In the quiet town of Elmsworth, where the autumn leaves fell in slow spirals and the wind whispered secrets through the cracks of old buildings, there was a school known only as "The Hollow Academy." No one knew when it was built, or who had designed its crooked halls and shadowed corridors. The students called it “The Place Where Time Stands Still,” though no one could say why. Every year, on the first day of October, the students would gather in the gymnasium for a tradition that had been passed down for generations. It was said that if you listened closely, you could hear the echoes of past students—murmurs, laughter, and the occasional sob. But the real story wasn’t about the whispers. It was about the mirror in the third-floor bathroom, the one that never reflected the person standing before it. The mirror was located in the farthest corner of the girls’ restroom, behind a door that always seemed to creak open just a little more than it should. No one knew how long it had been there, but every student who entered the bathroom without being watched would find themselves staring into its depths. Some claimed they saw their own reflection, others saw someone else entirely—always a girl with dark hair and eyes like hollow voids. Lena, a new student from out of town, had heard the stories but dismissed them as just another urban legend. She was practical, logical, and had no time for superstitions. That changed on her third week at the academy. She was alone in the bathroom after class, finishing up her homework. The room was dimly lit, the overhead lights flickering occasionally. As she looked into the mirror, she noticed something strange. Her reflection didn’t move at the same time as her. When she raised her hand, the girl in the mirror raised hers slightly later, as if reacting to a delayed signal. Lena blinked, then turned her head. The reflection did not turn with her. She stepped back, heart pounding, and tried to look away, but the mirror seemed to pull her in. Then, suddenly, the reflection smiled. Not a normal smile, but one that stretched too wide, revealing teeth that weren’t quite right. Lena stumbled backward, knocking over a soap dish. The sound echoed loudly in the empty room. She ran out, slamming the door behind her, and told no one what had happened. But the next day, she found a note tucked inside her notebook. It was written in shaky handwriting: *“You saw her. She sees you now.”* Over the following weeks, other students began to experience similar things. A boy named Jake saw his reflection cry without reason. A girl named Mira heard her own voice whispering in the mirror, calling her by a name she had never used. Each time, the mirror seemed to grow darker, as if it were absorbing the fear and confusion of those who stared into it. The teachers dismissed the incidents as pranks or imagination. But the students knew better. They started avoiding the third-floor bathroom altogether, even when they had to use it. Some reported hearing soft voices coming from the mirror late at night, though no one could tell if they were real or just tricks of the mind. One evening, a group of students decided to investigate. They brought flashlights, notebooks, and a small camera they hoped would capture something. They crept up to the third floor, hearts pounding. The hallway was silent, save for the sound of their footsteps against the cold tile. They reached the bathroom and hesitated at the door. The air felt colder here, as if the temperature had dropped ten degrees. One by one, they entered. The mirror stood in its usual place, but now it looked different—its frame was rusted, and the glass seemed to ripple like water. As they approached, the mirror began to show images. Not of the present, but of the past. A girl with long black hair stood in front of it, her face pale and her eyes filled with sorrow. Behind her, shadows moved, shapes that didn’t belong. The students gasped, stepping back, but the mirror didn’t stop. It showed more: a classroom filled with empty desks, a teacher writing on a chalkboard that never erased, and a child sitting alone, watching. Then, the mirror went dark. And from the darkness, a voice whispered: *“You are not the first. You will not be the last.”* The students fled, leaving the camera behind. When they returned to the school the next day, the mirror was gone. The bathroom had been completely renovated, the walls painted, the floor replaced. No one remembered ever seeing the mirror, and the teachers insisted that the room had never been used for anything unusual. But some of the students still felt it. In the silence of the night, they would wake up with the feeling that someone was watching them. And sometimes, when they looked into their mirrors, they would see a faint reflection of a girl with dark hair and hollow eyes, smiling just a little too wide.