The Deal (Part 1)
A surprise October story that insisted on being told
Photo by Nastia Petruk on Unsplash
Part 2 is now out! Read it here: The Deal (Part 2)
Mara hadn’t planned to come in.
She’d been walking down the street with a paper bag of mandarins in one hand and coffee in the other, cursing the late October wind as it bit through her coat. When the cold grew sharp enough to sting, she ducked into the nearest shop—an antique shop with peeling gold lettering and a faint glow behind the fogged glass.
A bell chimed when she pushed the door open and entered.
“Hello?” she called.
No reply.
Mara took a sip as she glanced around the shop, grateful for the warmth. She drifted past stacks of teacups and bowls, a row of picture frames holding other strangers’ lives, bookcases filled with old, dusty books.
Then she saw it.
A mirror stood against the back wall. Its narrow silver frame was engraved in a pattern of leaves and small flowers. The glass was clean in a way that felt unnatural for this shop. When she stepped closer, the frame seemed to shimmer a little, as if responding to her nearness.
“It’s older than it looks,” a voice said behind her.
Mara jumped, nearly spilling her coffee.
The old man smiled, hands raised in apology. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“I didn’t hear you,” she said. “I was just looking arou—”
She stopped, her gaze drawn back to the mirror.
“The frame’s hand-worked.”
“It’s beautiful,” she said.
“It is,” he agreed. “It tends to pick its people.”
She frowned. “Pick its people?”
“It seems,” he said, tilting his head, “that it has picked you.”
She turned to her reflection. The glass held her clearly: hair pulled into a loose knot, the dark shadows beneath her eyes from all the sleepless nights after her recent breakup. She looked tired, but not in a way that made her want to look away. It was as if the mirror didn’t judge, didn’t exaggerate her flaws. It simply…held her.
She took a deep breath.
“How much?” she asked.
He told her. It was way less than she expected.
It must have shown on her face because the shopkeeper just laughed.
“It’s been waiting awhile,” he said. “Poor thing had been here for so long, it deserves a new home.”
Strange man, she thought. But she gave him her address anyway.
“I’ll have it delivered tonight,” he said. “My man will hang it for you. Free of charge.”
Mara hesitated. Was she really going to buy a mirror? But then she remembered that feeling, the way it held her without judgement. She’d never felt so comfortable in front of a mirror.
He watched her patiently.
“Sorry,” she said. “I can pay in cash.”
He nodded.
“Thank you for coming today. We appreciate your…” He paused, smiling. “…trust.”
Mara walked back home, his words replaying in her mind. When she reached her apartment, she realized she’d left her coffee behind.
The delivery man arrived just before sunset. He was cheerful, chatty, the kind of man who filled silence with noise.
“This thing was in there for ages,” he said as he adjusted the mirror in her bedroom. “Rumor is…the mirror picks who it wants. If it doesn’t want you, you won’t even see it.”
He chuckled. “I think it’s silly. It's just hard to find anything in that clutter.”
Mara laughed politely.
“Okay, it’s all done.” He turned to leave, then stopped and turned around.
“I almost forgot. I was supposed to give you this.” He handed her a small envelope.
“What’s that?” Mara asked.
“Care instructions,” he said with a wink.
Inside was a simple card with one line:
Don’t make eye contact after midnight
She stared at it for a moment. Then laughed. “Superstitious nonsense.”
“Enjoy your evening, Ma’am,” he stepped out. The apartment door clicked shut behind him.
That night, as she got ready for bed, her reflection’s eyes seemed to track her a fraction too long.
She froze. Stepped closer and lifted her hand.
The reflection matched her movement. Maybe it was just her imagination. She was exhausted.
“Hi,” she said softly, feeling foolish. Her reflection mouthed the word back, perfectly.
She massaged moisturizer on her face, watching herself in the glass. The room behind her looked normal—bed, lamp, nightstand. She thought of the warning card and shook her head.
Who wakes up at midnight to stare at a mirror anyway?
Leo, her cat, padded into the bedroom and froze. His black fur rose along his spine. He hissed, backing away.
“It’s just a mirror,” Mara whispered.
He didn’t move. Just kept staring. She reached to scratch behind his ear, but he slipped away and retreated to the doorway, watching.
Sighing, she placed his bed just outside the bedroom and left the door open.
She slipped beneath the covers. The room was warm, the sheets cool and fresh. Comfortable.
The mirror was just new, she told herself, as she drifted to sleep. Cats didn’t like new things.
That was all.
She woke suddenly without knowing why. The apartment was silent.
Leo let out a low growl.
“Go to sleep,” she whispered.
He didn’t.
A draft moved across her face. She frowned. There was no window open.
She reached for the lamp. The mirror caught the light. For a heartbeat, there was the faintest suggestion of movement.
She scanned the room. Everything seemed normal.
She glanced at her phone.
11:58.
She turned off the light and rolled onto her side.
A minute passed. Then another.
