The hallway extended before Alex like a dreamscape stretched too thin — endlessly repeating itself, walls blank and sterile, the dull hum of unseen lights reverberating like a distant memory. There was something unnerving in its symmetry, something wrong in the silence between each footstep. This corridor was reminiscent of the hospital he had once known, yet every detail felt subtly corrupted — the angles just a little too sharp, the shadows lingering a little too long.
The air itself buzzed with an electric stillness, thick and heavy as though saturated with the breath of forgotten voices. Every step forward felt like trespassing, like moving deeper into a mind not entirely his own. He was no longer sure if this place was merely a reflection of his fractured psyche or something more — a construct given life by trauma, grief, and guilt.
Lining both sides of the hallway were doors — unmarked yet unmistakably significant. Each one seemed to hum faintly, vibrating with energy that prickled at his skin. They weren't merely entries into space — they were gateways into the past, each harboring a truth long buried, a pain long denied.
Alex paused at the next door, his breath hitching as he reached out. The handle was cold to the touch — not just physically cold, but hollow, as if it were drawing the warmth from his very skin. For a long moment, he didn't move, heart pounding like a war drum within his chest, every beat echoing the tension that gripped him. He knew what he would find wouldn't be easy. But he also knew he couldn't turn back.
Taking a breath that felt far too shallow, he pushed open the door.
The room on the other side was cloaked in dim, flickering light. Shadows danced along the walls, cast by a pale blue glow with no apparent source. The walls themselves were entirely covered in mirrors — floor to ceiling, edge to edge — their surfaces cracked, some barely clinging to the frames that bound them. It was as if the very room had shattered under the weight of memory.
As Alex stepped inside, a chill seeped through his clothes and into his bones. The temperature dropped instantly, the floor beneath his bare feet like ice. The silence was thick, not empty but expectant, filled with a tension that made the hairs on the back of his neck rise.
Then came the voices.
Soft at first — like distant murmurs through a veil — they grew clearer as he walked further in. The mirrors began to whisper.
"Remember…"
"Forget…"
"Forget…"
"Remember…"
Their overlapping tones formed a dissonant, almost musical chant — a lullaby sung by fractured minds. Each voice was different, yet all sounded eerily familiar. Some male. Some female. Some young, others old. But all, unmistakably, were his own thoughts — echoes of past regrets and half-healed wounds.
Alex swallowed hard, his breath fogging in the cold. He tried not to meet the reflections staring back at him, but it was impossible. Each mirror captured him, fractured him, twisted his image into something grotesque. One reflection showed him older, gaunt and hollow-eyed. Another twisted his face into an expression of pure rage. In one shard, his mouth moved silently, screaming.
He turned in place, searching for a way out — or at least a focal point. Then, without warning, one of the mirrors began to shimmer. Unlike the others, it didn't reflect his current self. Instead, it rippled like a pool of disturbed water, slowly solidifying into a clear image.
It was a memory.
Alex saw himself as a teenager — laughing, vibrant, surrounded by friends beneath the golden glow of summer sunlight. They sat on the grass in a park he hadn't seen in years. The scene radiated warmth and ease, a version of life untouched by trauma.
But something was wrong.
The edges of the mirror blurred, the light dimmed. Shadowy figures appeared at the fringes of the image — featureless silhouettes standing just out of focus. They didn't move, but their presence distorted the scene like a smudge on glass.
"Don't trust the light," the mirror hissed, the voice sharp and slithering.
"It hides the darkness beneath."
Alex stumbled back a step, startled by the sudden shift in tone. The laughter in the mirror twisted, warping into shrieks. His friends' faces changed — smiles melting into sneers, eyes becoming empty voids. The summer scene collapsed into a cold, lifeless gray.
Instinctively, he reached out, fingertips brushing the surface of the mirror.
It was freezing — not just cold, but alive. Beneath his hand, the glass pulsed faintly, like a heartbeat. He tried to pull away, but the surface clung to him like a leech.
Without warning, the mirror cracked.
Thin, jagged lines spread from the center like lightning bolts. From those fractures, dark hands emerged — skeletal and clawed, oozing black mist. They seized Alex's arms, dragging him forward toward the mirror's heart. He thrashed, adrenaline surging as he fought against their grip.
The room exploded into chaos.
Every mirror began to whisper at once, voices rising to a fever pitch. Some screamed. Others cried. A few simply repeated his name over and over.
"Alex…"
"Why did you leave me?"
"It was your fault…"
"You knew…"
The hands pulled harder.
Alex grit his teeth and summoned every ounce of strength within him. He wasn't ready to be consumed. With a desperate roar, he twisted free, yanking his arms back and stumbling out of the mirror's reach. The moment he broke contact, the hands retreated, vanishing into the shards with a shriek like tearing metal.
The mirror shattered behind him, fragments scattering like glass rain.
The door slammed shut on its own with a thunderous crack.
Panting, trembling, Alex leaned heavily against the hallway wall, sweat cooling rapidly on his skin. The cold wall was strangely comforting, a reminder that he was still here — still fighting.
Fear still clawed at the edges of his mind, but beneath it, a flicker of defiance had taken root. The room had tried to drown him in regret, to use memory as a weapon. But he had survived it. He had chosen to walk back out.
He turned his gaze forward. The hallway had changed again — the light slightly warmer now, the walls pulsing faintly like they were breathing.
More doors awaited. More trials. More memories hiding their teeth behind familiar faces.
And yet, Alex now knew something vital:
He wasn't here to be punished.
He was here to reclaim.
Piece by piece, shard by shard, he would face the mirror's whispers.
And in doing so, perhaps he would remember who he truly was.