The dusty red journal trembled in Aryan’s hands as though it had a pulse of its own. The room around him was eerily still — too still. No humming of the fan, no creaking floorboards, no whispering walls. Even the ever-present gloom of Room 13 had retreated into silence.
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He flipped to the second page.
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_"They said she died in the fire. But they never found her body. I saw her... in the mirror. Screaming. I was only ten, but I remember every second. And I did nothing. I just watched." _ Aryan felt a jolt in his stomach. This was his handwriting.
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But he had never written it.
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Or had he?
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He turned the pages faster. Each one bled memories in ink.
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Page 5: "I told them Room 13 didn’t exist. But it does. It just hides. Like guilt. Like trauma. You don’t see it — until it wants to be seen."
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Page 9: "She was my sister. Not by blood, but by bond. We were always in that room. Playing. Until that night."
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Page 13: "There’s another door. Behind the wardrobe. It appears only when the room decides. It leads to the Other Side. To the place where the screams live."
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Aryan’s heart pounded. The wardrobe.
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He turned toward it. Until now, it had been just another old piece of dusty furniture — heavy, quiet, harmless. But now, a faint draft leaked from beneath its base.
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He stepped forward.
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With trembling fingers, he opened the creaky wooden doors. Dust poured out like smoke. There were no clothes. Just bare wood.
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And then — the back panel shimmered.
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He touched it.
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It was warm.
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The wood dissolved under his palm, like ink dispersing in water. Beyond it, a spiral staircase of black stone twisted downward into a void lit only by red pulses — like a heartbeat.
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Thump. Thump. Thump.
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A voice whispered from below:
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"You finally remember. Now you must descend."
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He didn’t want to.
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But his legs moved.
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One step.
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Two.
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A hundred.
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Time lost meaning.
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As he reached the bottom, he entered a massive circular chamber. The walls were mirrors, but none showed his reflection. Instead, they showed memories.
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Not his.
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Others.
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Screams, regrets, betrayals. Moments where people watched and did nothing.
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A hall of silent witnesses.
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At the center was a well. Its water was black, but it reflected a single face:
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The girl. Burned. Still screaming. Still alive in this mirror-prison.
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And then she spoke.
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"You have one chance to set things right. Enter the well. And remember the truth. All of it."
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Aryan reached toward the surface. His reflection didn’t mimic him. It smiled.
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Then pulled him in.
---
To be continued...
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