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The Glaring Mirror



Estimated reading time — 5 minutes

I’m not one for superstition or believing in the paranormal. But some things can’t be explained. I suppose we resort to the “Supernatural” as a last resort. Well, after what happened to me, I’m still not sure what to believe. I guess I’m in denial, just shrugging it off, assuming it didn’t really happen. Who knows?

It started when I was 12. I was living with my parents in an old manor in England. It was a home for the elderly and owned by my Grandmother. MY parents both worked there full time and I went to the school down the road. It was a quiet town and not much happened there. So naturally I turned to exploring the old house, checking out the attic and cellar, wandering around the corridors.

The old people in the home scared me, I won’t lie. They’d often shriek and scream in the night and for a young boy, it was pretty unnerving. My parents and I lived on the floor below the attic, reserved just for us. They were always so worn out from work that they’d often sleep through the scary wailings of the old women, and the scratching noises on the old wooden ceiling above my bedroom.

I was scared at first, but fear eventually turned to curiousity and I worked up the courage to explore the attic again, searching for this scratching sound. Mum and Dad were down in the kitchens, helping the other staff cook lunch for the residents. I borrowed a chair from my Mum’s dressing table and stood on it, fingers outstretched, reaching for the door to the loft.

With an old creaky groan and a waft of dust and mildew, the door swung downwards and the rusty metal ladder rattled noisily down. I took a deep breath and climbed up.

It was the same as it had always been. The untouched boxes of old resident’s belongings were stacked in uneven rows, looking a bit ominous in the dull grey light from the small window at the far end of the room. It was silent. Then the scratching began.

I turned around, standing solid and my eyes were searching frantically for the source. I could see nothing. I walked back past the ladder and to the darkest end of the attic, the hairs on the back of my neck prickling. I carried on and just walked past more and more boxes, until at the end of the room, leaning against the wall was a pristine mirror. An intriguing thing with an intricate pattern carved into the frame, resting on two legs and it had one of those pegs in the middle so it could flip over. It was as tall as I was when I was ten.

The scratching had stopped, but I walked towards the mirror anyway. I was fascinated. It had some chips around the edges and there was a crack in the top of the oval, but other than that it looked in pretty good condition. I instantly decided that it would live in my room in that house.

Later that same day my Dad carried it down for me, unsure as to why I wanted such an odd thing in my room. I mean, let’s be honest. Old antique mirrors are hardly the things coveted by a ten year old boy. But still, this mirror had a charm about it. It was the same night that it was in my room, that it held my reflection in the light, that the ‘paranormal’ things began to occur.

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I woke up to the scratching noise again. I instantly looked upwards, but it wasn’t coming from the attic. It was the mirror. Perplexed, I flicked on the lights and stared at the mirror. I stared back at myself. But then in the corner of my eye, I saw the face of a man, Chinese, glaring at me from underneath my bed in the reflection of my mirror. I swung my head over the side and saw nothing. There was nobody there. I thought I had just imagined it. But then I looked back at the mirror, and the same man, angry and glaring, his presence malevolent, was staring at me from outside my window. I rubbed my eyes and gaping, started for the window. Of course there was nothing there.

This continued as I grew up. We moved out of that house and down South, into a smaller home for the elderly. Again we lived on the top floor and again, the mirror went with me. It scared the crap out of me, but I was still curious. Who was this man inside the old mirror? Angry. He never spoke or moved, he just glared at me, his head poking out from random spots each time I looked back at him. It was when I reached 17 that I decided I was going to find out more. Who was this man? What was he doing? But nothing came to me.

I asked my Grandmother if he used to be an old man who once lived at the home. He wasn’t. She didn’t even know where the mirror had com from. I did research on the internet and came across a website that warned of spirits in mirrors. I couldn’t help but laugh at that. The site was constantly popping up with reminders and offers of voodoo instruments and stuff. I just ignored these. I didn’t bother asking my parents for advice either. They were still working flat out trying to keep this business going.

It was on my 18th Birthday that the man inside the mirror did something unusual.
He moved whilst I was looking at him. I wwas lying in bed the morning after a night out drinking with friends. I was feeling pretty worse for wear and I was just watching him with an amused expression. His expression however remained angry. His head was peaking out of my wardrobe door. But then my eyes widened as a withered arm reached out. Then the other, and then his legs. This angry Chinese man, was moving in my mirror. He wore nothing but a pair of black shorts. His skin was pale, like he hadn’t seen sunlight in many years and his eyes, seemed angrier than before. I stared wide eyed and shocked. A cruel smirk turned up on his lips as he walked towards the mirror.

