The Shadow in Room 413

The rain pounded on the cracked pavement as Arman hurried toward the only building still lit on the deserted street — The Silver Nest Hotel.

Old, peeling walls. No cars outside. No signs of life. But he had no choice; his phone was dead, and the storm was getting worse.

Inside, the lobby smelled of damp wood and old memories. A frail old woman sat behind the dusty reception desk, smiling too widely.

"One night, please," Arman said, shivering.

The woman handed him a rusted key. "Room 413," she whispered.

The elevator creaked dangerously, but Arman took the stairs. Fourth floor. The hallway stretched endlessly, lights buzzing faintly.

He found Room 413 at the very end.

The door was slightly ajar.

Hesitating, Arman pushed it open.

The room was colder than outside. Dust coated everything. In the corner, an old mirror stood, its surface cracked and blackened.

As he dropped his bag, he heard it — a faint whispering.

He froze.

The sound was coming from inside the room. But there was no one there.

Heart hammering, Arman approached the mirror. His reflection stared back at him — but something was wrong.

His reflection was smiling.

He was not.Arman stumbled back, knocking over a chair. The door behind him slammed shut on its own. Panic surged. He yanked the door — locked.

He banged and screamed. No answer.

When he turned around, he gasped.

His reflection had stepped out of the mirror.

It looked exactly like him — same face, same clothes — but the eyes... the eyes were empty.

The double smiled and whispered, "Thank you."

Before Arman could react, darkness swallowed him whole.

The next morning, the hotel buzzed with life. Guests laughed, employees bustled about.

At the reception desk, the old woman beamed as Arman — or something that looked like Arman — handed over the room key.

"Hope you had a pleasant stay," she chirped.

The fake Arman smiled, eyes still hollow.

Outsde, under the bright sun, he blended into the city crowd —

a perfect imitation ,hunting for the next host.