There's a Bear in There.

Trigger warning: Supernatural themes. Soft horror.

Part 1: Roadside Treasures

​Leaving Woolies with groceries in hand, Liv took the scenic route home. At the far end of her street—a corner she rarely walked—one of those new flexible blue skips blared out from the nature strip.

​Is it that time of year already? Liv visualized the council clean-up brochure stuck to her fridge, its bold red lettering insisting: July 1st.

​“Early birds,” she murmured wryly.

​She slowed her pace, warily listening for a dog's bark. There was a camouflaged mongrel that usually guarded that boarded-up old Queenslander nearby. It would bolt across the double-block, skid under the barbed-wire fence, and snap furiously at anyone's heels.

​Liv held her breath, waiting for its bark to herald its arrival.

​Nothing.

​That’s unusual, she thought.

​Edgy, she noticed the massive yard had been roughly cleared, leaving a sparse pattern of clumped paspalum grass stubs. She remembered seeing an auction sign on the fence when she was driving to the markets a few Sundays ago. Probably a new owner, she thought—an idea interrupted by the dry, heavy drag of a hose coming from somewhere up the cement driveway.

​Part 2: The Deceased Estate

​A sliver of sharp light caught Liv's eye. There, in the middle of the blue skip bin's junk, lay The Best of the Seekers album. How she managed to spot it was a mystery. She had never been one for rummaging—or scabbing, as the locals more coarsely called it—but divinely tempted, she broke her own rule.

​Yanking a faded milk crate free from the edge of the massive, shoulder-high bin, Liv climbed up and pulled the vinyl record loose. The missing album left a small void, triggering a slow, collapsing compression in the center of the pile. An upside-down wooden chair tilted, a heavy plastic kiddie pool sucked down into the hole, and a rusted budgie cage rolled, flipping another vintage vinyl up to reveal half its cover. Now, it sat wedged between a lounge pillow and an old blender, balancing precariously on the trash.

​The second album was just beyond her fingertips. Liv scrambled onto the shifting load, her knuckles brushing the cardboard surface as her weight started to sink.

​Right then, a kid on a bike rocketed past on the footpath. His mate pulled a wheelie in the street, yelling, "Woohoo!"

​A man in the driveway of the old house paused his pressure washer and walked down to check out the noise.

​Although curbside rubbish was free for the taking, Liv felt embarrassed by her current predicament. It was the done thing to ask. "Do you mind if I take this?" she called out.

​Sheltering his eyes from the glare, the man replied, "Yeah, sure, go for it." Drawing closer, a smirk crossed his face; she was quite a sight, struggling to slide off the pile and back onto the crate. "Looks like you need a hand there."

​Liv plonked heavily onto the ground. The tall man gave a sharp yank on the leg of the wooden chair, shifting the rubbish and freeing the record. Taking off his dented, hole-ridden Akubra—exposing a starkly pale forehead—he expertly snagged the slipping vinyl with the brim.

​"Peter, Paul and Mary, huh," he said, handing it over. "They're ancient!"

​"Yeah, my grandad loved them," Liv replied, tracing the back of the sleeve. "Played them all the time when I was young."

​"I'll be glad when all this crap is gone," he said, shooing a fly away with his hat before rubbing the back of his ear. He looked back toward the house. "Deceased estate. The old woman's kids—bloody clowns, too busy fighting over money. Lazy mongrels didn't even have the time to clean the place out. Their loss, my gain."

​He sized Liv up, changing the subject. "You wouldn't be interested in an old mirror, would you? An antique sort of thing?"

​She pursed her lips. "I don't know..."

​He walked over to a large gum tree behind the bin. "Nothin' wrong with it. Don't have time to sell it, and it'll just smash in the skip and make a hell of a mess."

​Liv looked at the glass; it was filthy.

​"Tell you what, I'll give it a hose down," he said, already walking back up the driveway.

​"I won’t have enough hands to carry it!" Liv called out, tucking the records under her arm and hoisting her grocery bag to emphasize the point.

