'Reflection'
A young man was investigating the high street of the neighbourhood into which he'd recently moved. He found the usual: Bookshops, gadget store, cafes, the likes of an ordinary high street.
But after some browsing, he turned a corner, and came to a separate part of the street.
Cemented between two buildings and more like an alley than a street, it was eerily quiet, in comparison with the bustling outside.
There was only one shop here, an art shop, that looked as though it had been there since the 1800s at least. The name was indistinguishable through a tangle of cobwebs and vines, though oddly, a fire had been lit in side.
It was clearly still used, and, a feeling of unease in the pit of his stomach, he walked forward, and opened the door.
The soft tingle of a bell over the door announced him to whoever owned the shop, though there was no one inside, except for a large collection of paintings lining the walls, all supporting rather stern looking people.
Perhaps it was simply the flickering light of the fire, but did those eyes follow him, as he crossed the threshold, and wrang a small bell left on the counter.
No one replied, and as he was considering leaving, a door opened a glance, revealing a thin strip of dark against the faint blue walls.
Dread washing over him, the man stepped around the counter, and pushed the door open.
There was no immediate sign of who had opened it. Perhaps a draft had caught it? He couldn't see how, for it had been shut on a proper, lever activated handle, but that thought was far preferable to the prospect of whatever else it could have been.
Maybe the old owners had decided that these paintings weren't fit for human eyes, and the man had to agree with them. They showed the same people as were in the main shop, but this time they were grotesquely bent into doing hideous things to themselves.
Not sure why he was doing it, he walked forward, the scenes worsening. A pretty young girl whom he hadn't seen in the main building was being raped by a half human THING. A woeful father was chopping up his child, while one unfortunate individual was raking his eyes out with a cactus.
Finally, the corridor ended, revealing one last picture on what appeared to be the far door. Unlike the others, however, the figure depicted here was wearing modern clothing. A pale-faced young man, who upon closer inspection, was being tailed by a dark, almost incomprehensible figure. But the glinting, long, thin object it was holding couldn't be anything but doom for the poor subject of the portrait.
As his eyes skimmed the frame, taking in its peculiar glint, the eyes of the man in the portrait followed.
Then he realised, that this wasn't a portrait...
It was a mirror.