The draft returned, colder this time, smelling faintly of smoke.
Leo hissed.
She opened her eyes and turned on the lamp.
12:03
She turned her head toward the mirror.
Her reflection was already looking.
It smiled.
“Finally,” it said.
The voice didn’t come from the room. It came from the glass, deep and close enough to raise every hair on her body.
Mara’s breath caught in her throat as she scrambled out of bed, almost tripping.
“Thirty years.”
Mara covered her mouth, stifling a scream, her eyes wide in horror.
“I’ve been waiting thirty years for someone to look,” the reflection continued conversationally, like a neighbor in an elevator.
Mara didn’t move. She couldn’t. Her heart hammered so loudly in her chest. Her fingers trembled against her lips.
Its eyes glinted, amused. “People are very good at not seeing what is in front of them. But you…you’re different. I sensed it when you first entered the shop.”
Mara’s throat tightened. “What are you?” she whispered.
“Hungry,” it said with cheerful honesty.
It tilted its head, studying her.
“You’ll do.”
Before she could react, the reflection’s hand brushed the glass and the surface rippled, turning viscous. The liquid bulged outward as if the figure behind it was pushing through a curtain of water.
She stumbled back. “This isn’t real. I must be dreaming.”
The voice came through the liquid—gentle, almost sympathetic.
“If you like,” it said. “Maybe that will be better for you.”
Her limbs grew heavy. She wanted to run, to scream, but her body wouldn’t obey. A wave of drowsiness washed over her.
“Why are you doing this?” she breathed. Cold sweat slid down the back of her neck.
“Because you brought me home,” it said softly. The liquid surface quivered. “Because you were the first in years to meet my eyes. Because you don’t believe in superstition.”
The warning flashed in her mind. Don’t make eye contact after midnight.
Mara gasped, realizing too late.
Before she could respond, the cold, liquid surface surged forward and swallowed her whole.
Leo’s terrified screams were the last thing she heard before darkness took her.
Leo.
When she opened her eyes, she was lying on the floor. The air was cold and smelled faintly of smoke. Her head throbbed as she pushed herself up from the floor.
“Nice place.”
Mara’s eyes darted up.
A woman stood by the bed, smoothing the sheets.
The woman turned, and Mara gasped. She had Mara’s face, smooth, clear-eyed and composed. Her hair hung loose, straight and shiny, unlike Mara’s dull, messy bun.
“I think I’ll keep it,” the woman said.
Her voice was Mara’s.
Mara spun toward the door. Leo wasn’t there.
She looked back. He was on the other side of the glass, staring at her from within the reflection.
Mara turned around in a slow circle, confusion hardening into dread.
The woman kept smiling, watching patiently.
“What’s going on?” Mara asked, her voice unsteady.
She stepped closer to the mirror and pressed her palms to the glass. The barrier didn’t move.
“That’s your new home now.” The woman picked up Mara’s phone, smiling at the little weight of it in her palm. “They didn’t have this in my time.”
She scrolled through Mara's messages, curiosity turning to delight. “So many people,” she murmured. “So many connections.”
“Please,” Mara begged. “Let me out.” A lump rose in her throat. Tears blurred her vision.
The woman turned toward her. For a moment, the two of them just stared across the thickness between the two worlds.
“Sleep,” the woman said, kindly. “You’ll need it.”
Then she moved to the bedroom mirror—the real one—and studied her reflection, Mara’s face. She practiced Mara’s expressions: the slight furrow when concentrating, the way she bit her lower lip when anxious.
“Perfect.”
She glanced back at the mirror—at Mara, trapped inside.
For just a moment, something flickered across the woman’s face. Not triumph or cruelty.
Relief.
“Don’t worry,” she said softly. “In thirty years or so, if you’re lucky, someone else will look. Then it’ll be your turn.”
Mara’s eyes widened as understanding bloomed.
“That’s how it works,” the woman said gently. “I didn’t make the rules.”
She turned off the light and left, closing the door softly behind her.
In the darkness, Mara sat alone. Through the glass, she watched Leo approach the mirror. He jumped on the dresser and pressed his paw against it. He could sense her there but couldn’t reach her.
She placed her palm against his.
The barrier between them was absolute.
Alone in the endless cold, she began to count.
One day. Two days. Three.
Thirty years was a very long time.
But she would wait.
And when someone finally looked...
She would be ready.
Photo by Andrey Zvyagintsev on Unsplash
I'm super excited to share this new series. The Deal wasn't planned. It was one of those stories that arrived and insisted on being told.
Throughout October, I'll be sharing more spooky stories.
If you enjoyed this, I'd love to hear your thoughts in the comments. And if you know someone who loves psychological horror with a twist, share it with them.
Stay close. More strangeness coming.
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Unexpected and spooktacular!
Well, thank you for that, Qibra. Your hauntingly beautiful writing has just caused me to cover every mirror in the house! Kidding. It was awesome, very, very well-done. I think you can call yourself a writer of horror.