​When he returned, the mirror was dripping wet but clean. "You live just up the road, right?"

​Looking at the frame, Liv felt a sudden tug in her chest. It was pretty. "Could you leave it outside for me?"

​He nodded.

​"Unit 2, Number 15," she said.

​Part 3: Welcome

​Not long after she got home, a whistle sounded through her screen door. "Got your mirror! Just leaning it up out here."

​"No, wait," Liv called out, heading out to meet him.

​"Name's Greg," he said, introducing himself to break the ice. "I wiped it off, but the heavy wood at the back is still wet," he warned as he stepped away.

​Liv looked at the mirror. Again, it was beautiful—a striking ellipse with etched edges. She tipped it forward; the wooden backing was sodden and had already leaked on the pavers. And that twisted, tangled mess of old hanging wire had a mind of its own.

​"It’s worth something," Liv argued. "You sure you want to just give it to me?"

​Greg shook his head. "Yep. Well, I'll be off."

​The mirror rattled in her arms; the old clasps holding the backing to the glass were loose from the moisture. It required a clumsy, full-body lift that left the front of her T-shirt damp with dirty watermarks.

​At first, she leaned it against an outdoor armchair, but fearing it would topple onto the pavers, she grabbed the old towel she'd used for oil painting. Cushioning the mirror, she propped it against the house brickwork before opening the sliding door to go inside.

​From the far side of the patio, Humpty, the cat, stopped bathing himself. He froze, staring directly into the mirror. He was completely locked onto the glass, the very tip of his tail twitching in the silence.

​Part 4: Red Coats

​That night, her hallway underwent a strange transformation. It was still her house, but the modern carpet had vanished, replaced by rough, coarse wooden floorboards—the kind that threatened splinters. When she reached for her sliding door, her hand met solid timber. Pushing it open knocked an old entry bell, causing it to jingle softly overhead.

​Outside, the brick patio was gone. Instead, a sudden burst of dust tunneled through a three-post veranda. Liv looked over to where she had propped the mirror, only to find it had become a grand archway.

​The sun stood shockingly high, baking the air with the heat of midsummer. Then came the rhythmic clop of hooves as the heavy, metallic grind of massive wooden wagon wheels crushed fresh gravel. Columns of soldiers marched into view, dressed in brilliant, long coats of imperial red.

​The 18 or 1900s? Liv wondered.

​The dirt street was decorated in bunting and lined with a cheering crowd. Men wore top hats and suit tails, while women in wide-brimmed hats wore long, sweeping dresses. Something special is going on, Liv thought.

​A whistle blew in the distance, and a military brass band instantly struck up a loud, echoing rendition of God Save the King. The crowd erupted, waving Union Jack flags into the hot air.

​Part 5: The Unseen Weight

​Liv slept deeply—the kind of heavy, restorative sleep where you wake up completely refreshed, unable to even remember your head hitting the pillow. She yawned, her mind blissfully blank of the previous night’s dream.

​Her slow transition to wakefulness was cut short when Humpty dove at her feet.

​"Ouch!" she yelled, a little annoyed. "How you manage to pin me through the blankets, Mr. Humpty, is beyond me."

​She breezed past the sliding door to feed him, but the heavy atmosphere radiating from the mirror stopped her short. An unseen weight seemed to cloud the room as fragments of that old, eerie house crawled into her thoughts. Boarded windows. A dog's snarling, gnashing teeth. Shadowy gum trees. A corrugated iron water tank dripping loudly on its stand. With each flash, her steps grew heavier, slowing her down. Shaking it off as simple brain fog, she forced herself to get on with the day.

​Finding the right spot for the mirror took some trial and error. First, she tried placing it near the lounge suite. "Nah," she muttered. It looked squashed—crammed between a massive painting of ocean waves and a cane hutch. Moving it near the kitchen didn't work either; the mottled grey marble benches clashed with the mirror's old-world charm, and the sharp leaves of a nearby snake plant jarred against its refined curves.

