Mother

The voice floated from the old room at the end of the hallway — the one she had locked ten years ago, the night her mother died.

Amina froze. Her hands trembled as the whisper grew louder, turning into a soft humming — the lullaby her mother used to sing before bed. She had tried to forget that sound, but it always found a way back into her dreams.

Taking a deep breath, Amina slowly turned the doorknob. The air inside was cold and heavy, carrying the faint smell of roses — her mother’s favorite perfume.

On the dusty dresser stood a mirror covered with a white cloth. The whisper came again.
“Don’t be afraid, sweetheart.”

Her heart pounded. Step by step, she lifted the cloth.
In the mirror, she didn’t see her own reflection — she saw her mother, pale and smiling, standing behind her.

Amina screamed and turned, but the room was empty. When she looked back, her mother’s reflection was still there, whispering softly:
“You left me alone… now you’ll stay with me forever.”

The mirror cracked, and Amina’s scream echoed through the house — until it faded into silence.

By morning, the mirror was whole again. But this time, two figures stood inside it — a mother and her daughter — both smiling.

The clock struck midnight when Amina heard it again — a faint whisper crawling through the silence of the old house.

“Come to me, my child…”

Her heart froze. She sat up in bed, eyes darting toward the dark hallway that led to the old room — the one she had locked ten years ago, on the night her mother died.

For years, she’d heard this voice only in dreams. But tonight, it sounded real — too real.

Amina’s husband was away for work, and the house stood heavy in its silence. The whisper came again, low and pleading, as if carried by the wind.
“Don’t be afraid, sweetheart. I’m waiting…”

Amina pressed her hands to her ears, trembling. “You’re gone,” she whispered to herself. “You’re gone, Mother.”

But the smell of roses — her mother’s favorite perfume — began to fill the air.

Amina reached for her phone. The screen flickered, then went black. The power went out. Only the moonlight slipped through the curtains, cold and blue.

Step by step, she walked down the hall. Each creak of the floorboard sounded like a warning. Her mother’s room stood at the end — door cracked open just slightly, even though Amina remembered locking it.

She hesitated, every part of her body screaming to turn back. But something — love, fear, guilt — pulled her forward.

She pushed the door open. The air inside was heavy with dust and decay, yet the scent of roses grew stronger. On the dresser stood the old mirror, draped with a white cloth.

The whisper floated closer.
“Come, my darling. Let me see you again.”

Her trembling hands reached out and lifted the cloth.

Amina gasped.

In the mirror, she didn’t see her reflection — she saw her mother standing behind her. Her eyes were hollow, her smile stretched too wide.

“Mother?” Amina whispered. “Is it really you?”

Her mother nodded slowly. “You left me alone, Amina. You forgot me. You locked me away.”

Tears streamed down Amina’s cheeks. “I didn’t forget! I just couldn’t bear it. You changed after Father died. You weren’t yourself.”

The reflection tilted its head. “I was always your mother. Even when I wasn’t… myself.” The voice softened. “You used to hold my hand and sing with me. Don’t you remember?”

Amina nodded, sobbing. “Yes… I remember.”

“Then come closer,” the reflection whispered. “One last time.”

Amina leaned toward the mirror. The surface rippled like water. A cold breeze brushed her face.

Suddenly, her mother’s hand shot out from the mirror and grabbed her wrist. Amina screamed, trying to pull away, but the grip was icy and strong.

“Mother! Let go!”

Her mother’s eyes turned black, her smile vanishing. “You left me in the dark. Now you’ll stay with me there.”

Amina fought, kicking and pulling, but the mirror began to glow — its cracks spreading like veins of light. Her reflection started to disappear, swallowed by the darkness inside.

Her mother’s voice echoed around her, a chorus of whispers:
“You can’t run from blood, my child. You are part of me.”

Amina’s scream filled the house as she was pulled into the mirror. Then — silence.

The next morning, the power returned. Sunlight filled the hallway. Everything looked peaceful, untouched.

When neighbors came by, they found the house empty. Only the mirror remained, perfectly clean, standing on the dresser with its cloth gone.

If anyone looked closely, they would see two figures in the reflection — a woman and her daughter, standing side by side, both smiling gently.

And if they listened carefully, late at night, they would hear the faintest whis