The Mirror in Room 313

Rain lashed against the cracked windows of Hillview Manor as Adeel pulled his jacket tighter, stepping through the front door. The wind howled behind him like a voice trying to say something just out of earshot. The lobby was dim, lit by a single bulb that buzzed faintly, casting long shadows across peeling wallpaper.

The woman at the desk looked up slowly, her fingers pausing over a ledger. She studied him for a moment too long.

“We only have one room left,” she said, not quite meeting his eyes. “Three-thirteen.”

Adeel shrugged, water dripping from his hair onto the worn carpet. “It’s just a room.”

She didn’t smile. “People don’t stay there long.”

He chuckled, more out of discomfort than amusement. “I’m not planning on staying forever. Just until the storm passes.”

She handed him the key—old, heavy, cold. “Don’t look into the mirror.”

He almost asked why. But she had already turned away, pretending to write something that wasn’t there.

*

Room 313 was at the end of a narrow hall, the floorboards groaning underfoot like they remembered every step ever taken. Inside, the air was thick and still, as if time had slowed. Dust clung to the furniture, and the bed sagged in the middle, its sheets yellowed with age.

And then there was the mirror.

It stood tall against the far wall, opposite the bed—antique, ornate, its wooden frame carved with shapes that didn’t quite make sense. Twisted faces, maybe. Or roots. It was hard to tell. But the glass… the glass was too clear. Too deep. Like looking into still water at midnight.

Adeel dropped his bag and sat on the edge of the bed. He told himself the chill down his spine was from the damp clothes, not the silence, not the way the room seemed to hold its breath.

Then the lights went out.

Not flickered. Not dimmed. Just—gone.

He reached for his phone. Dead. The battery had been full an hour ago.

That’s when he saw it.

In the mirror.

His reflection stood up.

But he hadn’t moved.

His body stayed seated, hands on his knees. But in the glass, he rose slowly, tilting his head as if examining himself. Then he turned—facing Adeel.

Their eyes met in the dark.

The reflection smiled. Not kindly. Not at all. It was the smile of someone who knew a secret, one that would ruin you to hear.

It raised a hand, palm flat against the glass.

Adeel didn’t move. Couldn’t.

The reflection mouthed words.

Come closer.

He stumbled back, knocking over the lamp. Silence swallowed the sound. The door was only a few feet away. He grabbed the handle.

Locked.

He hadn’t locked it. He knew he hadn’t.

He turned back to the mirror.

It was empty now.

No reflection. No image. Just black glass, like a hole in the world.

Then—soft, wet breathing behind him.

He turned.

Nothing.

Then a whisper, close to his ear, warm breath on his skin:

“Now I’m real.”

*

Morning came gray and quiet. The storm had passed.

The cleaning woman opened Room 313 with a key from the front desk. She hesitated at the threshold.

The room was untouched. Bed unmade, bag on the floor, phone on the nightstand. But no Adeel.

No note. No sign of struggle. Just… absence.

She started to leave when something caught her eye.

The mirror.

She stepped closer.

And froze.

Her own face looked back—but not quite. The eyes were wrong. The tilt of the head. The faint, creeping smile that hadn’t been there a second ago.

She backed away, heart thudding.

Behind the glass, the reflection didn’t follow.

It stayed.

Watching.

Smiling.

And in the silence of Room 313, something that wasn’t human settled into the world—wearing Adeel’s face, wearing his voice, waiting for the next guest who needed shelter.

Because the room was never really empty.

It was just waiting.

And the mirror?

It was always hungry.