The Shadow Room

“Are you sure about this?” Clara asked, her flashlight trembling in her grip.

Ben grinned, the beam from his own flashlight cutting through the dust-filled air of the abandoned mansion. “What’s the worst that could happen? It’s just an old house.”

Clara swallowed hard, her eyes darting to the peeling wallpaper and cracked wooden floors. “Old and cursed,” she muttered under her breath.

Legend had it that the mansion’s “shadow room” was haunted. People claimed that anyone who stayed too long in the room would see something—something they couldn’t unsee.

Ben pushed open a creaking door at the end of the hallway. “This is it,” he said, stepping inside.

Clara hesitated before following. The room was cold, much colder than the rest of the house. The wallpaper was darker here, stained in uneven patches, and a heavy, oppressive silence seemed to press down on them.

“Let’s take a quick look and go,” Clara said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Ben ignored her and stepped toward the large, cracked mirror hanging on the far wall. “This must be where they saw it,” he said, tapping the glass.

Clara shivered. “Stop messing around, Ben. Let’s just—”

The door slammed shut behind them.

Clara screamed and spun around, grabbing the doorknob. It wouldn’t budge.

“Relax,” Ben said, though his voice wavered. “It’s probably just the wind.”

“There’s no wind in here!” Clara shot back.

Before Ben could reply, the lights on their flashlights flickered, then went out completely.

“Ben?” Clara whispered, her voice trembling.

“I’m right here,” he said, though his voice sounded distant.

Clara reached out in the darkness, her hand brushing against something cold and rough—too rough to be Ben’s jacket. She jerked her hand back.

“Ben!” she said, louder this time.

“I’m here,” he repeated, closer now.

But the voice wasn’t right. It sounded like Ben, but… wrong.

The room seemed to shift, the air growing heavier. Shapes moved in the darkness—shadows that twisted and writhed, independent of any light source.

“Clara,” the voice said again, and this time it came from the mirror.

She turned, her breath catching in her throat. In the dim light filtering through the dirty window, she saw the mirror wasn’t reflecting the room. Instead, it showed a version of the room where everything was decayed, broken, and burned.

In the center of the reflection stood Ben, or something that looked like him. Its eyes were black voids, and its smile stretched too wide.

“Help me,” it whispered.

Clara stumbled back, her heart hammering. “That’s not you,” she said aloud, her voice shaking.

The shadow in the mirror tilted its head. “Aren’t you going to save him?”

The real Ben’s voice screamed from somewhere in the room, a sound of pure terror. “Clara! Get out!”

But the shadows surged toward her, cold and alive, wrapping around her arms and legs. She fought, kicking and screaming, but they were too strong.

The last thing she saw before the darkness consumed her was the reflection of herself in the mirror—smiling back at her.