It all started when my dad brought home a big, ancient-looking mirror from a nearby flea market one summer day. The mirror had a very ornate wooden frame and a flawless silvery surface, except for a gaping crack running diagonally across the entire face, revealing brown, wood backing. Besides that defect, the mirror was quite beautiful. However, after my dad hung it up on the living room wall, I noticed my reflection didn’t seem quite right. I was staring myself in the eyes, but it felt like someone else was staring back at me, even though it was my reflection… “Dad, this mirror creeps me out.” I said, turning to him. My dad gave me a weird look. “I think it’s classy, and your mom likes it, so get over it.” I could tell my younger brother, Anthony, was creeped out by the mirror as well, as he couldn’t take his eyes off of it.

That night we were all sitting in the living room watching our favorite family T.V. show when the loud, prolonged sound of breaking glass came from the kitchen. ”What was that?” Anthony asked. My dad cursed as he stumbled from the couch to the kitchen to see what caused the commotion, and I followed suit. One of the cabinet doors were open, swinging back and forth ominously, and on the floor were white shards of our nicer plates. “What the hell!?” My dad was furious as he retrieved a broom and dustpan to clean the mess up. My mom walked in the kitchen at this point. “What happened?!” She asked as she stared at my dad sweeping up the mess. He turned to her. “The dishes fell out of the cabinet and broke, we’ll get new plates tomorrow.” After everything was cleaned up, the four of us went to bed. Anthony had trouble sleeping that night.

We awoke peacefully the following morning, and the day passed without any weird happenings, but that night we were all awakened by a huge CRACK… BOOM!!! A bolt of lightning struck yards from our house, outside Anthony and I’s shared bedroom window. The lights went out, and a steady stream of rain and thunder began.. “Jesse, are you there?” Anthony called through the darkness, obviously scared. “I’m here bro.” I could hear the pounding of my mom or dad’s feet in the hallway outside the bedroom door. “You two alright?” Dad asked as he opened the door, illuminating the room with the flashlight he had in hand. “Yeah we’re fine.” I answered. Dad handed Anthony a tiny, spare LED flashlight and told us both goodnight. We slept well for the rest of the night. The next morning was sunny, clear, and rather nice. When we asked our neighbors if their power went out during the storm, they replied with something like “What storm?” and gave us a confused look. My mom decided our neighbors were all deep sleepers, and didn’t notice the storm. But only our yard was speckled with tiny rain puddles… That day, while Anthony and I were at home alone playing a video game together while Mom and Dad worked, I heard a feminine voice distinctly, but very softly, call “Anthony?” For a moment I dismissed it as a noise from the video game, but I saw Anthony look around with a puzzled look on his face as he paused our game. “Did you hear that?” He asked, seeing my questioning expression. “Yeah, that was weird, it sounded like someone calling your name. Is mom home? Did you see her come in?” We both looked all around the house, but there was no sign of mom, or anyone at all. We uneasily continued our video game, and were relieved when our parents got home. When we went to bed Anthony and I both had forgotten about the odd incident. That night was unusually calm.

The next day was nice, though, and our parents took Anthony and I out to the local drive-in theater. We got home at about 1 am, and we all immediately went to our rooms and fell asleep. THUD THUD THUD. Mom or dad was knocking on the bedroom door. I got up and opened it, but no one was there. Where did that noise come from? THUD THUD THUD. Was someone knocking on the window? I turned around and looked out the bedroom window to see a human figure pressed up against the glass, motionless, right over Anthony’s bed. I froze, terrified. I couldn’t tell for sure, as it was completely dark outside besides the soft moonlight, but there seemed to be a blood-soaked, cloth bag over the dark figures head. I screamed. My dad came rushing into the room seconds after, with a pistol he kept on his nightstand for protection in his hand. “DAD!!!” I began shrieking, but my voice cracked. “Somebody’s at our window!” Was all I managed to squeak out. He followed my unblinking stare to meet nothingness, the figure had disappeared. “Wake Anthony up and get in that corner, son! No one screws with my children!” Dad stood in the center of our room, pistol trained on the doorway. Anthony was already awake because of our shouting, but he was oblivious to what was happening. “Cover your eyes!” I said to Anthony as I grabbed him up and sat him in the corner with me. I heard footsteps coming down the hallway, fast. I could see my dad tensing up, but his aim didn’t waver from the doorway. He flicked the bedroom light on and almost squeezed the trigger at the sight of my mother standing in the doorway. He lowered the gun. “Honey! Oh god I almost shot you!” My mom looked terrified, and was lightly sobbing as she embraced my dad. The entire rest of the night consisted of a call to 911, my dad and an officer searching the house and our yard for a couple of hours, and Anthony, mom, and I sitting in the living room, wide-eyed as I was questioned by the officer. When I described the figure, I was sure to leave out the part that he had a blood-soaked bag on his head to avoid being persecuted as a child with an overactive imagination. By dawn the officer had left to visit the police station and file the incident. My dad plopped onto the living room couch and fell asleep, exasperated. The rest of us went to our bedrooms and followed suit. I woke up around noon to the smell of breakfast. I woke Anthony up and we walked to the kitchen, both feeling very odd and removed. My mom and dad were at the table eating breakfast and smiling half-heartedly as they conversed, and beckoned Anthony and I to sit with them when we walked in. We both had big plates of eggs, biscuits, and bacon waiting for us. After Anthony and I scarfed our food down, mom looked at me meaningfully. “I know last night was terrifying for all of us, but I want you to know this morning your dad and I have taken the precaution of buying locks for all of the windows, and a home security system. So, even if someone does manage to break in, we’ll know. There’s no reason to feel unsafe in this house.” I looked down at my empty plate, thinking. “No one can ever get into our bedroom?” Anthony asked. “Not without the new alarms raising hell.” My dad answered through a mouthful of food.

While my brother did, I didn’t take much solace in our new security. I stayed up this first night, waiting for dawn and staring at our now curtained bedroom window. The next night I slept uneasily. The third night I was to tired to care, and fell asleep. I was having a terrible nightmares about a killer with a bloody bag over his head strangling me, but it was interrupted when I awoke to the distinct sound of footsteps across the bedroom floor. I hopped out of bed and checked the time, it was 3:00 am. “Bro?” I called through the darkness. “What’s the matter, do you need a glass of water or something?” I listened for a second, but there was no answer. When I turned to my bed to lay back down, my heart nearly exploded. The dark figure with the blood-soaked bag over his head was standing mere inches from me. I was petrified, unable to move or speak. My eyes darted to Anthony’s bed, which was empty. “What’d you do to my brother?” I finally managed to croak. The figure slowly leaned in towards me. “I’m fine, the man in the mirror said he wanted you!” Anthony’s voice answered from beneath the bloody bag as he buried a knife into my chest.