The Unseen Room

When Claire inherited her grandmother's house, she expected memories, maybe a few forgotten trinkets—but not a secret. The house was large and dated, every corner filled with relics of the past, its walls marked by years of family history. But one door, set in the farthest corner of the basement, was locked tight and would not budge.

Curiosity gnawed at her, and after a few days of living there, she decided to open it. She called a locksmith, who examined the door and said, frowning, “Strange lock. I’ve never seen one like this.” But after an hour of work, the lock clicked open.

When the door swung inward, Claire was hit by a musty, stale scent, as though the room hadn’t seen light in centuries. Inside was nothing but an antique vanity, draped in a dust-streaked white cloth, and a mirror that looked like it hadn’t reflected anything in a long, long time.

She stepped inside, drawn by something she couldn’t name. The room seemed too silent, too still. She brushed her hand over the mirror, clearing away decades of dust until she could see herself. But as she looked closer, her reflection began to change.

It smirked, a slight curling of the lips that didn’t match her own expression. She felt a chill slip down her spine and instinctively turned to leave, but as she moved, her reflection didn’t. Instead, it raised its hand and touched the glass from the other side, looking at her with eyes that seemed deeper, darker than her own.

“Help me,” the reflection whispered, though her own lips stayed sealed.

Claire stumbled back, but the door had closed on its own. Her heart pounded as she reached for the knob, yanking it hard, only to find that it was stuck tight. She looked back at the mirror and saw herself—or, rather, the reflection of herself—moving on its own, studying her with a gleam of malice.

“Please,” it whispered again, “let me out.”

A scratching sound filled the room, coming from somewhere within the walls, and it grew louder and more frantic, like fingernails clawing to escape. Shadows stretched around her feet, and Claire felt them tighten, as if something unseen was holding her in place.

Her reflection reached out to her with hands that looked twisted, gnarled. And as she watched, paralyzed with horror, it stepped forward, pressing against the glass. The surface of the mirror rippled like water, and the thing in the mirror—a dark, twisted version of herself—stepped through and smiled.

The door swung open, but now, Claire was on the other side of the glass, watching as her other self walked away. She pounded against the mirror, screaming, but no sound escaped. She saw her double glance back one last time, a smile that looked almost relieved, before turning and closing the door, leaving her trapped in the reflection.

Now, Claire waits in silence, unable to speak, hoping someone will find the room again and free her. But every day, she sees only shadows outside, as though the house itself has sealed her fate, and the memory of her grows fainter with each passing hour.

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