Adam stood still for a moment.
The curtains were swaying gently, even though the window was shut tight. The note still trembled slightly in his hand.
Don't open the window. He comes when the air moves.
He stepped back slowly, forcing himself to breathe. "Okay, okay," he whispered, trying to calm himself. "Just nerves. A weird draft. Old hotel."
He looked around the room—plain, dusty, nothing unusual… until he noticed the mirror.
A long, rectangular mirror stood in the corner, attached to the wardrobe. But the reflection felt off. It was tilted slightly, and the glass had a strange ripple in the center—as if someone had pressed their palm against it from the inside.
Adam stepped closer.
His reflection stared back, but the lighting didn't match. In the reflection, the lamp behind him was off. But in the real room—it was on.
He blinked.
Now the reflection matched. The lamp was on. Maybe he imagined it.
He reached out and touched the mirror.
It was ice cold.
Behind him, the curtains stopped moving.
He turned quickly—but nothing was there.
When he looked back at the mirror, his reflection… didn't move.
His heart stopped.
He stepped to the left.
The reflection stood still.
He lifted his hand. Nothing.
Then, very slowly, the reflection smiled—a crooked, malicious grin that Adam definitely wasn't making.
Adam stumbled backward, knocking over the chair behind him. When he looked up again, the reflection was normal. Perfectly mirrored. His own scared face staring back at him.
He grabbed his phone to film it, but the screen was black. Not dead—just black, as if something blocked the camera.
Suddenly, a knock on the door.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
He froze.
Another knock. Louder this time.
THUMP. THUMP. THUMP.
"Who's there?" he called.
Silence.
He opened the door fast—nothing but the empty hallway.
Except…
Another note, slipped under the door.
This one read:
"Don't talk to him. He remembers your voice."
Adam slammed the door shut and locked it. He backed away slowly until he sat on the edge of the bed.
His breathing was sharp now.
What was this place?
Then he heard it…
From inside the wardrobe.
A whisper.
His own voice… softly repeating the words he just read aloud:
"Who's there?"