It was late afternoon when Ivy wandered down the narrow hallway that curved behind the east wing of the house. She wasn't sure why she felt drawn there—maybe it was boredom, or maybe it was the way Flora had mentioned that "the pretty rooms" were in this part of Bly.
The wallpaper here was darker, faded blue with curling silver leaves. The windows were taller, but the curtains stayed drawn. Dust clung to the baseboards like it had never been disturbed.
She paused in front of a door left slightly open.
Inside, a soft golden light spilled from the tall windows. The bedroom was smaller than hers, with a strange stillness to it, like no one had been inside for years. Everything felt preserved.
A small vanity sat across from the bed, draped with an embroidered cloth. A cracked mirror hung above it—fractured diagonally across the center like a wound. Something about the shape of the crack made Ivy pause.
She stepped closer.
As she reached the mirror, the air felt colder. She stared at her reflection—then noticed something behind her in the glass.
A figure. Dressed in black. Thin. Still.
Her breath caught.
She turned around sharply. Nothing. The room was empty.
Silence.
Her hands shook slightly as she backed away from the vanity. The cracked mirror still showed her face—but now, just hers.
Was it a trick of the light?
She quickly left the room, closing the door behind her.
—
Later that evening, Ivy sat quietly at the dinner table beside Kate, trying to push the image from her mind. Flora sat across from them, humming to herself as she spooned mashed potatoes onto her plate.
Mrs. Grose served the vegetables with her usual tight-lipped warmth, though her eyes kept flicking toward Miles.
He was unusually quiet.
"Ivy found one of the older rooms today," Kate said suddenly, trying to make conversation. "Down the east wing."
Mrs. Grose froze for a second. "Oh?"
"It had a mirror," Ivy said quietly. "A cracked one."
Mrs. Grose glanced at her, then set down the serving spoon.
"Best stay out of the east wing," she said gently. "Some rooms are best left alone."
Miles looked up now, a faint smile at the corners of his mouth. "You saw the mirror?"
Ivy nodded.
"Did it show you something?" he asked.
His voice was calm. His words too casual.
Ivy hesitated. "No... I mean—no. Just me."
Miles's smile deepened, but he said nothing else.
Kate frowned.
"Why? What's in that room?"
Mrs. Grose answered quickly. "Just memories, Miss Mandell. That's all."
But her voice shook a little.
Flora suddenly giggled. "I saw the lady once."
The table went still.
Kate turned. "What lady, sweetie?"
Flora shrugged innocently. "The one who used to live in that room. She always brushed her hair."
Ivy felt her skin crawl.
Miles glanced at Flora, then back at Ivy, as if silently watching her reaction.
Kate opened her mouth to say something more, but Mrs. Grose cut in. "Flora, that's enough. Don't be silly."
Flora went quiet again, swinging her legs under the table.
They finished dinner mostly in silence.
—
That night, Ivy returned to her room and locked the door for the first time.
But when she lay in bed, the image returned—the woman in the mirror. Her stillness. The crack between them.
She didn't know what scared her more: the ghost she thought she saw...
...or the way Miles smiled when he asked about it.