When I got hired as the night guard at Frost Hollow Museum, I thought it was just another quiet security job. The kind where the biggest threat is falling asleep on the camera feed or chasing away a stray raccoon.
I couldn’t have been more wrong.
Frost Hollow wasn’t just a museum — it was a monument to forgotten things, a place where art and history felt too alive.
The curator, Mr. Delaney, warned me during my first shift:
“Don’t break the rules. The statues… don’t like being watched for too long.”
He smiled after saying that, but it wasn’t a joke. I thought he was testing me, like all night jobs test their rookies. But by 3 A.M., I realized the rules weren’t made by humans — they were survival instructions.
The Rules of Frost Hollow
When I started, a laminated sheet waited in the breakroom — six typed rules pinned to the wall.
I memorized them out of boredom. Now I wish I’d taken them more seriously.
Rule #1: Start rounds at 10:30 PM. If you hear footsteps behind you, don’t turn around.
Rule #2: If a statue’s eyes follow you, nod politely and keep walking.
Rule #3: If the temperature drops suddenly in the Hall of Relics, check your reflection. If it’s smiling — leave immediately.
Rule #4: Never look directly into the mirror display labeled “Eros Fragment.”
Rule #5: Never clean the glass case in the Ancient Wing after midnight. The reflection isn’t yours.
Rule #6: Before leaving at 5 AM, say “Thank you for the watch.” Someone will whisper, “You’re welcome.” Don’t answer back.
At first, it was funny.
By the second night, I stopped laughing.
First Signs — The Cold Hall
Frost Hollow earned its name honestly. Even in summer, the air inside felt cold enough to see your breath.
On my second shift, I was doing my 10:30 rounds when I noticed something strange — the Greek statue of Nyx, the goddess of night, wasn’t facing the same direction.
Yesterday she had been turned toward the skylight.
Tonight, she was looking straight at me.
I froze, flashlight shaking.
“Probably just the cleaners,” I muttered. But when I checked the cleaning log — no one had been in since morning.
That’s when I remembered Rule #2 — If a statue’s eyes follow you, nod politely and keep walking.
I nodded, whispered a shaky “Evening,” and moved on.
Behind me, something heavy scraped across marble.
The Reflection in the Glass
By the third week, I had adjusted to the strange noises and flickering lights.
That’s when Rule #5 came back to haunt me.
The Ancient Wing had a glass case containing a relic called The Mirror of Frost, rumored to show “what history forgets.” The plaque said it came from a noble’s estate in 1600s Norway — and that the entire household disappeared after its discovery.
At 12:15 AM, I noticed the glass was smudged. I had my cleaning rag in hand before I even realized the time — after midnight.
The moment I wiped the glass, my reflection blinked.
I didn’t.
Then it smiled — wide and wrong, stretching too far across my face. I dropped the cloth and stumbled back. Inside the reflection, the lights behind me were out, though mine were still flickering.
The reflection leaned closer, placing its palm against the other side of the glass.
I ran until my lungs burned. When I came back an hour later, the smudge was gone.
So was the reflection.
The Whispering Statues
It wasn’t just movement anymore — the statues began to whisper.
During my fourth week, the museum’s intercom crackled on, even though it was disconnected.
A soft voice murmured, “Turn around.”
I checked the cameras. Nothing.
Then came the scraping sound — the same marble drag I’d heard near Nyx.
On the monitor, I saw the Egyptian wing statue, Anubis, shift one inch closer to the lens.
The feed flickered. When it returned, Anubis was facing the camera directly.
That was the night I stopped doing full rounds.
But skipping them had consequences.
The next morning, Mr. Delaney called me into his office.
“You missed the Hall of Relics last night,” he said calmly. “You must always greet them. They remember faces.”
I wanted to quit. But the paycheck — and curiosity — kept me there.
The 3 A.M. Footsteps
It was a Thursday night when everything fell apart.
The air grew heavy, like walking through thick fog. I heard the security doors unlock on their own.
Then — footsteps. Slow. Deliberate. Behind me.
Remembering Rule #1, I didn’t turn around.
But the steps grew faster, closer, until they stopped inches away. I could feel breath on my neck — cold, damp air smelling of old stone.
“Don’t turn around,” I whispered to myself.
The footsteps stopped. Then something laughed.
I sprinted to the surveillance room. All twenty screens showed static — except one.
The Ancient Wing.
There, standing before the mirror, was a figure wearing my uniform.
It smiled at the camera — the same too-wide grin I’d seen in the reflection weeks ago.
Frozen in Time
I should’ve left right then.
Instead, I called Delaney, panicked. He answered instantly — as if he’d been waiting.
“Is it 3:12?” he asked.
“Yes,” I said. “How did you—”
“Stay where you are. Do not look into any glass. The museum is shifting.”
The words didn’t make sense until I looked up.
The walls were… moving. Stretching. The hallways curved in impossible directions, the floor shimmering like ice.
And from every corner, statues began to step down from their pedestals.
They didn’t walk like humans — they glided, joints creaking softly.
Their marble eyes glowed faint blue in the dark.
I backed into the security office, locking the door.
On the monitor, I watched the statues form a circle around the Mirror of Frost.
And in its reflection, I wasn’t on camera anymore.
My chair was empty.
The Fifth Rule
Somewhere between panic and exhaustion, I blacked out. When I woke up, the sun was rising.
Everything looked normal again — the statues still, the hall quiet.
Mr. Delaney was waiting by the exit.
“You survived the mirror,” he said simply.
He handed me an envelope. Inside was my week’s pay — and a new laminated sheet.
It only had one line:
Rule #7: If you see your reflection walking away, don’t follow. It belongs here now.
I quit that morning.
But sometimes, when I close my eyes, I still see the Frost Hollow halls — endless marble corridors and silent statues watching from the dark.
And I know that somewhere, inside the glass, my reflection is still doing its rounds.
