The House That Remembers

The House That Remembers


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Part 1 – Arrival

Ali was a 27-year-old traveler. He loved to visit strange and forgotten places. People called him reckless, but he only wanted adventure.

One foggy evening, Ali reached a small town between dark mountains. The streets were empty, shops were closed, and everything felt too quiet. His phone battery was almost dead, and he needed a place to sleep.

At the edge of the town, he saw a wooden sign. It said: “Guesthouse – Vacancy.” The old house behind the sign looked big and silent. Its windows glowed with yellow light, and the front door stood half open, as if waiting for him.

Inside, the lobby smelled of dust. A woman in her forties sat at the counter. She wore a gray dress and smiled politely. But her eyes looked sharp, almost like she was studying him.

“Room for one?” she asked.

“Yes,” Ali said.

She gave him a brass key. “Room Six, upstairs. Dinner is served until nine. And remember…” She paused, then added, “This house remembers its guests. Treat it kindly.”

Ali thought it was a strange thing to say, but he laughed and went upstairs.

Room Six was simple. A bed, a mirror, and a window that showed the dark forest. He lay down, ready to sleep.

But at night, he heard footsteps outside his door. Soft, slow, back and forth. When he opened the door, the hallway was empty.


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Part 2 – The House Whispers

The next morning, Ali went downstairs for breakfast. Another guest sat there, a man named Kareem. He looked pale and tired, like he had not slept for days.

“Quiet town, isn’t it?” Ali said.

Kareem gave a weak smile. “Too quiet. Don’t you hear it?”

“Hear what?” Ali asked.

“The house,” Kareem whispered. “It talks at night. It remembers everything. Sometimes… it whispers your name.”

Ali felt uneasy, but he tried to laugh it off. Before he could ask more, the woman from the counter came in with tea. She smiled, but her hands trembled.

That evening, Ali walked through the hallways. Most of the doors were locked. Only his room was open. He stopped near a mirror on the wall and froze.

His reflection moved late—one second after him. Worse, its lips moved though he had said nothing.

It mouthed one word: “Stay.”

Ali’s heart raced. He ran downstairs and told the innkeeper what he saw. She only smiled calmly.

“The house remembers,” she said. “It wants company.”

That night, the footsteps came again. They stopped outside his door. Ali opened it—no one there.

But when he looked back into his room, the bed was not empty.

His own body was lying there, asleep.


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Part 3 – The Trap

Ali’s skin went cold. He stared at the figure on the bed. It was him. Same face, same scar on his wrist, breathing softly.

“This can’t be real,” he whispered.

The mirror on the wall showed his reflection smiling, though Ali’s own lips had not moved.

Panic rose inside him. He shook the body on the bed, but it did not wake. Its skin was warm. The heartbeat was real.

Ali ran into the hallway, desperate to escape. But the stairs twisted strangely, leading him back to the same floor again and again. The hallways looped like a maze.

From one locked door came a voice: “Help me…”

Another door shook as someone inside banged on it. Ali reached out, but before he could open it, the innkeeper’s voice came softly from the shadows.

“Don’t open those doors. They’re already taken.”

Her eyes glowed faintly in the dark.

“The house remembers,” she said. “Every guest leaves something behind—a shadow, a breath, a heartbeat. The house keeps them. It kept me, too, long ago.”

Ali’s legs shook. He ran. The hallway filled with mirrors, each showing different versions of himself—older, younger, screaming, crying, pounding against invisible glass.

He tripped and fell. When he looked up, he was back in Room Six. The bed was empty.

The mirror now showed a long corridor filled with doors. Behind each door, faces pressed against the glass, their mouths open in silent screams.

Ali whispered, “What do you want from me?”

His reflection answered with a cruel smile. “To stay.”

Cold hands reached out from the mirror, grabbed him, and pulled him inside.


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Part 4 – The House Remembers

Morning came. The house looked calm and normal again. The innkeeper dusted the counter, humming softly.

A new traveler pushed open the door.

“Room for one?” he asked.

“Of course,” the woman replied, handing him a key. “Room Six. The house remembers its guests.”

Upstairs, the mirror in Room Six glowed faintly. If someone pressed their ear to it, they would hear a muffled voice inside.

Ali’s voice.

Forever remembered. Forever trapped.





Moral

Curiosity without caution can lead to danger.