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The Mirror House

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Chapter:2: The house that watches

For a moment, neither Aarav nor Riya moved.

The slam of the front door still echoed through the hallway, fading into a thick, suffocating silence.

Riya gripped Aarav’s arm. “Open it. Please.”

Aarav swallowed and pulled the door handle. It didn’t budge. He pushed harder. Then harder.

Nothing.

“It’s jammed,” he said, trying to sound calm, though his voice trembled slightly.

Riya took a shaky breath. “Aarav… something doesn’t want us to leave.”

Aarav lifted the flashlight, its beam slicing through floating dust like a narrow spotlight on old secrets. The entrance hall stretched before them: a long corridor with peeling wallpaper, broken picture frames hanging crookedly, and a staircase that looked swollen from dampness.

The house wasn’t empty.

It was watching.

They walked slowly, each step echoing in the hollow silence.

Riya stopped suddenly. “Did you hear that?” she whispered.

A soft tapping sound travelled through the walls—slow, rhythmic, like fingernails brushing old wood. It moved from one side to the other, following them.

Aarav tightened his grip on the flashlight. “Probably rats.”

“That was not a rat,” Riya snapped, her eyes darting nervously.

They continued walking until they reached a large room to the right—the living room. The air inside felt colder, unnaturally cold, as if the room had never seen sunlight.

A giant portrait hung above a dusty fireplace. The painting showed a girl around their age, long hair braided neatly, eyes dark and strangely lifelike.

Too lifelike.

Riya stepped closer, her voice barely audible. “Aarav… her eyes…”

Aarav aimed the flashlight at the portrait. The painted girl’s eyes glinted unnaturally, reflecting the light as if they were made of glass.

Riya took a step back. “It feels like she’s looking at us.”

Aarav forced a laugh. “It’s just an old painting.”

But when he turned away, Riya gasped.

“Aarav—her head moved!”

He spun around.

The girl’s head in the painting was tilted slightly to the side now.

Aarav’s blood ran cold. “No… that’s impossible.”

A faint whisper floated through the room.

“Don’t look away…”

The temperature dropped even further. Riya’s breath turned white in the air.

“Let’s go,” she said shakily. “Please, Aarav. I don’t like this place.”

Aarav nodded, and they hurried out of the living room, back into the hallway. But the tapping sound returned—faster this time. Closer.

It was following them.

As they moved deeper into the house, the tapping changed into something else:

a soft dragging sound, like bare feet sliding across the floor.

Riya froze. “Aarav… someone’s behind us.”

He turned slowly, raising the flashlight.

The hallway behind them was empty.

But on the dusty floor, fresh footprints appeared—one by one—moving toward them.

Invisible. Steady. Coming closer.

Riya’s voice broke into a whisper. “Aarav… run.”

They bolted up the staircase, the sound of unseen feet chasing after them. When they reached the top, Aarav slammed a random door shut behind them and locked it.

They stood inside, panting, trembling.

The room was small, lit only by the moonlight leaking through a cracked window. Old books lay scattered on the floor. A broken chair leaned against a dusty table. The air smelled like mold and something faintly sweet… like old perfume.

Riya’s eyes scanned the room. “A bedroom?”

Aarav nodded. “At least nothing is moving in here.”

But Riya stepped toward the table—and froze.

A faded diary lay open, its pages yellow and curled with age.

And written in shaky handwriting on the open page were the words:

“If you’re reading this… it already knows you’re here.”

Thunder rumbled outside.

Aarav and Riya exchanged terrified glances.

Then the door behind them.

The door they had locked.

It began to knock.

Slow.