Romanian creepypasta: the room in Bran that eats mirrors

So there's this little guesthouse near Bran Castle in Romania. You know, the place tourists call "Dracula's Castle." Everyone comes for the vampire aesthetic and leaves thinking that was the scary part.

It wasn't.

In 2016, a French traveler named Mathieu vanished from this guesthouse. Last message he ever sent his friend:

"There are two of me in the mirror. Both are me. But one of them is smiling."

I read that and in 2022 I booked a room there. Because apparently I have zero survival instincts.

The place looked old but like. charmingly old. Wood floors, candlelight, and room 302. One wall had a full-length mirror. Iron frame. The glass had this faint blue tint to it.

First night I noticed my reflection was lagging. Like. 0.5 seconds behind. Just enough that your brain goes "wait."

Second night I fell asleep in front of the mirror by accident.

When I woke up, my reflection was STANDING. Looking down at me.

I was lying on the floor. It was not.

The mirror didn't look like a mirror anymore. It looked like a door.

I turned away fast and threw a cloth over it. After that I had the same dream every night. Getting dragged through the glass. Fingertips first, then my whole body, and the me on the other side just... sliding into my place.

Third day. I tried to leave. Door was locked. Fog outside. Phone dead.

And then something behind the mirror started whispering.

"You need to come inside. This room was made for you."

The cloth fell off on its own.

My reflection was smiling. Not moving with my hands. Slowly shaking its head side to side.

I tried to smash the mirror. That's the last thing I remember.

Next morning the guesthouse owner woke me up. "You came in late last night, I was worried when you weren't in your room."

I couldn't process that. I never left. I collapsed in front of the mirror and I NEVER LEFT.

I packed my stuff and found something in my bag.

A selfie. Taken in the mirror apparently. A face I don't remember making.

The filename was "new_me.jpg"

I never went back.

But sometimes. sometimes I catch my reflection making an expression I didn't make.

Mirrors aren't just reflections. Maybe they're doors. And maybe something on the other side has been waiting a long time to switch places.