Charm Against the Silver Mirror

Charm Against the Silver Mirror

You must never look too long, for fear

The witches may trap you within it, my dear,

For over the land, under the moon's pale gaze,

They’ll snare you in its reflection, lost in a haze.

Trad./Anon.

‘Turn it off. Please, turn it off now. I can’t stand it anymore.’

‘What’s wrong?’ I asked, glancing up from my phone as I continued to drive, the familiar roads stretching endlessly in front of us.

Her voice was trembling now, almost unrecognizable as it cracked with panic. ‘Please, just stop the car.’

I hesitated, feeling the shift in her tone, and immediately slowed down. The night was eerily quiet as we pulled over to the side of the road. Before I could even park, she was already out, slamming the door behind her, leaving me staring after her in confusion.

I followed quickly, catching up just as she stood by the large silver-framed mirror in the hallway, eyes wide with terror. Her reflection was... wrong. There was something off about it.

‘What is it?’ I asked, stepping closer, though I felt a tightness in my chest that only grew as I saw the glass shimmer, almost like it was alive.

She didn’t answer, just shook her head slowly, her lips trembling. Then she reached for a small stone, holding it tight in her palm, her gaze locked on the mirror. I knew what it meant.

‘Did it happen?’ I whispered.

Her only reply was a terrified, ‘Yes.’

And then we heard it: a high-pitched wail, soft but insistent, emanating from the glass. My blood ran cold. Something stirred inside the reflection, something that wasn’t her.

I barely had time to react as the mirror shimmered again, and a figure – cloaked in shadows – began to emerge. The reflection of her was slipping away, being drawn into the silver, as if the glass were swallowing her whole.

God help us all.

The Wooden Doll’s Dance

Dance, little doll, dance,

Move your feet, make your stance,

Eyes so wide, don’t look away,

For when the music stops, you’ll stay.

Trad./Anon.

‘You must keep up. Don’t stop, don’t falter,’ she whispered urgently, her eyes darting from side to side, her grip tightening around the trembling girl’s wrist. The girl had long, wild hair that cascaded like a tangled forest, and her eyes were hollow from lack of sleep. She was only a child, but tonight, she seemed more ancient than any of us.

They arrived at the clearing just as the others began to form a circle, their movements precise, like a well-rehearsed dance. The boy nearest to them greeted them with a wide grin, ‘Sit down here,’ he instructed, patting the space beside him.

The girl, still silent, complied, her hands shaking as they placed a wooden doll in her lap, its glass eyes glinting under the moonlight. As the circle formed, the children began to chant, their voices melding together in a slow, rhythmic song. The girl could feel the weight of their gaze on her as she sat there, watching as the others danced around her.

The chanting grew louder, and so did the rhythm of their steps. Tap, tap, tap, like the ticking of a clock. A few of the children began to circle closer, their voices blending into a single pulse of sound. The girl’s lips moved silently, echoing words from an old song her grandmother had taught her. The air grew thick, dense with something unspoken, something ancient.

And then, just as the song reached its crescendo, she sneezed.

A violent, forceful sneeze that sent ripples through the earth beneath her. The dance faltered. Some of the children froze, eyes wide, terror creeping into their expressions. As the last echoes of the sneeze faded, the ground cracked open, splitting the earth as the girl stood, her doll now clutched tightly in her hands, and walked away from the wreckage of broken bodies left in her wake.

The Wooden Doll’s Dance is heavily inspired by themes from my favorite story The Lottery by Shirley Jackson (1916-1965). Her exploration of tradition, ritual, and the human psyche has deeply influenced my work.