They’re Watching – Look at the Mirror

Festival times and cousins get together. Yeah, that’s the best feeling, right? Everyone’s full from the feast, lights are still flickering outside, and all of us lie under blankets, sharing old horror stories with phones turned off.

That night, I still remember clearly… my cousin Manav, who never spoke much, suddenly said,
“Want to hear a story that didn’t just give me chills but… kind of messed me up for weeks?” We all leaned closer. And what he told us? I swear none of us slept peacefully that night. So fasten your seatbelts for some horror.

There was a guy named Neel who worked in Pune and lived alone in a rented flat. A typical bachelor’s life. But Neel had something strange about him. He had this weird paranoia since childhood. He used to say, “It always feels like someone’s watching me. Not people. Something else.”

Everyone joked about it. Said he watched too many horror films or needed therapy. Even Neel laughed about it. But deep down, he knew… it wasn’t normal.

Things took a turn one winter during Diwali season. It was one of those nights when the noise outside dies down after all the crackers are done, and the city is quiet — almost too quiet.

Neel had come home late after working overtime. He switched off the lights, lay down, and just as his eyes were adjusting to the dark…
That feeling returned. The one that prickles your skin. That heavy silence in the room that feels like someone’s holding their breath behind you.

He turned on the lamp beside his bed, trying to shrug it off. But his eyes kept darting toward the mirror across the room. The dressing mirror. At first, nothing. Just his reflection. Same shirt, same tired face. But then he noticed it.

His reflection was blinking… slower.
And the more he stared, the more he realized — the timing was off. He blinked once. The reflection followed after a delay.

He laughed nervously, “Maybe I’m losing it.” Covered the mirror with a bed sheet, telling himself it was just stress. But that night, he didn’t sleep properly.

Every time he closed his eyes, he saw… eyes. Dozens. Hundreds. Peering at him from the darkness behind his lids.

For the next few days, he avoided mirrors. Brushed his teeth in the kitchen sink and used the front camera of his phone to fix his hair. But it didn’t help. Because now… even in reflections of glass windows and dark screens, he saw something.

Not someone. Something.

He’d catch it just for a second — a silhouette in the corner. Too tall. Too still. Watching. And sometimes… it looked like him.

One night around 2:45 AM, while lying stiff in bed, Neel’s eyes drifted toward his bedroom door — half-lit from the hallway bulb outside. His vision settled on the doorknob. There was something… wrong with it.

He squinted. The hole in the center of the knob — you know, the tiny keyhole — it had something inside it.

A human eye.

Perfectly round, unblinking, staring right at him. At first, Neel thought he was hallucinating. He shut his eyes tight, rubbed them, looked again. The eye was still there. Still fixed on him. Not blinking. Not moving.

Just watching.

For the next six hours, Neel couldn’t sleep. He lay there, eyes wide open, paralyzed. Every time he looked, the eye was there. Watching. Even when the sun rose. When morning came and light filled the room, the eye was gone. The doorknob looked normal. Like nothing had ever been there.

But Neel… wasn’t.

One night, around 3:00 AM, Neel woke up gasping. No nightmares. Just a loud thump from the wardrobe. He opened his eyes. The lamp was off. He didn’t remember turning it off. In the darkness, his heartbeat thudded in his ears. And then he heard it. A whisper. Close. Too close.

“Look at me.”

He froze. Voice dry. Not human. He turned on his phone’s flashlight. The mirror, which he had taped shut earlier that day with newspaper and duct tape, was now completely uncovered.

His reflection was right at the edge of the frame. Smiling. But Neel wasn’t smiling. He backed away and stumbled onto the bed. Called his friend. Told him, “Something’s wrong with the flat. I’m going crazy. I need to get out.”

His friend laughed. Said he was just sleep-deprived and paranoid. Told him to get some sleep and check into a hotel if it gets worse.

That night, Neel didn’t sleep. He sat in the living room, all lights on, staring at the blank TV screen.

And in the reflection, even in that dull glass, he saw his face again. Except this time… the eyes were bleeding.

Two days later, Neel didn’t show up to work. His office called. No answer. The landlord checked the apartment. It was locked from the inside. When the door was finally broken open, everything was untouched—food on the kitchen counter. Clothes folded.

But Neel… gone.

No signs of struggle. No signs of exit.

The only strange thing?

All the mirrors were shattered from the inside.

Manav finished the story and looked around at all of us. The room was dead silent. Then he said, “But here’s the thing… Want to know why I can’t forget this story?”

We nodded.

He pulled out an old phone from his bag. “This was Neel’s phone. He was my college senior. I got it from a friend who was helping clear out his stuff. I kept it. Just out of curiosity.” He showed us the gallery. There were only three photos in it. All clicked on the same night.

The first one was a selfie — Neel with a forced smile.

The second — Neel, looking scared, taken from an odd angle. As if someone else had clicked it.

And the third?

We all leaned in to look. It was blurry. Almost pitch dark. But in the center… a pair of eyes. Bloodshot. Staring straight at the camera.

Too close. Too real.

That night, none of us looked in a mirror.

And till this day, sometimes… when I catch my reflection acting a beat too late…
I wonder if someone else is watching me from the other side. Beware of the mirrors....