Mummelad: The Mirror That Knew Too Much

Elena was having a hard time in Prague for months. Her paintings weren’t selling, and they piled up in her small apartment by the Vltava River. On a rainy Saturday, she went to the Havelská flea market. She avoided puddles and talked to sellers offering old Czech puppets and postcards. She found an old mirror hidden behind some dirty silver items. The frame was gold wood with vine carvings that seemed real. The glass looked foggy and deep. The seller, an old man with a big mustache, named it Mummelad. He said it was from an old house in the Bohemian area, perhaps from the 1800s. Elena paid 500 crowns, thinking it would be good for her self-pictures. She had no idea what was coming.

First Glitch

In her apartment, she put Mummelad on the wall with cracks, across from her painting stand. That night, while brushing her teeth, she looked and stopped. Her image in the mirror smiled big, but she wasn’t smiling. She closed her eyes and rubbed them, thinking it was the light from the storm. But it happened again the next morning with coffee. The mirror surface moved like water, and her image winked. Elena thought it was funny at first, blaming it on being tired from working late on her art. Old buildings in Prague can trick you, like with the air or the bad lights.

Visions Begin

A week passed, and it got worse. Elena was drawing late, city lights shining in her window, when Mummelad got foggy. She wiped it and saw not her face, but a gallery event. Her paintings on the walls, people liking them, glasses of drink clinking. It looked like the Galerie Rudolfinum, a nice place by the river for artists. She got excited and painted it fast, adding every part: the red dress from the vision, light on her main art. Two days later, her agent called—a spot at Rudolfinum next month. Just luck? Maybe. But visions got bad.

One night, thunder over Charles Bridge, the mirror showed Elena in a car accident on the roads to Prague Castle—metal bent, blood on the controls. She painted it with shaky hands, adding fog from the hills. A week later, her taxi slid on wet stones going to a meeting, same as the scene, even the bent light post. That’s when she got hooked. She looked at Mummelad for hours, drawing future things: a lover cheating in a small café on Malá Strana, winning lottery numbers from a booth near Old Town Square. Each painting made her want more; her room was full of art that became real.

Learning About Mummelad

Elena searched at the National Library in Klementinum, looking through old books on strange items. Mummelad was not normal glass—it had a spirit inside, a tricky one from Bohemian stories named Mummelad. An alchemist from the 1700s in Vienna trapped it in mirrors to see the future. The spirit lived on people’s strong wants, changing visions to make bad cycles. Mummelad spoke through the glass, a rough voice telling her to paint more. “Look at your end,” it said one misty morning, showing her death—falling from her balcony in a storm, body on the ground, river close.

She met a historian at a bar in Žižkov, Viktor, who knew stories. Drinking beer, he told about the curse: the mirror didn’t show the future, it made it by having people do things or art. Elena’s paintings fixed the futures. Viktor said break it fast, but with a circle of salt and chant at midnight from an old book to send the spirit away.

Here is a table of the main people in the story.

Obsession Gets Strong

Elena couldn’t quit. Her room turned into a scary art place—paintings of cheats, crashes, all happening slowly. The lover came, cheated just like in the café with tables and coffee. The lottery? She won a bit, bought more paint, and kept going. But the death vision scared her most: the wind was loud, the rain was on the balcony, foot slipped on the loose part. She painted it scary, the city back blurred, the body wrong.

One vision was crazy: Mummelad showed her fighting the spirit, a shadow coming from the glass in the room, candles dying as thunder hit over Prague towers. She made it big, paint thick, feeling stronger, pulling each time.

Here is a table for the time of visions, to show how they happened and changed her life.

Ending the Curse

Storm outside, Elena did the ritual in the room—salt around Mummelad, book open on the floor. Mirror moved wild, visions fast: success gone, friends leave. Mummelad shape came out, arms like smoke. With Viktor’s words in her head, she hit with a hammer—glass broke slowly, pieces like rain. Spirit yelled, gone to smoke as thunder loud. Morning, paintings same but no pull. She burned them in the fire by the river, promising to paint real life, not the future.

Prague was normal, Vltava was quiet. But sometimes in the shop glass, Elena saw a shine, thinking if Mummelad had gone or was waiting for the next person.