**I FOUND A HIDDEN ROOM BEHIND MY BATHROOM MIRROR — WHAT I SAW INSIDE WAS IMPOSSIBLE.**
It started with a strange echo. I was singing in the shower, and something sounded… hollow.
Tapping around the bathroom, the mirror vibrated strangely. I pulled; it swung inward, revealing a dark, narrow space.
A single bare bulb illuminated shelves stacked with notebooks. They were all filled with my handwriting.
I didn’t recognize a word. It wasn’t a language I knew.
Picking up one of the notebooks, I flipped it open to a random page. I saw a drawing — a perfect sketch of me, standing right there, holding the notebook.
Except in the drawing, my reflection in the mirror behind me wasn’t me at all. It was something else. ⬇️
It was something… serpentine. A face with scales, eyes like chips of obsidian, and a cruel, thin smile. A cold dread, sharper than any blade, pierced me. My breath hitched. I stumbled back, dropping the notebook. Its pages fluttered open, revealing intricate diagrams of constellations and symbols that pulsed with an inner, malevolent light.
Days bled into weeks. I was consumed. The hidden room became my obsession. Every night, I’d return, poring over the notebooks, desperately trying to decipher the alien script. The drawings became more disturbing, depicting grotesque rituals and shadowed figures engaged in unspeakable acts. Sleep offered no escape; my dreams were filled with the serpentine reflection, its gaze burning into my soul.
One night, while translating a particularly disturbing passage, I discovered a hidden compartment within one of the notebooks. Inside, a tarnished silver locket lay nestled in velvet. I opened it, revealing a miniature portrait – a woman with kind eyes and flowing auburn hair. She looked heartbreakingly familiar, yet I couldn’t place her.
A wave of nausea washed over me as I felt a searing pain in my head, a torrent of memories flooding my consciousness. I saw a life I didn’t remember – a life as that auburn-haired woman, a life of love and loss, a life violently stolen by a creature from another dimension, a creature that had taken her form, wearing her skin like a mask. I saw myself, in that other life, creating these notebooks, a desperate plea for help, a record of a reality I was being systematically erased from.
The serpentine reflection in the drawings wasn’t just a reflection; it was a manifestation of the entity, the one who had replaced the woman I once was, who lived a life I now knew was mine. The script, I realized with a gasp, was a code, a key to opening a portal between dimensions.
Panic clawed at me. I had to stop it. I had to reclaim my life, my memories, my identity. That night, I sat before the mirror, the silver locket clutched in my hand. I whispered the translated words from the notebook, the incantation echoing in the small space, a desperate prayer for deliverance. The air crackled with energy.
The mirror shimmered, the serpentine reflection writhing within its depths, its obsidian eyes locking onto mine. A terrifying battle of wills began, a silent conflict waged between my reclaimed memories and the entity’s desperate hold. The room vibrated, the air thick with dread.
Then, silence.
The mirror remained still, its surface reflecting my own tear-streaked face, the face of a woman who had fought and won, but at a terrible cost. The locket felt cold and heavy in my hand, a constant reminder of the life I’d almost lost, of the sacrifices made. The notebooks remained, their cryptic secrets still mostly untold, a chilling testament to a reality that brushed the edges of the impossible. The question lingered: Was the entity truly gone? Or was it merely dormant, waiting for an opportune moment to return? The answer remained, as elusive and terrifying as the hidden room itself.