I Tried a 30-Day Digital Detox—But Something Was Watching Me Offline

I Thought My Brain Needed a Break

The internet was burning me out.

TikTok loops. Doom scrolling. Emails at midnight.

So, I committed: 30 days offline. No phone. No laptop. No smart anything.

I rented a small off-grid cabin two hours outside the city, where there was no signal, no distractions, and supposedly… peace.

The first three days were pure bliss.

I was journaling. Reading. Cooking without Googling every step. I felt human again.

Until Day 4.

That’s when I noticed the mirror.

It Wasn’t My Reflection

The cabin had one full-length mirror in the bedroom. Nothing unusual. Old, a little dusty.

But when I walked by that morning, I paused.

My reflection didn’t move exactly when I did.

It was subtle — like a two-frame lag in a livestream.

I blamed my eyes. Maybe detoxing made me twitchy.

Until the mirror blinked.

And I didn’t.

No Devices, No Explanation

I had no phone to take a photo. No one to text.

The isolation that once felt freeing now felt like a trap.

At night, I heard movement. Not outside — inside the walls.

A scratching. A soft shuffle. Sometimes even a breath.

I moved the mirror to the closet. Covered it with a towel.

Day 7, I heard it laugh.

Then It Got Inside My Journal

Around Day 10, I noticed something chilling.

My handwritten journal — the one I’d brought to track my progress — had new entries.

Not mine.

The handwriting was crooked. Childlike.

“You’re still watching, but you don’t see me.”

“Soon, you’ll forget which one you are.”

I wanted to leave.

But something told me if I tried, I’d never make it past the trees.

I Broke the Rules

On Day 14, I cracked.

I turned my phone back on. No bars. No signal.

But the screen flickered… and then displayed a single sentence:

“Too late.”

Then it shut off. Permanently.

In the mirror’s reflection — now uncovered and standing in the hall — I saw myself.

But I didn’t feel like me anymore.

I smiled.

Then I realized… I wasn’t the one smiling.

I Left, But Something Followed

I ran. Drove back to the city without looking back.

For days, I avoided all mirrors.

But then… I noticed it again. The lag. The smirk.

My friends say I’ve changed since the detox.

They say I laugh at the wrong times. Stare too long.

One even asked me why I keep referring to myself in the third person.

Funny.

I don’t remember doing that.

But maybe she does.

But the damn mirror—yeah, that one—wasn’t even in the cabin anymore…

Couple weeks after I got back, the scratching started up again. Real subtle, like some little gremlin with a toothpick, poking the drywall from the other side. Honestly, I thought I was just tired. Or losing it.

Then, last night? Everything went sideways.

I get home, toss my bag down, flick the lights on—and BAM. There it is. The mirror. Dead centre on my living room wall, like someone hung it up just to mess with me. Same busted frame. Same spiderweb crack in the corner. Only problem? I live ten stories up, and I never took that thing with me. Never even told a soul about it.

I just stood there. Couldn’t move. My reflection was staring right back, not even a twitch. Like it was waiting for something. Waiting for me.

I blinked, finally, and—nope. Reflection didn’t blink. It just kept staring, locked in.

Then its hand started to rise. Not mine. Its.

That’s when I noped out, backing up with my heart jackhammering against my ribs. Last thing I saw before I hit the lights and got the hell out?

That reflection, man. Grinning at me. And then, clear as day, it whispered:

“Now you’re the one stuck behind the glass.”