Reflection of Us

Juno Pierce’s POV

I didn’t want to leave.

That was the first thing I thought when I heard the news. A move. To some tiny town in Maine. A place where nobody would know my name, where the trees would be taller than the houses, and everyone would probably be whispering behind my back about the new girl from the city. I didn’t even have to pack a suitcase to know it wasn’t going to be good. High school was already hard enough—throw in being a stranger in a place that felt like something out of a horror movie, and you’ve got a perfect storm.

I sat in the back of the car, staring out the window as the road stretched on, endless, just like the weird anxiety gnawing at my chest. I hated being the new girl. I hated that feeling of walking into a room full of strangers, everyone’s eyes on you like you’re some kind of specimen in a zoo.

My mom kept talking—about the “quaint” town, about how good this move would be for the family. She said it like it was some kind of adventure, like I was supposed to be excited. Dad barely said anything. He never did anymore. Maybe because I already knew how he felt about everything, how moving to the middle of nowhere in Maine wasn’t exactly his idea of fun. He’d only agreed because of the promotion at work—the one he’d been waiting for, the one that would make up for the years he’d spent stuck in the same boring job.

I guess when you’re chasing dreams, someone has to pay the price.

The first thing I noticed when we arrived was the silence. I’m not talking about the peaceful kind of silence that feels like a deep breath. This was different. It felt heavy, like the air itself was holding its breath, waiting for something to happen. I don’t even know why I thought that, but the entire town felt... off. It wasn’t like the usual small towns I had imagined. There was no charm here, no cozy cafes or cute boutiques. Just a lot of old houses, a couple of shops that seemed like they’d been closed for years, and trees. Lots and lots of trees.

I dragged my suitcase up the steps of our new house. The place was massive, an old Victorian with peeling paint and windows that looked like they hadn’t been washed in decades. It didn’t exactly scream “home.” I wasn’t sure what it screamed, but it definitely didn’t sound like a warm welcome.

As I entered the house, I immediately felt the weight of it. The walls were dark, the floors creaked beneath my feet, and everything seemed... frozen. It didn’t help that the house smelled faintly of something old—dust and the kind of mustiness you get from places that are never aired out.

“Mom, where’s my room?” I asked, trying to sound like I wasn’t about to burst into tears.

She was busy in the kitchen, unpacking boxes and talking to herself, like she couldn’t decide whether to get started on dinner or organize the pantry. “Upstairs, second door on the right. You can put your things in there and make yourself comfortable.” She didn’t look up from her task.

Comfortable. Right.

I made my way upstairs, stepping carefully over the creaky wooden floors, trying not to think about the fact that I was already in a place that felt less like a home and more like a scene from one of those creepy movies where someone ends up disappearing.

When I opened the door to my room, my breath caught in my throat.

The room wasn’t much different from the rest of the house—antique furniture, old wallpaper, and a giant four-poster bed that looked like it belonged in a museum. But what drew my attention was the mirror.

It stood in the corner, its massive, ornate frame covered in intricate ivy carvings, the glass perfectly smooth, almost too perfect. The moment my eyes met the reflection, a strange chill ran down my spine. I wasn’t sure why, but it felt... wrong. The way my reflection lingered just a bit too long, like it was waiting for something. Like it knew something I didn’t.

I blinked, and for a second, I thought I saw something move behind me, just out of the corner of my eye. I whirled around, but the room was empty, the only sound the soft hum of the old radiator in the corner.

It was just a mirror.

Still, I couldn’t shake the feeling that it was staring at me. I hesitated, my hand hovering near the frame, but something told me not to touch it. It wasn’t like the mirrors I was used to, the ones in department stores or the bathroom at home. This mirror... it felt different.

I shook off the unease and decided to unpack, but every time I glanced back at that mirror, I couldn’t help but feel like it was watching me, waiting.

When I was finally done, I sat on the edge of the bed, my mind still spinning. Moving was hard enough, but this house? This place? I wasn’t sure how I was going to make it through senior year, not with the way things were starting to feel.

I stared at the mirror again, my reflection staring back, the faintest flicker of something in my eyes. I didn’t know what it was, but I felt the pull. The same pull I always felt when I looked into mirrors.

Maybe this year was going to be more than just a change of scenery. Maybe this town, this house, this mirror—maybe they had something to show me. Something I wasn’t ready to see.

I turned away quickly, my heartbeat suddenly loud in my ears.

Tomorrow would be the first day of school. Maybe it would be the beginning of something new, or maybe it would be the start of something I couldn’t undo.

I wasn’t sure which it was yet, but as I lay back on the bed, my eyes still darting nervously to that mirror, I knew one thing for sure: whatever this was, it was only just beginning.

---End of Chapter 1.---