The Forgotten Room
Ravi had always been drawn to the peculiar. Ever since he was a child, he had been fascinated by things that most people found strange or unsettling—forgotten buildings, abandoned streets, and the mysteries that lay hidden in corners of the world. So, when he first heard whispers about an old mansion on the outskirts of his village, he knew he had to see it for himself. The villagers warned him, their faces pale with fear, urging him not to venture near the mansion. It was cursed, they said. It had stood empty for decades, its walls crumbling and its grounds overrun by weeds and ivy. But Ravi, ever the skeptic, dismissed their superstitions as nothing more than the idle gossip of frightened villagers. To him, the mansion was merely a decaying relic of the past—a place waiting to be explored.
On a cloudy afternoon, when the sky was thick with clouds and the air had a chill that hinted at the coming rain, Ravi finally decided to go. The mansion, though imposing, was hidden behind a veil of overgrown trees and tangled vines, barely visible to anyone passing by. But Ravi had heard enough tales about it to know exactly where to go.
He stood before its rusted gates, his heart pounding with a mixture of excitement and curiosity. The gates creaked open with a loud groan as he pushed them aside, stepping onto the gravel path that led to the front door. The mansion loomed before him, its windows shattered, its once-grand facade now covered in ivy and mildew. The heavy wooden door, chipped and weathered, was ajar, as if inviting him inside.
A musty smell greeted him as he entered, the air thick with the scent of decay and disuse. Dust swirled in the dim light that filtered through cracks in the ceiling, casting long shadows across the worn wooden floor. Ravi’s footsteps echoed eerily, each one a reminder that he was alone in this forgotten place. As he wandered through the mansion’s darkened halls, his eyes lingered on the remnants of a once-beautiful home—peeling wallpaper, ornate but broken chandeliers, rotting furniture that had long since given up any pretense of being usable. The further he walked, the more he could sense the weight of time pressing in on him, the silence thick and oppressive.
It was on the second floor that he found it—the door. It stood out against the decay that surrounded it, pristine in its appearance. The polished wood gleamed in the half-light, and the brass handle shone as if it had been cleaned just yesterday. It was almost too perfect, too inviting, a stark contrast to the ruin that lay all around it.
Ravi’s curiosity piqued, but something held him back. He stood before the door, staring at it for a long moment. The air around it was colder than the rest of the house, the temperature noticeably dropping as if the door itself had a chill to it. Ravi’s instincts whispered that something wasn’t right, that he should turn back. But then again, what kind of explorer would he be if he listened to his instincts? Curiosity won out, and he reached for the handle.
With a soft click, the door swung open. The room inside was dark, its details obscured by shadows. But what caught his attention immediately was the mirror—a large, ornate mirror that hung on the far wall. Its frame was carved with intricate, swirling patterns that seemed to shift when he wasn’t looking directly at them, as though they were alive. But it was the glass that truly caught his eye. It was perfectly clear, almost too clear, reflecting the room with an unsettling precision.
Ravi stepped closer, drawn to the mirror. He stood in front of it, staring at his reflection. For a moment, it was just him—dusty, disheveled, with a mix of excitement and unease in his eyes. But then something shifted.
The reflection smiled.
Ravi hadn’t moved. He stood frozen, his heart thudding in his chest. His reflection, however, had changed. It smiled—slowly, almost mockingly, in a way that felt wrong. Ravi took a step back, his breath catching in his throat. The reflection continued to smile, the expression growing wider, as though it were savoring his shock.
He stumbled backward. “No,” he whispered, his voice shaking. “This... this isn’t possible.”
And yet, there it was—his own reflection, smiling, its eyes gleaming with an eerie darkness. Without warning, the reflection stepped forward, pressing its hands against the inside of the glass, its fingers leaving faint smudges on the otherwise pristine surface.
“Help me,” it whispered, its voice a hollow echo that seemed to reverberate in the room.
Ravi’s blood ran cold. His feet were rooted to the spot, his body refusing to obey his mind’s frantic orders to run. His eyes remained locked on the reflection, his mouth dry.
“Who... who are you?” he stammered, his voice barely above a whisper.
The reflection tilted its head, the smile never faltering. It was almost as if it were enjoying Ravi’s confusion, savoring the moment. “I’m you,” it said, its voice dripping with cold amusement. “The real you.”
Before Ravi could respond, the mirror began to ripple, as though the glass were made of water, not reflective material. His heart raced as the surface of the mirror undulated, and with a terrifying smoothness, the reflection stepped out, becoming solid and tangible.
Ravi’s breath caught in his throat as the doppelgänger took shape before him. It was him—exactly him—but there was something wrong, something deeply unsettling. The eyes were darker, the smile too sharp, and the movements were unnatural, as if the figure were only pretending to be human.
The doppelgänger looked Ravi up and down, its smile widening. “Thank you,” it said, its voice dripping with mockery. “I’ve been waiting for someone like you to let me out.”
Ravi’s mind raced, but his body refused to move. He tried to back away, but the doppelgänger was faster. With inhuman strength, it lunged forward and grabbed him by the wrist, its grip like ice.
“No!” Ravi screamed, struggling to break free. But the doppelgänger was too strong.
With one swift motion, it dragged him toward the mirror, which had become a swirling vortex of shadows. Ravi’s scream echoed through the mansion as he was pulled into the mirror’s depths, his body vanishing into the blackness.
Silence descended.
The doppelgänger stood alone in the room, adjusting its collar with a casualness that belied the terror it had just unleashed. It turned to the mirror, where Ravi’s terrified face stared back, his fists pounding against the glass.
“Enjoy your stay,” the doppelgänger said with a smirk, before turning and walking out of the room, closing the door softly behind it.
The villagers never saw Ravi again. They whispered that he had gone off to seek his fortune or that he had fallen victim to the mansion’s curse. But sometimes, late at night, when the wind howled and the moon was hidden behind clouds, if you passed by the mansion, you could hear faint screams coming from the forgotten room. And sometimes, you could hear the sound of a mirror cracking.
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