The storm had been raging for hours, but Arielle Vaughn sat silently by the attic window, watching the lightning split the sky into glassy veins of white. Her stepmother’s voice echoed faintly from downstairs, sharp and cold as ever — another argument with the maids, another broken dish she’d blame on Arielle later.

She didn’t care anymore.

The attic was the only place that still felt like hers. Dusty, cold, filled with boxes that smelled like the past. Her real mother’s past.

Arielle brushed her fingers over one of the old boxes labeled “Clara’s Things.” Her mother’s handwriting was faded but soft, curved like the lullabies she barely remembered. She lifted the lid. Inside were old photographs, a cracked mirror, and a tiny wooden door — no bigger than a notebook.

It was oddly beautiful. Painted dark red, with golden carvings along the edges. The brass knob gleamed faintly, untouched by dust. On the back, engraved in delicate script, were the words:

“Home is where your soul remembers.”

Arielle frowned. “What does that even mean?”

When she turned the door in her hands, the air shifted. A cold gust swept through the attic even though the windows were closed. For a moment, she thought she heard something — a whisper, soft and distant, like someone calling her name from far away.

“Arielle…”

She froze.

The door fell from her hands and landed with a soft thud. The whispers stopped.

Her heart pounded. It must be the wind, she told herself — or maybe she was just tired. Her stepmother had been making her clean the house since dawn, calling her lazy, ungrateful, useless.

By nightfall, she’d had enough. She tucked the tiny door into her bag before heading downstairs.

Mrs. Vaughn was waiting at the bottom of the stairs, wearing a smile too sweet to be real. “Going somewhere, dear?”

Arielle’s stomach twisted. “Just to my room.”

Her stepmother’s eyes flickered to the bag. “What’s in there?”

“Nothing important,” Arielle said quickly.

But her stepmother didn’t believe her. She snatched the bag, rummaged through it, and pulled out the little wooden door. “What is this creepy thing?!”

“It was my mom’s,” Arielle said, reaching out.

Her stepmother threw it against the wall. “Your mother filled this house with junk and bad luck! I should’ve burned everything years ago.”

Arielle’s voice cracked. “Don’t talk about her like that.”

“Watch your tone, girl.”

Lightning flashed through the windows, and for a split second, Arielle swore she saw something move in the reflection — a shadow, tall and crooked, standing behind her stepmother. When thunder rolled, the shadow was gone.

The next morning, her father called her into his office. “Your stepmother thinks a change of environment would be… healthy,” he said, not meeting her eyes. “You’ll be attending Westmoor Academy. It’s a very reputable boarding school.”

Arielle wanted to scream. But what was the point? He never listened. He hadn’t since her mother died.

⸻

Westmoor Academy wasn’t like any school she’d ever seen. The moment she arrived, she realized it was less of a school and more of a mansion lost in time. Gray stone walls climbed high into the fog, with gargoyles perched on every corner. The students whispered about ghost sightings, locked rooms, and a headmistress who never aged.

Arielle didn’t believe them — not yet.

Her dorm was in the oldest wing of the building. The walls were cracked, the floorboards creaked with every step. She unpacked in silence, placing the few things she’d brought on the small desk by her bed.

That’s when she saw it.

The tiny wooden door.

Her breath caught. She was sure she left it at home.

It sat neatly on her desk, its brass knob glinting in the dim light, as if it had been waiting for her.

She reached for it, her fingers trembling slightly. The air grew colder. Then—

Knock. Knock.

The sound didn’t come from the small door.

It came from the wall behind her bed.

Arielle froze.

She turned slowly, and her eyes widened. There — half-hidden by peeling wallpaper — was a door in the wall. A real one. The same shape, the same carvings.

Her heart thundered in her chest.

This couldn’t be real.

She stepped closer. The whisper came again — louder this time, almost playful.

“Arielle…”

Her hand hovered over the doorknob. The cold metal pulsed faintly beneath her fingertips, as though it was alive.

Thunder cracked outside, shaking the windows. The lights flickered and died.

In the darkness, the door began to glow — soft red light seeping through its edges like blood through a wound.

Arielle’s lips parted. “What are you?” she whispered.

And then, just before she could pull away, a voice spoke from the other side. A low, velvety whisper that sounded like a smile:

“Welcome home, Arielle.”

The door glowed faintly, a pulse of red in the shadows, and Arielle couldn’t look away.

The voice that called her name still lingered in her head, soft as a sigh, but filled with something cold and ancient — something that didn’t belong in this world.

Her heart raced.

Every part of her body screamed don’t touch it, but her fingers itched to know what was on the other side.

Before she could decide, the dorm door burst open.

“Arielle! You’re the new girl, right?”

