The Forgotten Door

The air in the abandoned house was thick with dust, every surface covered in a layer of neglect. Ji-Hoon stood at the threshold of what could only be described as the end of his journey—or the beginning of a new nightmare.

After the cryptic warning from the man in black, Ji-Hoon had followed the only clue left to him: a vague address, scribbled hastily on the back of the photograph. The address had led him to this desolate place, hidden in the back alleys of Seoul, far from the bustling streets he had always known. The building looked as though it had been abandoned for decades, a remnant of another time, yet there was an eerie pull to it, like something in the very air demanded his presence.

The wind howled outside, rattling the windowpanes. Inside, everything was still—too still.

Ji-Hoon stepped forward, the old wooden door creaking as he pushed it open. His heart raced with each passing second, his mind flashing back to the man’s warning: "Once you step inside, there’s no turning back."

He hesitated for a moment, looking down at the photograph in his hands again. The faces staring back at him were strangers, yet they were more familiar than anyone else in his life. His mother, smiling but distant. The man in black. The same man from the picture. The one who had erased everything.

With a deep breath, Ji-Hoon stepped inside.

The room was empty, save for a few scattered pieces of furniture covered in sheets. A heavy silence hung in the air, broken only by the occasional creak of the floorboards beneath Ji-Hoon's feet. The place felt like a memory, like something lost to time. But it was real. And it was waiting for him.

In the center of the room, a single door caught Ji-Hoon's eye. It was out of place, like it didn’t belong in this forgotten house. The frame was ornate, with carvings he didn’t recognize, and the wood was polished and new, a stark contrast to the rest of the decaying surroundings.

Without thinking, Ji-Hoon moved toward it, compelled by something deeper than curiosity. His hand hovered over the door handle, but a sudden wave of dread washed over him. This was the door the man in black had mentioned. The one that would lead him to the truth—but what was the price?

He turned the handle, the door groaning as it opened. Beyond it was a small room, almost like a vault, its walls lined with shelves full of boxes and old, yellowing papers. In the far corner of the room stood a large, ornate mirror, covered in a thick layer of dust, its reflective surface cracked in several places.

The door clicked shut behind him with a finality that made Ji-Hoon’s breath catch in his throat. He was trapped, but there was no turning back now.

He moved toward the mirror, unable to take his eyes off it. The cracks in the glass made it seem like the reflection was distorted, as if something or someone was trying to break through.

As Ji-Hoon approached, the temperature in the room seemed to drop. The air grew thick, like something was moving just out of sight. He reached out a trembling hand to touch the glass.

The second his fingers made contact with the cold surface, the mirror shuddered violently. The air in the room seemed to vibrate with an unnatural energy, and for a moment, Ji-Hoon could swear he heard whispers—low, guttural voices speaking a language he didn’t understand.

The whispers grew louder, more urgent, until they reached a deafening crescendo.

Then, without warning, the mirror fractured, the glass breaking into thousands of pieces that scattered across the floor. But Ji-Hoon didn’t move. His body was frozen in place, his eyes wide in terror as he stared into the mirror’s shattered remnants.

What he saw staring back at him wasn’t his own reflection.

It was a man—someone he didn’t recognize. His features were distorted, his face barely visible beneath a mask of shadows. But there was no mistaking it. This man looked exactly like Ji-Hoon, down to the smallest detail. It was as if the mirror had revealed a hidden truth, a reflection of someone Ji-Hoon didn’t even know existed. The man in the mirror smiled, and it wasn’t a friendly smile. It was cold, cruel, and knowing.

“You’re starting to understand now, aren’t you?” the figure in the mirror said, his voice a distorted version of Ji-Hoon’s own.

Ji-Hoon stepped back, his heart hammering in his chest. This couldn’t be happening. This was all wrong. He didn’t have a twin, didn’t have a shadow like this man standing before him.

But as the figure in the mirror spoke again, Ji-Hoon felt the unsettling familiarity of his words.

“I am your past, Ji-Hoon. And you are the one who has been hiding from me.”

The room felt like it was closing in on him. The broken glass at his feet seemed to grow sharper, the pieces twinkling like shards of a broken memory. His breath became shallow as the mirror-man’s words echoed in his ears, over and over.

“I am your past,” the figure repeated. “And I will never let you forget.”

Ji-Hoon backed away, his mind spinning. He reached for the door, his fingers trembling as he grabbed the handle and pulled with all his strength. But it wouldn’t budge.

“No… No!” Ji-Hoon screamed, the weight of the words crushing him.

The reflection of the man in the mirror laughed softly, his voice now a whisper.

“You cannot run from the truth, Ji-Hoon. You are me, and I am you. The door has been opened. The price has been paid. And now, you must face your past. You must face yourself.”

Ji-Hoon stood there, the full weight of the truth settling upon him. The shadow that had been following him all this time… it was not just some phantom of his imagination.

It was his own past. A past he had tried to bury.

But it was no use.

The past was always waiting to resurface.

And now, it was calling him home.

“The past is never truly buried. It’s only waiting to be unearthed.”

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