The room That Knows Your Name:

The house become quiet whilst Daniel moved in, too quiet for an area that had stood for nearly a century. Its partitions carried the faint smell of dust and forgotten lives, however he liked the solitude. After years of chaos, he desired silence.

On his 1/3 night time, at the same time as exploring the upstairs hallway, he observed a door he hadn’t visible earlier than. It was slender, wedged between closets, its wood darker than the relaxation. He frowned. He had walked this hallway two times already, and he become sure the door hadn’t been there.

Curiosity tugged at him. He tried the knob. Locked.

That night, he dreamed of the door. In his dream, it opened without difficulty, revealing a room full of shadows. A voice whispered his name, smooth and planned. He woke with a begin, his heart pounding, the sound of his call still echoing in his ears.

the following day, he searched the residence for a key. Drawers, packing containers, even the attic—nothing. however the door lingered in his mind. every time he surpassed it, he felt a chill, as even though the air round it changed into alive. Via the fifth night time, he pressed his ear in opposition to the wooden. at the beginning, silence. Then, faintly, a whisper: “Daniel.”

He stumbled lower back, breath shallow. He advised himself it became imagination, the residence settling, the wind. however when he returned later, the whisper came once more, louder, greater insistent.

The suspense gnawed at him. He commenced to keep away from the hallway, but the residence wouldn’t allow him. lights flickered, doorways creaked, and pix fell from partitions. every disturbance seemed to attract him returned to the locked door.

Ultimately, he couldn’t face up to. He forced the lock open with a crowbar.

The room changed into small, dirt swirling inside the air. A unmarried chair sat within the center, going through the wall. at the wall hung a reflect, cracked and stained. The floor changed into naked besides for a unmarried toy—a wooden block carved with the letter “D.”

Daniel froze. He hadn’t brought the block. He hadn’t introduced anything.

The replicate reflected now not him, but the room because it had once been: vibrant, filled with youngsters’s laughter. Then the mirrored image shifted. The children vanished, changed by using shadows. A parent appeared—a woman, light, her eyes hollow. She raised her hand and pointed immediately at him.

The air grew heavy. The whisper returned, louder now: “Daniel.”

He tried to depart, but the door slammed close at the back of him. Panic surged. The replicate rippled, and voices stuffed the room—fragments of arguments, cries, whispers of remorse. He diagnosed one voice among them: his mom’s, calling his name the manner she had when he became a infant.

The chair creaked as though a person invisible had sat down. The block rolled across the ground, stopping at his toes.

Daniel pressed against the door, desperate to get away. but then he saw something within the mirror—himself, status within the room, but older, his hair gray, his eyes empty. The reflection whispered, “You belong here now.”

Tears blurred his vision. He shouted, “I don’t belong here!” but the voices only grew louder, overlapping, drowning his words. , the door swung open. He stumbled into the hallway, gasping for air. The room changed into silent once more, the mirror nevertheless, the block motionless. He slammed the door close and locked it, his arms trembling.

But while he appeared down, he realized he changed into keeping some thing—the block with the letter “D.” He hadn’t picked it up.

That night time, he placed the block on his cloth cabinet. in the morning, it turned into long gone. He discovered it returned in front of the room’s door, ready.

Daniel understood then: the room wasn’t forgotten. It knew him. It knew his name, his beyond, his destiny. And now, it remembered him.