A voice snapped her out of her trance. She spun around to see a tall girl with curly black hair and a mischievous grin. Her name tag read “Lydia.”

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Lydia said, setting her suitcase on the next bed. “Don’t tell me the walls already whispered to you.”

Arielle’s throat went dry. “What do you mean?”

Lydia smirked. “You’ll see. Everyone hears something different in this building. Some say it’s the wind. Some say it’s… them.”

“Them?”

“The ones who never left Westmoor.” Lydia winked. “This dorm used to be the east servant wing. People died here during the fire years ago. That’s why this section stays colder than the rest.”

Arielle forced a laugh, but she couldn’t shake the memory of that whisper. When she glanced back, the strange door was gone. The wall was blank again, as if it had never been there.

⸻

That night, she dreamed of water.

A long, empty hallway flooded ankle-deep. Candles floated on the surface, their flames flickering like frightened eyes.

She followed the light, her footsteps echoing softly — until she reached a mirror. Her reflection smiled, but she didn’t. Then her reflection whispered:

“He’s waiting, Arielle.”

She woke up drenched in sweat. The room was dark, silent, except for the rain tapping against the window. She glanced at the wall — the door had returned. This time, it wasn’t glowing.

She sat up slowly. Lydia was fast asleep, headphones in her ears.

Arielle’s pulse quickened. She slid out of bed and walked toward the door. When she touched it, it was warm.

“Who are you?” she whispered.

For a moment, there was only silence. Then — faintly — came a reply:

“Someone who remembers you.”

She froze. “What?”

The doorknob turned on its own. Slowly. Creaking.

Arielle stumbled back, heart pounding, as a soft hum escaped the crack. It sounded like a lullaby — the same one her mother used to sing.

She felt tears sting her eyes. “Mom?”

The door opened just an inch. The scent of roses and burnt wood drifted out, wrapping around her like smoke.

And then, a hand reached through.

It was pale, almost translucent, veins faintly glowing blue beneath the skin. A boy’s hand — delicate, trembling.

Arielle gasped, stumbling backward. “Who are you?!”

The hand withdrew, and a low chuckle came from the other side. “I thought you’d never ask.”

The door creaked open wider, revealing a boy standing in the darkness — or what looked like a boy. His hair was silver-white, his eyes a shade between ice and ash. He wore an old Westmoor uniform, torn at the sleeves.

“You can see me,” he said softly.

Arielle could barely breathe. “You’re… you’re not real.”

He tilted his head. “And yet, you’re talking to me.”

“What do you want?” she whispered.

His lips curled into a faint, sad smile. “To remember what I was. And maybe… to know why you came back.”

Arielle blinked. “Came back? I’ve never been here before.”

“Oh, you have,” he said. “You just don’t remember. None of them ever do.”

Lightning flashed outside. In that brief light, Arielle saw something behind him — a room filled with old dolls, broken mirrors, and blood-red curtains.

When the thunder rolled, the vision vanished, and the boy was gone. The door slammed shut.

Arielle pressed her ear against the wood. Silence. Only her racing heartbeat.

She returned to bed, trembling, clutching the little wooden door she’d found at home. On its back, the gold letters shimmered faintly again:

“Home is where your soul remembers.”

⸻

The next morning, Lydia noticed her pale face.

“Bad dreams?” she asked, yawning.

“You could say that,” Arielle murmured.

As they walked to class, Arielle noticed strange carvings along the corridor walls — symbols she didn’t understand, swirling patterns like the ones on the tiny door. And each time she passed a mirror, her reflection lingered a second longer, smiling when she wasn’t.

In class, she barely heard the teacher. Her thoughts kept drifting to the boy — his voice, his eyes. He’d seemed… lonely. Sad.

But why did he say she’d been there before?

At lunch, she found herself wandering the library, a vast place filled with dust and secrets. In a far corner, a shelf caught her eye. It was covered with old photographs of Westmoor’s first students.

She flipped through one — a picture from 1921.

Her heart nearly stopped.

There he was.

The same silver-haired boy, standing at the edge of a group photo, smiling faintly. His name printed below:

Elias Vaughn.

Her last name.

Arielle’s fingers trembled. “That’s… impossible.”

Then, from somewhere behind her, that same soft, velvety whisper brushed her ear:

“You found me.”

She turned around — but no one was there.

Arielle couldn’t stop thinking about the name: Elias Vaughn.

The moment she saw it, something in her chest twisted — not fear, not yet, but something that felt like a half-forgotten ache.

When she returned to her dorm that evening, she slipped the tiny wooden door from her pocket. The gold letters on the back now shimmered brighter, as if reacting to the name still echoing in her mind.