​Finally, she tried the makeshift dining area near the front door. Her mahogany dining table sat there—a cast-off from her sister-in-law, Josie. Liv raised her eyebrows at the thought of her. That woman was a doozy. Josie had "donated" the table to Liv only when distressed wood fell completely out of fashion. Despite the backhanded charity, Liv actually loved it.

​Hoisting herself onto a dining chair, Liv lifted the mirror above the mahogany table. She gasped; the sheer weight of the solid glass and heavy timber backing caught her off guard. Straining under the load, she carefully stepped down from the chair and lowered the massive frame to the floor, leaning it securely against the wall behind the table. Stepping back, she smiled. It looked good there.

​Nearby on the rug, Humpty had been flipping his toy mouse in the air. Suddenly, he froze. The toy dropped mid-flight, flopping onto the ground, a lifeless piece of felt. The cat's eyes were completely mesmerized, locked onto the deep, rippling, pond-like glass.

​Part 6: Wooden Pegs and Wire

​Tonight, Humpty was on a mission. Head down, body tense, and tail held straight up, he strode along the cold, pressed-earth path by the retaining wall. He never once looked back, towing Liv on an invisible tether as she drifted behind him in a hazy, dreamlike state. Dressed only in her long flannelette nightgown, her bare feet sank into the soft mud, stepping over spongy clumps of dandelions and catching on patches of rough nut-grass.

​When they reached the old Moreton Bay fig tree, the cat bolted free. Liv paused at the massive trunk, her heart stirring as a gentle zephyr rustled the leaves, sending an old tire swing creaking on its tight, knotted rope.

​"Humpty?" she whispered, shaking off the lingering sleepiness as she hurried past a thick hedge of boxwood and purple bougainvillea.

​A gate creaked open ahead, and she stepped into the backyard. Humpty was there, letting out a soft meow as he rubbed against her shin. Scooping him up, Liv gave him a comforting pat—and suddenly squinted against a brilliant morning sun.

​The nighttime fog was gone, vanished except for a single, small puff high in the sky. Bathed in the warm daylight stood a vintage clothesline—two opposing wooden posts with T-bar heads stretching out several rows of threaded wire. Beneath it, a little girl balanced precariously on one leg atop a wooden footstool. She stretched as high as her small arms could reach, trying to pin a singlet onto the wire with old-fashioned, one-piece wooden pegs.

​Nearby, an older woman watched with a sharp, protective eye.

​“Be careful there, child!” her Nana warned.

​Part 7: Caroline’s Warning

​Liv opened her eyes, the image of the vintage clothesline dissolving into the sunlit bedroom curtains.

​"It seemed so real," she yawned. Beside her, Humpty didn’t budge. Completely worn out, he was parked right in the arch of her back as if he’d just finished a grueling double shift and had collapsed on the job, still wearing his work dungarees and boots.

​Glancing across the room, the wall space right above her chest of drawers seemed entirely hollow. The mirror instantly invaded her thoughts, demanding to be placed there. Hanging the massive thing permanently would require a serious, heavy-duty hook—the idea practically screamed in her mind. It belonged there.

​Liv shook her head. "What the fuck?" she muttered. Yet, she couldn't shake the persistent thought: it would look perfect right there. "I need a coffee," she blurted out, breaking the spell.

​On the bed, Humpty finally roused, stretching his paws before jumping down.

​Determined, Liv hoisted the heavy mirror onto the chest of drawers, carefully propping it against the wall. Perfect! Wanting to show off the antique find to her bestie, she quickly straightened her floral doona, plumped the pillows, and snapped a photo. Caroline will be so jealous, she thought.

​It was 7:06 AM. Knowing Caroline would be awake, she fired off the text: Look at my find!

​Her phone buzzed almost immediately. Instead of a compliment, Caroline’s reply read: You can't hang it there. It's right next to your bed, reflecting you while you sleep. It can invite things in!

​Liv rolled her eyes, but before she could even type a reply, another text popped up. Caroline had doubled down: At least cover it, Liv!

