It was a cold autumn night, the kind that crept under your skin and whispered uneasy thoughts. Sarah was alone in her new house, an old Victorian manor at the edge of a forgotten town. She had always loved history, and the charm of the old house had drawn her in. But tonight, something felt off.
She was unpacking boxes in the dimly lit hallway when she noticed something strange. A door she hadn’t seen before, at the far end of the hall, slightly ajar. She was sure it wasn’t there before. Sarah’s curiosity got the better of her. She approached slowly, the floorboards creaking beneath her feet.
The door led to a narrow staircase, descending into the darkness. She felt a chill. The air was thick, almost suffocating, and it carried an odd scent—mold mixed with something metallic. She hesitated, gripping the railing. This part of the house wasn’t on the blueprints. It shouldn’t have been there.
With each step down, the temperature dropped. Her breath became visible in the cold air. She heard faint whispers, as if the walls themselves were alive, murmuring secrets. Her heart pounded, but she pressed on.
At the bottom, she found a small, hidden room. Dust-covered furniture, rotting wallpaper peeling from the walls, and a mirror. The mirror was large, cracked, and covered in grime, but something about it felt… wrong. She could see her reflection, but it was distorted. The version of her in the mirror wasn’t mimicking her movements—it stood still, watching her.
She backed away, but her reflection in the mirror stepped forward, a malicious grin spreading across its face. Sarah’s pulse quickened. The whispers grew louder, echoing around her, as her reflection slowly raised its hand and pointed toward her.
Suddenly, the door to the room slammed shut. The whispers turned to screams. She rushed to the door, pounding on it, but it wouldn’t budge. Her reflection in the mirror now walked freely, as if the glass no longer confined it.
And then it happened. The reflection stepped out of the mirror, its cold eyes locking onto hers. Sarah felt paralyzed, unable to move. The thing—her double, but darker, twisted—leaned close and whispered in her ear, “You don’t belong here.”
With a sudden, violent force, the mirror shattered. Glass flew in every direction, but when Sarah opened her eyes, she was standing alone in the hallway again, back where she had started.
The door was gone.
She never spoke of it again. But from that night on, she always felt a presence in the house, watching, waiting. And every now and then, when she passed by a mirror, she swore she could see something lurking just behind her reflection—something that shouldn’t have been there.