Sophie Harper was thirteen and loved exploring old things. She had straight black hair that she always tied back in a ponytail and a notebook where she sketched treasures she found. Sophie lived in a big, creaky house with her parents and her little brother Max, who was eight and afraid of everything loud.

One Saturday, rain tapped the windows. Mom sent Sophie to the attic for holiday decorations. The stairs groaned under her feet. Dust floated in the air like tiny ghosts. Boxes lined the walls, full of forgotten clothes and books.

In the far corner, under a white sheet, stood a tall mirror. Sophie pulled the sheet away. The frame was carved wood, twisted with vines and strange faces peeking out. The glass looked wavy, like pond water.

Sophie stared at her reflection. She waved. Her reflection waved back a second late. She frowned. It frowned too slowly.

“Weird,” she muttered.

She stepped closer. Her reflection smiled, but Sophie wasn’t smiling.

Her heart thumped. She backed up. The reflection stayed smiling.

Sophie ran downstairs. Max played with toy cars on the floor.

“There’s a creepy mirror up there,” she told him.

Max looked up, eyes wide. “Does it eat people?”

“No, dummy. It just acts funny.”

That night, Sophie dreamed of the mirror. She stood in front of it, but her reflection reached out and touched the glass from inside.

Sunday morning, curiosity won. Sophie dragged Max to the attic. He clutched his stuffed dinosaur tight.

The mirror waited. Sophie stood before it. Her reflection looked normal now. She sighed in relief.

“See? Nothing scary.”

Max peeked. His reflection waved wildly, even though Max stood still.

“Hey!” Max squeaked. “That’s not me!”

The reflection stuck out its tongue. Max did not.

Sophie grabbed Max’s hand. “Let’s go.”

But Max pulled free. “Wait. It’s funny now.”

The reflection copied Max again, but with exaggerated movements, like a clown.

Sophie felt uneasy. “Come on.”

They left, but Sophie couldn’t stop thinking about it.

On Monday at school, Sophie told her best friend Lila. Lila was bold, with short blonde hair and a skateboard always nearby. She loved mysteries.

“A mirror that doesn’t copy right? We have to check it out after school,” Lila said.

Sophie nodded. She couldn’t stay away.

After classes, Lila biked to Sophie’s house. Max tagged along, excited for company.

Up in the attic, dim light filtered through a small window. The mirror gleamed.

Sophie approached first. Her reflection stared back, a perfect match.

“Okay, normal,” she said.

Lila stepped up. Her reflection lagged, then lifted a hand slowly.

Lila waved fast. The reflection waved slow.

“This is cool,” Lila whispered.

Max went last. His reflection danced around, spinning in circles.

“It’s playing!” Max giggled.

But Sophie noticed something strange. The attic behind their reflections looked different. Brighter. Cleaner. No dust.

“Look at the background,” Sophie whispered.

Lila leaned in. “Whoa. It’s like another attic.”

The reflections beckoned, curling their fingers.

Come closer.

Sophie shook her head. “Don’t.”

But Max pressed his palm to the glass. His reflection pressed back.

Cold spread through the attic. The mirror rippled like water.

Max’s hand sank in. Up to his wrist.

“Max!” Sophie yelled.

She grabbed his arm. Lila helped pull.

Max popped free, tumbling backward.

The mirror calmed.

Max stared at his hand. “It felt tingly.”

Lila’s eyes sparkled. “That was awesome. Like a portal.”

Sophie shivered. “Or a trap.”

That evening, their parents called them for dinner. Sophie couldn’t eat much. She kept glancing at the attic door.

That night, Sophie lay awake. Footsteps creaked overhead. Soft. Like someone walking in the attic.

She froze. Her parents were downstairs watching TV.

The footsteps stopped.

Then a voice. Faint.

“Sophie…”

She pulled the covers over her head.

Morning light made it seem silly. But at breakfast, Max complained his dinosaur toy was missing.

“I left it in my room,” he whined.

They searched. No toy.

After school, Lila returned. “We need to investigate more.”

Sophie agreed, reluctantly.

In the attic, the mirror showed their reflections holding things. Sophie’s held her notebook. Lila’s held her skateboard. Max’s held his dinosaur.

But none of them had brought those items.

The reflections offered the objects through the glass.

Max reached again.

“No!” Sophie slapped his hand away.

The reflections frowned. Then they stepped closer inside the mirror.

Sophie’s reflection spoke. Its mouth moved without sound at first. Then muffled words formed.

“Come play with us.”

Lila backed away. “This is getting real creepy.”

Sophie noticed the carved faces on the frame. They seemed to watch.

“We should cover it,” Sophie said.

They grabbed the sheet. As they draped it over the mirror, the glass fogged.

Hands pressed from inside, pushing outward.

Thump. Thump.

The girls screamed. Max cried.

They ran downstairs.

Mom heard the noise. “What’s wrong?”

“Just… spiders,” Sophie lied.

That night, no one slept well. Creaks echoed. Whispers floated down the stairs.

Sophie decided. Tomorrow, they would tell Dad to remove the mirror.

Morning brought a surprise. Max’s dinosaur sat on his bed.

“It came back!” Max beamed.

Sophie picked it up. It felt cold. And wet. Like fog.

Lila came over again. “Maybe it’s friendly.”

Sophie shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

They went up one last time.

The sheet lay on the floor. The mirror stood bare.

Their reflections waited. Smiling wide. Too wide.

Behind them, the attic looked perfect. Toys scattered. Books open. Inviting.

The reflections spoke together.

“We’ve been lonely. Stay with us.”

The glass softened, rippling.

Sophie felt a pull. Like wind sucking her forward.

Lila grabbed her arm. “Fight it!”

Max clung to Sophie’s leg.

“We’re not coming in,” Sophie said.

The reflections’ smiles dropped. Faces twisted angry.

The mirror cracked. A thin line down the middle.

Hands burst through, grabbing air.

The kids bolted. They slammed the attic door.

Downstairs, they told everything. Their parents listened, skeptical at first.

Dad went up. The mirror hung cracked, the sheet on the floor.

He hauled it out to the garage. Planned to throw it away.

But that night, Sophie checked her room.

On her desk sat her notebook, open to a new page.

A drawing of her, Lila, and Max.

Inside the mirror.

Below it were the words:

WE’LL WAIT.

Sophie slammed the notebook shut.

She never went into the garage alone.

And sometimes, in her bedroom mirror, her reflection waved a tiny bit late.

Just to remind her.

They were still watching.