​Part 8: Through the Square Window

​Yet, that night, sleep claimed Liv early.

​In the dead of night, the harsh static of an old tube television filled the room. Then came the haunting, familiar strum of a harp. A cheerful female voice echoed through the dark: “Let's look through the windows, children... Which window shall we go through today? The round window, the square window, or the arched window?” A beat of silence, then: “It's the square window!”

​Liv's eyes snapped open. A strange compulsion took hold of her. "Superstitious nonsense," she stammered, trying to anchor herself to reality as she lunged toward the wall and yanked the curtains apart.

​Only, her fingers didn't hit fabric. They struck cold, solid glass.

​It wasn't her bedroom window. Instead, the mirror glowed with an elongated, growing light as her bedroom completely dissolved around her. Deep inside the frame, a thick morning mist trundled over the sharp mountain peaks of the Great Dividing Range, blanketing the tall gum trees behind a sweeping view of a stunning rose garden. In its center, a paved stone path led to a two-tiered birdbath with carved doves at its apex.

​A sudden, cold tension crept into Liv's muscles as a silver-haired woman appeared in the reflection. Wearing canvas garden gloves, she bent over to weed the soil, then paused.

​She looked up, caught Liv's eyes, and simply smiled.

​Part 9: Before the After

​"So, you went for a walk through the looking glass, Alice?" Caroline teased, whipping a piece of black fabric onto the kitchen bench with a dramatic flourish. "I think I deserve a cup of tea for this. And a scone, if you've got one."

​Moments later, sipping her tea, Caroline locked eyes with Liv. "So. You did see a ghost?"

​"It's just the ideas you put into my head, Carry, that's all!" Liv deflected, her gaze drifting down to the skewed, crooked rectangle of black cloth on the counter.

​"I tried to warn you!" Caroline retorted.

​Liv grunted, pulling at a wildly puckered corner of the material.

​Caroline tilted her head, squinting one eye at it. "Yeah, you're right. It looks like a dog's ear."

​Liv ran her thumbnail over the warped, buckled hem, trying in vain to flatten it out.

​"It’s real tricky to sew!" Caroline bumped her hip against the bench to get Liv's attention, reminding her, "It’s the thought that counts."

​They both broke into laughter, leaning in for a quick, affectionate hug.

​Snatching the black cloth back up, Caroline marched toward the bedroom. "Come on. We've got time. It's not nightfall yet."

​Liv followed close behind. Helping, she tilted the heavy mirror forward while Caroline hastily draped the fabric over the glass, and Liv let the frame settle back against the wall with a muffled thud.

​Caroline stepped back and eyeballed Liv, exhaling a heavy breath. She ordered, "Leave it covered. All night long."

​Part 10: The Midnight Intruders

​In the dead of night, Humpty was jolted awake.

​A massive huntsman spider was darting across the wall, its thick legs expanding and compressing as it scurried to flatten and hide behind the mirror. With a calculated spring, the cat launched himself after it.

​Shattering the midnight silence, Humpty skidded wildly across the chest of drawers. His paws swiped the air, scattering perfume bottles with a sharp clink and sending a wire basket of hair scrunchies and scarves flying to the floor. Desperate for traction, his claws hooked deep into the black cloth.

​The mirror snapped violently against the wall. With a sharp hiss, Humpty tumbled backward, his body weight dragging the fabric entirely off the glass, he thumped on the floor.

​Liv stirred slightly in her sleep, murmuring something unintelligible. But she didn't wake. She simply rolled over, turning away from the wall to face the open mirror.

​Left bare in the darkness, the surface of the glass began to ripple. The reflection of the dim bedroom dissolved, replaced by a slow, hypnotic swirl of silver mist.

​Then, breaking the boundary between worlds, a pale, luminous hand pushed out from the center of the glass. The skin glowed with its own faint, ghostly light.

​As Liv let out a soft sigh in her sleep, the fingers gently extended, holding a long-stemmed white rose out into the open air of the bedroom.