Laughter from the Mirror

For a while, I went through a "horror period"—I watched horror movies and thrillers every day. Since I lived alone at home that month, no one distracted me. I went to bed around 3 a.m.

One day, I went to bed as usual, turning off the lights in the apartment. Suddenly, in the middle of the night, I was awakened by a strange sound, like someone scratching on a smooth surface. At first, I thought it was the cats, but they were both lying at my feet. I listened, but the sounds stopped.

The next day, I abstained from watching horror movies, but that night, when I went to bed, I still felt uneasy.

Around the same time as the previous night, I was awakened again by a strange sound from the hallway—I was afraid to get up, but I was sure it was coming from the mirror. It sounded like someone's nails slowly scratching tracks across the glass. After a while, everything stopped again.

I didn't go to work that morning, citing feeling unwell. That day, I noticed one of the cats behaving strangely—it sat on the nightstand with a mirror, staring at its reflection. This lasted for about two hours.

There was a mirror in the bathroom, too. Honestly, I'd never been afraid of living alone before, but apparently the horror films had taken a toll on me—even in the shower, I kept peeking out from behind the curtain at the mirror. I had an obsessive feeling that someone was watching me.

I couldn't fall asleep right away that day. I woke up in the middle of the night, but this time to a different sound—like a monotonous voice. At first, I thought it was the neighbors—after all, the sound was good—but after a while, I realized the sound was coming from the hallway. I tried to listen, but everything stopped.

I was really scared. I lay there with my eyes closed, trying to fall asleep. I turned on the light to calm down a bit... just as I was drifting off to sleep, I heard a distant, unpleasant chuckle.

The next morning, I decided to invite a friend over for a sleepover. When I went to the bathroom, I noticed the cat sitting in front of the mirror again. He didn't respond to either my call or my touch—he was staring, mesmerized, at something in the reflection.

I pulled the shower curtain, stood under the spray, and closed my eyes for a second.

And at that very moment, I saw—I don't know how to put it, maybe in my head—a picture: the mirror reflected the empty bathroom and the curtain behind which I was standing, and then a face began to emerge next to the bathtub—I saw the lines form into a rough, terrifying grimace of some creature. It grinned, and I pulled the curtain back with a scream.

 There was no one there, but I was shaking—even if I only imagined it, I felt something in the mirror. I don't remember getting dressed and running out of there, but I remember the eerie feeling of being watched...

Before Mom arrived, I tried not to be alone at home. Even now, when I pass by the mirror, I swear I sometimes hear distant chuckles.

And the cat still sometimes sits for hours on the nightstand, thoughtfully examining something in the mirror's depths.