When My Mirror Blinked First:

 

When My Mirror Blinked First:                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                  Victoria and David didn’t expect trouble when they bought the mirror.

It was a spontaneous find—buried behind a stack of faded lamps in a quiet antique shop that smelled like lemon polish and secrets. The mirror looked regal and fragile, etched with curling vines around its vintage frame. The shopkeeper simply said, “It’s finally ready for someone strong enough.”

They took it home. Hung it on the hallway wall across from the bathroom. It fit too perfectly—as if the house had been waiting for it. They said a prayer. Smiled. Moved on.

Until things started blinking.

The first time, Victoria passed by and thought she saw her reflection blink before she did. She turned back. Stared. Blinked again. This time the mirror didn’t follow. She blamed her imagination.

David laughed when she told him. “You’re sleep-deprived,” he joked. But the next morning, he walked past it and saw his own reflection… breathing slower than he was. He didn't say a word.

Later that week, Victoria spotted fingerprints on the glass. Long. Pale. Not theirs. They were too high up. She wiped them away. The prints returned the next day.

The hallway chilled. The lights above the mirror flickered whenever someone passed. One evening, as Victoria brushed her hair in the bathroom, she saw her reflection glance sideways—while she stared straight ahead.

That night, she placed her Bible beside the mirror. David anointed the hallway with oil. They prayed together. Gospel music hummed through the space. The mirror didn't flinch.

They moved it to the living room. Sounds followed.

At midnight, the smart speaker turned on and whispered a line from Ezekiel—in reverse. One morning the microwave glowed “00:00” despite never being used. The ceiling creaked with footsteps they couldn’t explain.

Then came the dreams.

Victoria saw herself trapped inside the glass, mouth moving silently like a muted scream. David saw shadows crawling across the walls and into the mirror. He woke up gasping, unable to speak for five minutes.

They decided to get rid of it.

But the mirror refused.

Every time they tried to move it, something pushed back. Lights went out. Doors slammed. Electronics glitched. And once, David’s Bible app froze with the words, “Not yet.” Just that.

So they did the only thing left—they prayed harder.

Victoria began fasting. David taped Psalm 91 above every doorframe. They covered the mirror at night and blasted praise music till dawn. Their voices rose above the static.

But the mirror reacted.

One evening during worship, the cloth fluttered off on its own. Their reflections stared. Smiling. But wrong. Victoria shouted “Jesus!” and the lamp beside the mirror exploded.

They reached out to their pastor. He listened quietly and said only one thing: “Reclaim it.”

Not discard. Not destroy. Reclaim.

Victoria stood before the mirror. Anointed her hands. Prayed. For forty full minutes she declared every promise of scripture. David stood behind her, speaking blessings. The mirror shimmered. The reflections aligned.

And then—peace.

The glass cleared. The reflections moved in sync. No smirking. No delay. Just stillness.

The hallway warmed. The mirror felt ordinary again.

But they kept the cloth. Just in case.

Because every now and then, around 3:17 in the morning, the microwave flashes “Hello.”

David always mutters, “Not tonight.” Victoria lays her Bible on the table and says, “Still burning.”

Because mirrors aren’t just glass. Sometimes they’re doors. And sometimes the first one to blink… isn’t you.