Claire had heard the rumors. The tenants, always in hushed tones, spoke of the door at the end of the hall—how it was never opened, how strange noises slipped through its cracks at night.

One evening, after the landlord left for the night, Claire couldn't shake the feeling of curiosity gnawing at her. The hallway seemed unusually quiet, the dim lights casting long shadows on the worn carpet. She had to see what lay beyond that door.

With each hesitant step toward the end of the hall, her heart pounded harder. She glanced back—no one was watching. The door was just there, plain and ordinary, yet suffused with an almost oppressive aura. Claire reached out and grasped the cold doorknob. It didn't resist. Slowly, she turned it.

The door creaked open, and Claire stepped inside. The room was small, claustrophobic. Faint light spilled from a dusty bulb overhead, revealing a solitary chair in the center. A mirror hung on the far wall, tarnished with years of neglect. The air was thick and cold, tinged with the smell of rust.

Her flashlight flickered, casting dancing shadows that seemed to twitch and move of their own accord. Claire froze, a shiver crawling down her spine.

There was something unsettling about the mirror. When she looked into it, her reflection seemed... off. Slightly too slow, as if it had a mind of its own. But she shook it off, convinced it was just the dim light playing tricks. She stepped further into the room.

The door slammed shut behind her.

The flashlight blinked out, leaving Claire in complete darkness. Panic surged in her chest. She reached for the doorknob, but it wouldn’t budge. No matter how hard she twisted, it stayed locked, as if the door itself were mocking her.

Then, the room began to hum. A low, vibrating sound that felt as if it was emanating from the very walls. Claire’s breath caught in her throat. She strained her ears, trying to make sense of it.

“Hello?” she whispered, her voice trembling.

Suddenly, the mirror on the far wall seemed to move. The surface rippled like water disturbed by an unseen force. Claire’s blood ran cold as her own reflection, which had been still moments before, now moved—its face twisting into a grin that didn’t belong to her.

She took a step back, her body pressed against the door.

The reflection stepped closer.

Claire stared in disbelief as the reflection of herself in the mirror continued to move independently. The other “her” pressed its hands against the glass, its face drawn with sharp, unnatural features. Its grin stretched too wide, too many teeth.

"Let me out," it said, but it wasn’t just her voice anymore. There was something darker in its tone—a rasp, a whisper from somewhere deep and ancient.

Claire’s hand trembled as she reached for the door again. The reflection mirrored her actions—its hand coming up to press against the glass, tapping once, twice.

“Let me out, Claire,” it repeated. The voice was layered, and the room seemed to shake as if something was trying to break through the mirror.

The glass cracked.

Claire felt the chill seep through her skin as the cracks spread across the mirror. She could hear her own voice in the echoing sound of the tapping. Desperation clawed at her chest. She pulled on the door again, but it didn’t budge.

The reflection’s smile grew wider, impossibly wide, and Claire’s own lips began to curl into that same grin. Her body stiffened, as though she was no longer in control.

"Thank you," the reflection whispered, its voice now unmistakably hers.

The mirror shattered, splintering into pieces that scattered across the floor, and Claire was engulfed by a darkness so deep, so suffocating, she couldn’t even scream.

When the landlord unlocked the door the next morning, there was no trace of Claire. Her room was empty, the door at the end of the hall was locked again, and the only thing left was a single shard of mirror on the floor.

But in the reflection... it was her face. Grinning.

Days passed, and the building seemed to breathe with an unsettling quiet. The landlord, still puzzled by Claire’s disappearance, began cleaning the hall. As he wiped the dust off the old mirror shard that had remained on the floor, he frowned. Something felt different, though he couldn’t put his finger on it. The shard reflected the dim hallway, but in its fractured surface, he swore he saw movement—a figure that wasn’t there when he looked directly.

In the apartment next door, a new tenant arrived. A woman, her hair dark and eyes hidden behind large sunglasses. She carried herself with an air of secrecy, almost as if she were hiding from something—someone. The other tenants watched her with suspicion, though they couldn't exactly say why. There was something about her that felt... off.

The woman made no attempt to socialize, only leaving her apartment to disappear into the building's eerie hallways each evening. And, always, she returned just before midnight, carrying a small bundle wrapped in a white cloth.

One evening, the woman, whom the neighbors had begun to call "The Stranger," left her apartment again, the bundle in tow. This time, her steps faltered as she approached the door at the end of the hall—the one that had been locked for years.

