The house bore 300 years of family history in its hard stone walls, and while Miranda’s time here had always been joyful, she couldn’t help but feel that there was something caught here, something beyond the surface of the walls.

The large plate glass mirrors in the parlor and the upstairs hallway in particular had always frightened her, not so much for what they might reflect, but for the feeling she had that any image she saw in them might be less reflection of this world and more a glimpse into whatever world lay beyond the silvery gleam of the glass. Her father assured her that nothing of the sort could be true, of course, but the pricking of her skin when she passed by them told her otherwise.

Still, she wanted to walk through the rooms one more time before turning over the keys to the new owners in the morning and so she moved slowly through the rooms in the deepening twilight, saying goodbye to each one and the memories within, taking care not to look in the mirrors – just in case. As she returned to the parlor, the beating of wings startled her for a moment before she talked herself back from the edge of terror with the shaky reassurance it was simply a wayward pigeon or crow who had found his way in through an open window.

The last copper flames of sunset crept through the bare parlor windows and into the room, illuminating the mirror as Miranda’s scream shattered both silence and glass.


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Lisa A. Listwa is a self-employed writer with experience in education, publishing, and the martial arts. Believing there was more to life than punching someone else’s time clock and inspired by the words of Henry David Thoreau, she traded her life as a high school educator for a life as a writer and hasn’t looked back. She is mother to one glorious handful of a daughter, wife to the nicest guy on the planet, and reluctant but devoted owner of three Rotten Cats. You can find her adventures and thoughts on living life deliberately here on the blog.

22 thoughts on “Shattered

  1. surely in a dead heat tie with closet doors for the scariest of features* in a house. I mean, how can it (a mirror, large or small) not have power locked within the horrifically pressed space between glass and silver(ing).

    * rooms, of course, have their own equally but separately category.

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