of gasoline and a box of matches. If I couldn’t break the mirror, I’d burn it. As I approached, I saw Elena’s face in the glass, more real than ever. She was crying, and the creatures were behind her, tearing at her clothes. ‘Please,’ she sobbed. ‘Stop it.’

I doused the mirror with gasoline and lit a match. But just as I was about to throw it, the little girl’s face appeared next to Elena’s. ‘Don’t be foolish,’ she said. ‘If you burn me, she dies with me.’ I hesitated, and in that moment, the mirror’s surface rippled and a hand shot out, grabbing my wrist. It was cold, impossibly strong. It pulled me forward, and I felt myself begin to slip into the mirror’s world. I saw the hallway, felt the oppressive darkness, heard the whispers of the lost souls.

I screamed, but no sound came out. The last thing I saw was the little girl’s smile, and then the glass closed over my head.

Now, I am with Elena and the others, trapped in the house of reflections, forever chasing our own ghosts. And I have learned the mirror’s truth: it is not the door to the dead, but a mouth, and we are the morsels it feeds on. Every time someone comes near, it whispers, luring them in, offering them power and secrets. And every time, it devours them. I am writing this message in the dust on the other side of the glass, hoping someone will see it and flee. If you see the greenhouse, if you see the mirror, run. Do not listen to the little girl. Do not let her touch you. And above all, never draw the pentagram upside down, for the mirror is always hungry, and it never forgets a face.