Gran's box

I'm writing this down in this journal because if I don't, I may go insane. You may think me insane after reading my story. I wish I was. My name is Jared Baldwin, and I am twenty-two years old. I recently moved into a brand new apartment in rural Maine. Everything was going great the first two weeks, I was having no problems unpacking my boxes and everything seemed to fit nicely. It looked as if everything I had bought had been bought to furnish this apartment. The power company had forgotten to shut off the electricity, cable, and wifi since the last tenants had moved out. Or perhaps, now that I think about it, they had left so fast the company never knew they had even moved. I can't blame them. The first night sleeping in the apartment, once I had completely furnished it and gotten everything set up the way I wanted it, was fantastic. I had no problems adjusting to the new environment whatsoever. I fell asleep within five minutes of getting into bed. It was strange, especially for me, since I usually have trouble falling asleep anywhere I'm not used to. I had this feeling that I was meant to live in that apartment, though it was run-down and in a completely isolated area. I don't do well with isolation, though it didn't bother me in the apartment. The second day went well, though I noticed something strange about the bathroom mirror. It had been painted over with black paint, not an inch of mirror could be seen through the coat. A sledgehammer rested on the tile as though someone had just dropped it and left after considering smashing the mirror, too concerned about leaving the apartment to pick it up before they moved away. Of course, I didn't think anything of it at the time. I was rather excited to have gotten a free sledgehammer. A few weeks went by without incident, and I was completely happy in my new abode. However, strange things were starting to happen. One night, around three, I woke up with the urgent need to use the restroom. I shuffled in and stopped dead in my tracks. Though the mirror was covered with black paint, a faint silver glow showed beneath the cracks in the coat. I was fascinated, and overwhelmed with the desire to scrape off the paint and shove my hand through the mirror. I thought I could hear faint whispers coming from the other side, beckoning me to clear the mirror of its black cover. I came to my senses and realized that what was happening was not fascinating at all, but frightening. The voices behind the mirror became agitated, and a split second later both the glow and the voices were gone. I closed my eyes and shook my head, and when I opened them again I couldn't shake the feeling that I had been dreaming and had merely sleepwalked into the bathroom. I used the restroom and returned to my bed without giving the mirror a second thought. The next night the same thing happened, though I noticed some of the paint had chipped off the mirror. A small hole in the paint, about three inches tall and two inches wide, revealed a sliver of mirror, which glowed and pulsated with a sort of silver electricity. The voices, soothing and inviting, called me and begged me to remove the paint from the mirror. I closed my eyes, and when I opened them again I found myself in bed. I glanced at the clock, 7:43 am. Had I dreamed the whole thing? I had a nagging doubt in my mind that maybe what was happening was not a dream at all, but common sense put that idea to rest for a while. A few more nights passed without incident. I awoke once more and shuffled into the bathroom in the middle of the night, as I had done twice before. This time a very large amount of paint had been removed from the mirror. A hole about a foot tall and four inches wide had been made in the paint. The pulsating, electric glow permeated the surface of the mirror and reached out into the bathroom. Tendrils of smoke trickled from the mirror. Once again, the voices pleaded me to free the mirror from its coating. Once again I found myself back in bed, only to find that it was the next morning. I went into the bathroom and saw that an even la