The Mirror at the End of the Hall

 🕯️ The Rainfall Room –

The rain was still tapping on the window, a soft ticking like a clock counting down to something unknown. Room Eleven had fallen into a strange silence, and Arav could feel the weight of that quiet pressing against his chest.

He had tried to sleep after the voice faded below the floorboards, but the whisper still lingered in his mind:"Arav... you remember, don't you?"

No. He didn’t.

But now, he wanted to.

The hallway outside was dim. The single lightbulb flickered with a life of its own, swinging slightly as if moved by a breathless presence. Arav stepped out of his room. Behind him, the door to Room Eleven closed without a sound.

He didn’t look back.

The hallway stretched on, longer than he remembered. At the far end, a tall mirror leaned against the wall—framed in dark wood, old enough to have seen more than just reflections. Dust covered it like a shroud. Arav had passed it the first day, barely noticing it.

But now, the mirror was glowing faintly.

As he approached, his footsteps echoed with a hollow tone. He reached out his hand to wipe the dust away, and for a moment—just a second—his reflection didn’t move with him.

His heart stilled.

In the mirror, he saw himself. Same eyes, same worn-out jacket. But there was something else in that face—something distant, watching him from within.

Then... it smiled.

His real face didn't move.

Arav stumbled back. The light above him buzzed louder.

He had spent years hiding from his past. From this town. From himself. But this place wasn’t letting him go without remembering what he left behind.And then he saw it.

Below the mirror, scrawled in a child's handwriting, barely visible in the dust on the wall:“Do you remember when we were three?”

The letters were faint... almost playful.

He didn’t know what it meant.

But someone did.

He ran down the hallway, breathing heavy. Room doors stood shut on either side, like silent witnesses. All were numbered—but when he glanced back, the door to Room Eleven was gone.

There was no eleven.

There was just a hallway.

Just the mirror.

And himself.

Arav turned sharply, headed toward the stairwell. The wooden steps creaked beneath him like they were trying to tell a story with each groan.

Downstairs, the reception desk was still unmanned. The guestbook was open. He flipped through pages—names written in elegant, dated ink. Pages older than they should be. And then he found it:

June 13th, 1998 — Arav M. (Age 3)

He froze.

His pen dropped.

He had been here before.

As a child.

The rain lashed against the windows now, no longer gentle. A storm had begun.

He ran toward the back of the lodge. There was a door he hadn’t opened yet. One that always stayed locked. But today... it creaked open with a soft push.

It was a study.

Dusty. Silent. Wooden shelves full of books, most unread for decades. But in the center of the room, under a dirty cloth, stood an old rocking chair and a box.

A toy box.

He knelt and opened it.Inside were building blocks, tiny shoes, a blue scarf—and a photograph.

His mother.Holding him.Outside this very lodge.

A red umbrella above their heads.And scribbled behind the photo in a familiar voice: "We brought you here to forget him."

Forget who?

The mirror.

The voice.

Room Eleven.

Behind him, the rocking chair moved.Slightly.

Back... and forth.

A cold hand of fear touched his spine.He turned.No one was there.

But he felt it. The presence. The same one from Room Eleven.

He wasn’t alone.

Not in this room.

Not in this lodge.

Not even in his own head.Outside, the storm broke loose. Lightning flashed. The power flickered.In the mirror of the study, he saw something again.

A little boy.Not himself.Not anymore.

The boy was standing beside him. Silent. Pale. Watching. Wearing the same blue scarf. But with a gash on his forehead... and empty, bottomless eyes.

Then he spoke."You forgot me, Arav."

The mirror cracked.A long, splitting sound echoed through the room.Arav gasped and backed away. The boy reached a hand toward him—from inside the mirror.

Arav turned and ran.Back to the hallway.Back toward the only thing that seemed real.But the hallway had changed. Longer. Twisted. Room Eleven stood at the end—but its door was now red.He grabbed the handle. It was hot.He pushed.

Inside, everything was the same.Except the mirror.Now, it was cracked down the center. His reflection split into two. One side tired, afraid, worn. The other... cold. Watching. Waiting.

The window rattled with the wind. Rain smeared the glass in sheets.In the corner of the room, the same blue scarf lay folded on the floor.He picked it up.It smelled of old memories and childhood.And then it hit him.He remembered.

There was a boy. His twin. He had drowned.In the river behind the lodge.They were playing hide and seek.He had hidden too well.No one found him.

They never told Arav.They wiped it from his memory.But something—some part of that child—remained.

Here.In Room Eleven.And he wanted to come back.

The floor creaked.A voice called from under the bed:"Let me in, Arav."

Arav screamed.The lights blew out.Darkness swallowed the room.All that remained... was the mirror.And two reflections.

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[To Be Continued...]

The Lonely Pen By Aj