"I Found a Hidden Room in My House"

I Found a Hidden Room in My House

I never expected to inherit anything from my great-uncle. He was the kind of relative you heard about only at funerals—quiet, distant, strange. When he passed away in 2022, I received a letter from his lawyer informing me that I’d inherited his house. No explanation, just a key and an address scribbled on thick parchment.

The house was located on the outskirts of a small town in northern Pakistan, nestled deep in pine-covered hills, the kind of place forgotten by time. My first reaction was: sell it. But curiosity has always been my weakness.

I drove out the following week.

The House That Shouldn’t Exist

The building was old, stone-walled, overgrown with ivy. From the outside, it looked like it had been abandoned for decades. The wooden door groaned open like something sighing from inside.

The moment I stepped in, I knew something was wrong.

It was cold. Bitterly cold. Despite it being summer outside, I could see my breath fog up.

I brushed it off as bad insulation.

The furniture was dusty but intact—thick curtains, antique shelves, books with no titles, and a grandfather clock that had stopped at 3:06. I walked from room to room. Five in total. But on the upper floor, something strange caught my attention.

There was a space between rooms—a wall that didn’t make sense. The dimensions were off. The bedroom wall should have ended sooner.

It was subtle, but clearly… something was hidden behind it.

The Scratch Marks

That night, I stayed in the house. I don’t know why. I guess I wanted to prove I wasn’t scared.

At around 2:45 a.m., I heard something upstairs.

A faint scratching sound.

I froze, unsure if it was rats or just old wood shifting.

Then I remembered the wall.

I walked up with my flashlight. The sound stopped as I approached. I pressed my ear to the wall. Silence.

Until I heard three soft knocks from the other side.

I nearly dropped the flashlight.

The Blueprint

The next morning, I searched the house for anything that could explain that wall.

In the attic, buried beneath old rugs and a trunk, I found a rolled-up blueprint.

The house layout was clear. Five rooms upstairs. But there was a sixth room, marked faintly with a red circle. A narrow rectangle wedged between the master bedroom and the hallway wall. No door drawn. Just… an empty space.

Written in the corner was a note in Urdu:

"This room is never to be entered. Ever."

I should have left right then.

Breaking Through

I couldn’t stop thinking about it.

That night, I returned with a hammer and crowbar.

The wall was hollow.

As I peeled away the wooden boards, dust choked the air, thick and grey. Behind them was a narrow wooden door—no handle, no knob. Just a smooth panel.

I pushed. Nothing. I knocked.

Three knocks answered me from the inside.

I froze, again.

But this time… I pushed harder.

The door creaked open.

The Hidden Room

It was small. Maybe 10 feet by 8. No windows. Just a single chair, facing the wall.

On the wall opposite the chair was a mirror. Or what looked like a mirror.

But there was no reflection.

Not of me. Not of the room.

Just darkness.

There was also a journal, lying on the floor. I picked it up. It belonged to my great-uncle.

The last entry chilled me:

"The thing in the mirror speaks now. It looks like me. But it’s not. I have sealed the door. If anyone finds this, do not talk to it. Do not believe it. It lies."

I left the room immediately.

The Reflection That Wasn’t Mine

That night, something changed.

Every mirror in the house started fogging up.

I saw myself… but not quite.

My reflection blinked before I did.

It smiled when I wasn’t smiling.

In one mirror, it mouthed something silently:

“Let me out.”

I smashed the mirror.

But the image remained, hovering in the shards

It didn’t go away.

I Tried to Leave

I packed my bags the next morning. I had seen enough. But when I tried to open the front door, it wouldn’t budge.

The lock turned, but the door wouldn’t move.

I tried a window.

It wouldn’t break.

I tried calling for help—no signal.

Every clock in the house stopped at 3:06.

That’s when I realized:

I hadn’t left that hidden room.

I was still inside it.

The Loop

The room resets every day.

I wake up on the bed.

I walk upstairs.

I find the wall.

I break it open.

I enter the hidden room.

I read the journal.

And every time, I swear it’s the first time.

But the journals pile up. Hundreds of them now. All with the same warning in different handwriting:

“You are not the first. You won’t be the last.”

I’m writing this in case someone reads it.

If you inherit this house, don’t open the wall.

If you hear knocking—don’t answer.

Because once you find the hidden room, you can’t ever leave it.

Only your reflection walks free.

Final Note

They found the house abandoned a year later.

My car was parked outside.

The front door was open.

But I was never found.

Only a single mirror remained in the upstairs hallway.

And if you look closely into it…

You’ll see me.

Still knocking.

Original Story by Ali Asad Ullah