Lydia wasn’t in the room. The light flickered. The air felt colder, heavier.

On the desk sat an old porcelain doll. Arielle frowned — she’d never seen it before. Its cracked face smiled blankly, and one glass eye was missing. A tag tied to its neck read:

“Welcome back, Arielle.”

Her breath caught. “Who put this here?” she whispered.

The doll’s head twitched.

Arielle stumbled backward, knocking over her chair. The doll fell too, but instead of shattering, it rolled upright again. Its good eye gleamed faintly red.

Then she heard it — a whisper so faint she thought she imagined it.

“He’s waiting in the mirror.”

“No,” Arielle murmured, shaking her head. “This isn’t real. I’m dreaming.”

But the mirror on the wall behind the doll rippled like water, and the reflection of the room twisted. The reflection showed her bed — but in it lay a girl that looked exactly like Arielle… eyes open, staring at the ceiling.

Arielle screamed and ran for the door — but it wouldn’t open. The knob turned uselessly. The doll’s whisper grew louder.

“He’s lonely… he needs you.”

Lightning flashed outside, and suddenly Elias was there, reflected in the mirror behind her. His eyes were soft but filled with sorrow.

“Stop running,” he said gently. “You came here because of me.”

Arielle turned. “Why me?”

He stepped closer, his voice low, almost breaking. “Because you promised.”

“I never promised you anything!” she cried.

He smiled faintly, but his expression wasn’t cruel — it was heartbreak itself. “Not in this life.”

The mirror flickered, showing flashes: a girl in old-fashioned clothes laughing beside him, a locket glinting in her hand, and then fire — screaming, smoke, the dorm burning.

Arielle gasped. “That’s not me.”

He looked down. “It was. Once.”

The mirror cracked down the middle, and the vision vanished. The doll’s head snapped toward her, voice shrill now:

“Don’t leave him again!”

Arielle grabbed the tiny wooden door and slammed it against the mirror. The glass shattered, and the doll went silent, collapsing like a puppet whose strings were cut.

She stood shaking, chest heaving, eyes burning with tears.

When Lydia burst in seconds later, Arielle could barely speak. “The mirror—there was a boy—”

Lydia froze at the sight of the shattered glass. “You… saw him?”

Arielle nodded weakly.

Lydia’s face went pale. “You shouldn’t have answered him. Once he knows your name, he won’t stop.”

“Who is he?”

Lydia hesitated, lowering her voice. “Elias Vaughn. He was the founder’s son. Died in the dorm fire almost a century ago. They say he fell in love with a girl who betrayed him — set the fire herself and ran away. Since then, he’s been trapped here… waiting for her to return.”

Arielle’s heart thudded painfully. “That’s insane.”

“Is it?” Lydia whispered. “Every girl who’s ever stayed in this room — Room 213 — sees him.”

Arielle looked down at the doll again. The tag still glowed faintly in the dark.

Welcome back, Arielle.

That night, she couldn’t sleep. She kept hearing faint tapping on the window, like fingernails on glass.

At 3 a.m., she sat up. The wooden door on her nightstand was glowing again. She picked it up — and this time, when she opened it, she didn’t see wood on the other side.

She saw a hallway.

The same one from her dreams. Candles floating on water.

And at the far end stood Elias, hand outstretched.

“Arielle,” he said softly. “Come home.”

Her body moved before her mind could stop it. She stepped forward, through the glow — and the air changed.

The sound of dripping water echoed around her. The hallway was real now, endless and dim. The candles flickered.

“Where am I?” she whispered.

Elias’s voice came from somewhere ahead. “Where you left me.”

She followed the sound, her bare feet splashing softly. Along the walls hung hundreds of dolls — suspended by invisible strings, their heads turning as she passed. Their porcelain mouths whispered one word in unison:

“Promise… promise… promise…”

Arielle clutched the wooden door tight. “Elias, please—why are you showing me this?”

He appeared at the end of the hall, his eyes glowing faintly now. “Because I want you to remember why you left.”

The dolls began to hum that same haunting lullaby from her dreams. The air thickened with smoke, and the smell of roses returned.

Arielle’s head spun. Memories flickered — her mother’s face, a fire, a boy’s scream.

She dropped the door and fell to her knees. “What are you saying? That I’m her? That I burned you?”

He knelt beside her, touching her cheek. His hand was cold, but his voice was warm. “You didn’t mean to. You tried to save me. And now… we can finish what we started.”

A tear slid down her face. “I’m alive. You’re not.”

His smile broke. “Then let me live through you.”

Before she could speak, the candles went out. All the dolls turned toward her at once — their eyes glowing red.

The last thing she heard before everything went black was his whisper:

“Don’t leave me again, Arielle.”