This is the second and final part of "The Glimmer in the Glass." If you haven't read Part 1, you can find it [here](Link to Part 1).
The next morning, the house felt different. Lighter. The oppressive weight was gone. We gathered all the mirrors, even the one that had cracked in Maya's room. Aunt Clara instructed us to wrap them tightly in the black cloths and bury them deep in the earth, far from the house. A permanent severance.
We replaced the mirrors with art, with photographs, with anything that didn't reflect. It was an adjustment. Sarah still occasionally reaches for a mirror that isn't there, a habit of years. Maya, thankfully, seemed to have no memory of the grinning reflection, though she still preferred to play with her dolls rather than look at her own image. Her energy had returned, her laughter bright and unburdened.
Aunt Clara stayed for a few days, teaching us small protections: salt lines under windows, specific herbs to burn, the importance of keeping the house filled with warmth and light and sound. She left us with a final warning: "The Glimmer is always there, in the periphery. It seeks entry. Be vigilant. And never, ever, let your guard down around a mirror that feels... too still."
Life settled into a new normal. The absence of mirrors was a constant, subtle reminder of what we'd faced. I still didn't use showers; baths remained my sanctuary, a place where I could truly relax, knowing no reflective surfaces lay in wait. Sarah and Maya humored me, understanding that it was more than just trauma. They didn't know the full truth of what I saw that night, what we faced together. But they knew enough.
The Glimmer Learns to Adapt
For a few months, a fragile peace held. The house felt safe, a sanctuary from the unseen. But Aunt Clara’s words about the periphery lingered. The Glimmer, she'd said, was like water – block one stream, it finds another. And it wasn't long before it began to test the new boundaries.
It started subtly, outside the house. A fleeting distortion in a shop window as I walked past, my reflection seeming to linger for a fraction of a second after I'd moved on. A shimmering, almost imperceptible ripple on the surface of a puddle, as if something was trying to push through from beneath. I'd dismiss them as tricks of light, or my overactive imagination, but the cold dread would return, a familiar knot in my stomach.
Then came the screens. Our lives, like everyone else's, were filled with them: phones, tablets, the television. We tried to limit Maya's screen time, but it was unavoidable. One afternoon, I found her engrossed in a cartoon on her tablet. Her small face was close to the screen, and as I watched, I saw it – a faint, almost transparent shimmer at the very edge of the display, a ghostly outline that seemed to mimic the cartoon character, but with an unsettling stillness.
"Maya, put the tablet down," I said, my voice sharper than I intended.
She startled, her eyes wide. "But Daddy, the princess is talking to me!"
My blood ran cold. The Glimmer wasn't just in mirrors anymore. It was learning. It was adapting.
The True Protection: Strengthening Our Light
I called Aunt Clara again, my voice trembling. "It's trying through the screens. It spoke to Maya."
Her sigh was heavy. "I feared this. The severance ritual protects the space, Liam, not the spirit. Your family line, those with the 'sensitivity,' they are beacons. The Glimmer will always seek you out. It's drawn to the reflection of a soul, not just a glass surface."
"So, what do we do? Live in a cave? Throw away every device?"
"No," she said. "That's its game. It wants you isolated, afraid. It wants to drain you until you're an empty vessel. The true protection isn't in avoiding every reflection. It's in strengthening your own light. Your connection to each other. Your collective will."
She explained that the ritual had been a powerful expulsion, but maintaining the barrier required more than just physical wards. It required a conscious, daily effort. "When you feel its presence, when you see a flicker, don't look away in fear. Look through it. See it for what it is: a hungry, desperate thing. And assert your presence. Your reality."
It was a daunting task, a lifelong vigilance that went beyond simply avoiding mirrors. It meant teaching Maya, gently, without terrifying her, about the 'silly other self' and why it was important to always be strong and happy, especially when looking at screens or shiny surfaces. It meant Sarah and I having to be more aware, to communicate our anxieties, to face this unseen threat together.
Vigilance in the Light
One day, we were at a shopping mall. Maya, excited, ran ahead and stopped in front of a large, polished display window. I saw it immediately: her reflection, vibrant and laughing, but behind it, a faint, shadowy form, stretching out, its outline indistinct but undeniably present. It was trying to reach for her.
My heart seized. This was it. A public place, no Aunt Clara, no ritual. Just us.
"Maya!" I called out, my voice loud, cutting through the mall's chatter. "Look at me, sweetie! Look at Daddy!"
She turned, her reflection momentarily distorting as she broke eye contact with the glass. The shadowy form behind her reflection seemed to recoil, shrinking back.
Sarah was by my side in an instant, her hand finding mine. She didn't see the shadow, but she saw the terror in my eyes, and she understood. She pulled Maya into a tight hug.
"We are strong, Maya," I said, my voice firm, looking directly at the display window, not at my reflection, but through it. "This is our family. We are together. You have no place here."
The faint shimmer in the glass vanished. The reflection was just a reflection again.
It was a small victory, but a profound one. We couldn't eliminate The Glimmer from the world, but we could make ourselves unappealing to it. We learned to live with the knowledge of its existence, not in constant fear, but with a quiet, determined strength. We filled our lives with connection, with laughter, with light. We were never truly alone, and that was our greatest defense.
I still don't use showers. And I still check every reflective surface, just for a moment, to ensure it’s only my own face staring back. The burden of vigilance is a part of me now, a legacy from my grandmother. But it's also a testament to our resilience. The Glimmer is always there, in the periphery, a silent reminder of the thin veil between worlds. But we are here, in the light, together. And that, I've learned, is the most powerful protection of all.
Did you miss the beginning? Read Part 1 of The Glimmer in the Glass to start the chilling journey.