Liam's eyes snapped open.
He didn't remember falling asleep. The dim glow from the hallway light outside his room barely reached through the crack beneath the door. The digital clock on the nightstand blinked erratically—2:07 AM—like it had reset itself.
He sat up slowly. The room felt... heavier somehow. Thicker air. Like breathing through cotton.
Then it came.
A whisper.
Faint. Almost part of the air itself.
It came from just beyond the room door. He froze.
"Liam...?"
The voice was unmistakably female, soft, trembling—like someone calling through tears.
But Liam was alone. He hadn't told anyone where he was staying. No one should know he was here.
Another whisper.
"Don't open it… not yet… please."
He stood, barefoot, heart hammering in his chest, and stepped toward the door. The voice was clearer now. It wasn't angry. It was… pleading.
He leaned closer to the door. Not a sound.
Slowly, he placed his palm against the wood. Ice cold.
"Who's there?" he whispered.
Silence.
Then—
Three slow knocks.
They didn't come from the other side.
They came from inside the room's wall.
He stumbled back, nearly tripping over the corner of the bed.
The mirror across the room flickered—as though someone had walked past it.
But the room was empty.
A cold draft passed by his neck. The curtain swayed slightly, though the windows were sealed shut. Liam rushed to check them, and as he touched the glass, something caught his eye.
In the corner of the mirror—
A woman.
Standing behind him.
He spun around.
No one.
But this time, the whisper didn't return.
What returned... was the smell.
Faint smoke. Old perfume. And something metallic, like rusted iron.
He turned to face the mirror again—and written across the fogged surface, in shaky letters:
"She was locked in Room 7. Don't trust the man."
Liam's legs went numb.
He wiped the message away with his sleeve—but the mirror stayed warm, almost alive under his touch.
Outside, in the hallway, something moved. The light flickered once, then steadied.
He reached for the doorknob again—hand trembling—but this time, there was no whisper to stop him.
Only his own reflection, watching…
and something in its eyes that didn't match his.