The Reflection in the Gallery Room

The old Grand Majestic Theater hadn’t seen a proper booking in decades. It was a cavernous, gilded relic of a bygone era, its plush velvet seats now faded and moth-eaten, its once-gleaming chandeliers coated in a thick film of dust. The upper levels, rarely used and perpetually under maintenance, housed a warren of forgotten dressing rooms and echoing ballrooms, mostly sealed off from the rest of the building. It was up there, on the fourth floor, that I was sent one sweltering August afternoon.

My task was a superficial one: a quick ‘spruce-up’ before a minor historical society gala was scheduled to utilize the grand ballroom. Normally, maintenance crews worked in tandem, but the supervisor, a perpetually anxious man named Silas, had insisted I go alone. My nerves were already frayed; Silas had a habit of lurking, catching his staff in moments of idleness. I’d been reprimanded recently for resting too long in a vacant suite, and the fear of a repeat performance was a constant hum beneath my skin.

As I moved through the deserted corridors, the oppressive silence amplified every creak of my shoes on the parquet floor, every click of my duster against antique furniture. A persistent, prickling sensation crawled up my spine – the undeniable feeling of being observed. I’d spin around, expecting to see Silas’s disapproving frown, but there was only the empty, stale air and the decaying opulence of the theater. It was a trick of the light, I told myself, a manifestation of my own heightened anxiety.

I entered what the floor plans called the ‘Gallery Room,’ a peculiar space at the far end of the hall. Unlike the other rooms, whose mirrors were discreetly placed beside doorways, this one had a large, ornate cheval mirror positioned directly opposite the entrance, reflecting the entire room, including the hallway beyond. As I began to straighten a disheveled velvet chaise lounge, the feeling intensified, a suffocating pressure that made my breath catch. I glanced towards the mirror, half-expecting to see Silas, but saw only my own reflection, pale and slightly flushed.

Then, something shifted. My reflection didn’t move. It remained unnervingly still, its eyes locked on something just over my shoulder. A slow, cold dread began to seep into my bones. I turned, slowly, my heart hammering against my ribs. Nothing. Just the empty corridor. When I looked back at the mirror, my reflection was smiling. A wide, predatory grin that stretched impossibly far, revealing teeth that were far too sharp, far too numerous. And behind it, a figure began to materialize in the mirrored hallway – a gaunt silhouette with long, grasping fingers, reaching, reaching…