"The Room That Asked Questions"

Eli didn't believe in ghosts, curses, or psychic nonsense. He believed in numbers, in predictability, in patterns. Which is why he couldn’t explain how he ended up standing in front of a room that didn’t exist yesterday.

He had walked this abandoned hallway countless times—old floorboards groaning under his boots, paint peeling like tired skin from the walls. The building was scheduled for demolition, and as a junior engineer, Eli was tasked with surveying its structure.

But today, at the end of the hallway, where there should’ve been nothing but a boarded-up exit, there was a door.

It wasn’t flashy—just old, wooden, with a bronze knob that looked too polished for its age. And carved into its surface were words in strange, angular writing. One word stood out in English: "Answer."

Curiosity trumped logic. He turned the knob and stepped inside.

The door closed with a whisper.

The room was silent, bathed in cold, still air. It had no windows, no lights—but it wasn't dark. Instead, it glowed faintly from the walls themselves.

Words.

Hundreds of them, maybe thousands, scrawled across every surface. Questions.

Why did you leave her?

What are you pretending not to know?

Do you think you're good, or just better than others?

How many lies have you forgotten?

Each question seemed directed at him, though none used his name. His skin prickled. His breath came shallow.

"This is some kind of prank," he muttered. His voice was swallowed by the room.

He turned to leave—but there was no door.

Only more walls.

And more questions.

A single chair sat in the middle. Eli hesitated, then sat, knees shaking slightly. As he did, one of the questions began to glow brighter than the rest, rising from the wall like heat from pavement.

What was her name?

Eli’s heart clenched. He knew the answer. But saying it out loud made it too real.

“…Anna.”

As he spoke, the glow faded. Another question lit up.

Why didn’t you go to the hospital that night?

Eli clenched his fists. “I didn’t think it was serious.”

The glow faded again. But this time, a small echo followed—a whisper, so faint it felt like breath against his ear: “Liar.”

He shot up from the chair. “What the hell is this place?”

No reply. Just another question, lighting up like an accusation.

Did you want to be with her? Or did you just not want to be alone?

He shook his head. “That’s not fair!”

The room didn’t care. The questions came faster, overlapping on the walls, crawling toward him like vines.

Why do you hate your father?

What did you see in the mirror that made you look away?

When was the last time you were honest—with yourself?

The air thickened. His knees gave out. He sat back in the chair, covering his face with trembling hands.

“I’m not perfect,” he whispered. “I just… I try not to think about these things.”

The room pulsed. One word appeared in bold, glowing letters across the far wall:

"Think."

Eli sat in the room for what felt like hours. Maybe days. There was no time here. No sleep. Only questions. But slowly, the panic gave way to something else.

Reflection.

He began to answer—not with excuses, but with truth. Painful, clumsy truth.

He admitted the things he buried. The guilt, the cowardice, the small betrayals that haunted him like shadows. For every honest answer, the questions slowed. Some even faded.

Eventually, there was one final question glowing softly in the air:

Are you ready to leave?

He didn’t answer right away.

But he nodded.

The wall ahead shimmered, and a door appeared—not the one he entered through, but different. This one was plain white, with no carvings. Just a silver handle and a sense of calm.

He walked to it, pausing for a moment before turning the knob.

The light beyond was warm.

When Eli emerged, he found himself in the same hallway—but brighter now. The dust was gone. The peeling paint restored. Behind him, the door had vanished.

He wasn’t sure if the room had ever existed. But he felt lighter. As if the weight he’d carried for years had finally been named, faced, and set down.

He looked at his reflection in a broken window. For the first time in a long time, he held his own gaze.

And somewhere, deep in his mind, the questions had stopped.

The End.