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I slowly stood up from my bed and walked towards the mirror. My reflection changed before my eyes. I couldn’t believe it. My reflection became the man inside the mirror. I stood now only a few feet from the mirror, staring. He glared back, his eyes now shining a vicious crimson. The smirk was back and he raised his right hand towards me and I did the same thing without any thought. My fingertips were reaching for his, his for mine. His eyes were widening, his smirk extending. I could see his yellow teeth between his gnarled, cracked lips. We kept eye contact. The split second before my fingertips touched the mirror and the man, my door flew open with a bang and stunned I spun around. It was my Grandmother with a portrait of the Chinese man.

There was a deafening roar of unmistakable anger,the noise was so loud I dropped to my knees and covered my ears, my Grandmother gritting her teeth and still focusing on the mirror. The disturbing sound stopped and I stood up, panting for breath. I looked at my Grandmother who smiled at me before gasping and dropping the old portrait of the man, who even on canvas, looked as angry and terrifying as he did in the mirror. The frame snapped and the canvas flopped face down onto the floor. I turned around, half expecting to see the man standing right in front of me. But I saw only the mirror.

There, scratched into the mirror in sharp, elongated letters was the word ‘SOON’.

Credit To: Kez Mcindoe

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38 thoughts on “The Glaring Mirror”

  1. Ah!! Lmao all I could think about was those funny memes of the cat (usually a cat) or a person glaring at someone and the caption on top that said ‘Soon.’ So I’m pretty sure that was where this story was going.

  2. I liked the story save for one fact that kind of nagged at me for the whole thing. This thought; “Hey! There’s a creepy scratching noise from the attic! It appears to be coming from this mirror! Whenever I look at it, an angry Chinese man glares back at me from a random part of the room! When I look, he isn’t really there! I should keep this mirror forever, because it obviously isn’t haunted as a mofo!”

    By the way, I have the back story for the man in the mirror and an explanation for gran-gran with the painting. The man in the mirror is actually Chairman Mao Zedong of China and when he died his soul was trapped in the mirror. Grandma had a painting of him because she’s secretly a communist and worships Mao Zedong every Thursday night. She burst in the room because coincidentally, in her midnight worship session, she realized who the man in the mirror must be right as her drunken grandchild nearly got his soul sucked out. When she burst in the room with the picture, she scared the tits off of poor Mao, accidentally saving her grandchild’s life. The end.

    1. ..Yes, the story is said to take place in England. In England, the legal drinking age is 18. In America, it’s 21.

  3. UnderwaterAsphyxia

    If you don’t think about it, it’s a fairly good pasta. Could use some salt and possibly a meat ball or two, but if you really look at the close details, the character actions don’t make much sense. I mean, that’s like saying that Dumbledore screamed at a random character in a fanfic and explains that he must have done it because he had a headache like it was obvious in an author’s note three days later. And why take the kid’s soul when he’s 18? Why not when he’s a stupid 10 year old? Good god, man.

  4. Agreed that the story didn’t make sense. It was well written and somewhat creepy, but the events themselves beg too many questions.

    Why keep an obviously haunted mirror in your room, knowing an angry Chinese guy lives in it? That would just be awkward at a minimum, even if he wasn’t planning to steal your soul or whatever.

    Then we have the grandmother. First she says she doesn’t know the angry Chinese mirror man, then at the end of the story she is running around the house, kicking down doors, and flashing pictures of the Chinese man at everyone. The story didn’t even attempt to explain that.

  5. Screw you idiots that gave my comment a low rating. I complimented this shit and I get -2 so fuck yall and this lame ass story

  6. It didn’t make sense, Aya, because the grandmother claimed she didn’t know whose mirror it was, yet somehow she seemed to know that was going to happen, at that exact time. And the portrait was never explained. Why did she have it? And why did she smile and then gasp at the boy?

    Also, no one is that dumb that they’re going to keep a mirror with an aggressively scary man in it, who just peeks out at you, for seven years. Starting at the tender age of 10. Bullshit.

  7. the hash slinging slasher

    i laugh so damn hard every time i read Emanny’s comment XD
    haha just because of that comment im rating this 10/10 that seriously made my day… night… whatevah

  8. It made perfect sense. X3 the Chinese man’s soul was trapped in the mirror. He tried to get the boy to touch the mirror so that the boy’s soul would be trapped instead. The grandmother stopped it from happening when she came in. The Chinese man said he would trap the boys soul in the mirror soon enough. How was that confusing?

      1. I think you’re missing out on the joke. It’s a reference to the phrase “Who is phone”, referring to the horrible, but very well known crappy pasta

  9. Beyond Birthday

    Wow…painfully stupid,very confusing, and hey, half naked angry Chinese man!
    Perfect for Creepypasta!

  10. My father was a bad-tempered Chinese man who died eight years ago. My mom keeps his passport photo and he looks really angry in it…

  11. i’m sorry but as i read this, all i could imagine was “Harro, welcome to Shity Wok, helpa take order prease?” lol

  12. i’m sorry but ALL i could picture was “Harro, welcome to Shity Wok, may i helpa take order prease?” lol

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