No one had ever seen anyone stand there for so long before, but tonight, the Stranger did. Her fingers brushed the cold doorknob, and the air around her seemed to hum with a strange energy. Her mouth trembled in a grin, mirroring something long buried.

Slowly, she turned the knob. The door opened.

Inside, the room was empty. The mirror, however, had been replaced. A fresh, flawless surface reflected nothing but the room itself—until the Stranger stepped into its frame.

The reflection, at first, was normal. But slowly, her image shifted. Her lips pulled into a wide grin. The reflection leaned forward, pressing its palm against the glass.

“Welcome,” it whispered, its voice low and familiar.

The Stranger’s grin widened in response.

And beyond the door, behind her back, the shadows began to stir.

To be continued...

The door swung shut with a soft thud behind the Stranger, though it was unclear whether she had closed it or if the room had done so on its own. Inside, the air grew colder, heavier, as if the walls themselves were pressing in, watching her every move. The mirror in front of her seemed to pulse, as though it were alive, breathing in rhythm with her own shallow breaths.

She stood motionless for a long moment, her eyes fixed on the reflection, which was no longer merely an echo of her actions. The reflection had shifted entirely, no longer matching her movements or gestures. It now held its position, its face twisted in an unnervingly wide grin. Its eyes were cold, vacant—lifeless.

“You’ve come for me,” the reflection whispered, its voice layered with something darker, something older. “Just like the others.”

The Stranger's lips barely moved, but her voice responded, a strained whisper that seemed to come from somewhere deep within her. “I’m not like them. I’m different.”

For a brief second, the reflection’s grin faltered, its eyes narrowing as if sizing her up. Then it smiled again, even wider, impossibly wide.

“Different?” it echoed, tilting its head. “You’ll see. You’ll become.”

The Stranger reached out, her fingers trembling as they brushed the glass. Immediately, the mirror rippled like water disturbed by an invisible force, and a cold wave of air washed over her. She stumbled backward, but her feet seemed to refuse to obey. The room seemed to tilt, the walls closing in around her.

Suddenly, the reflection in the mirror was no longer just a reflection. It began to stretch, its form twisting and warping as if it were trying to break free. The woman gasped as the glass began to crack once more, the familiar low hum returning, vibrating the air with an almost palpable intensity. The mirror shattered in an explosion of sharp glass, but the reflection

The shard in the Stranger’s hands seemed to writhe, its edges biting into her palms. Dark tendrils of smoke snaked out, wrapping around her wrists and pulling her closer to the shadowy figure before her. She struggled, but the shard pulsed with a force stronger than anything she had felt before.

“You were chosen,” the shadow said, its voice rising and falling like a sinister chant. “You carried the piece back to its home. The gate cannot stay broken.”

The Stranger’s breath quickened. Her mind raced, fragments of forgotten memories surging to the surface—whispers in the dark, fleeting glimpses of this room from long ago. She hadn’t just stumbled upon this place. She had been here before.

“I didn’t know,” she stammered, her voice shaking. “I didn’t remember.”

“You never do,” the shadow replied, stepping closer. “But you always return.”

The Stranger fell to her knees as the shard in her hands began to glow with a faint, eerie light. The smoky tendrils tightened their grip, forcing her hands to lift the shard toward the mirror’s empty frame. The room groaned, the air crackling with energy.

“No!” she screamed, trying to pull away, but the shard seemed to have a will of its own. Her reflection reappeared in the cracked glass, its expression full of malice and triumph.

“Let it be whole,” the reflection whispered, its grin spreading wider. “Let it be you.”

The shard flew from her hands, embedding itself in the broken mirror. The fragments on the floor rose, as though drawn by an invisible force, snapping back into place. The mirror repaired itself piece by piece, but its surface was no longer just a reflection. It was alive, writhing with shadow and light.

The Stranger tried to run, but the door was gone. The walls seemed to close in, the only escape now through the mirror itself. Her reflection raised a hand, beckoning her forward with an otherworldly smile.

“Step through,” it commanded. “Take your place.”

The Stranger hesitated, tears streaming down her face as the room shook violently. The shadow loomed behind her, its voice a harsh whisper in her ear.

“There is no choice.”

And with that, the mirror surged forward, pulling her in. The last thing she saw was her own face, grinning as the world turned to black.

To Be Continued...