Mark and Lisa pressed on, trying to ignore the strange murmurs, but the air grew colder with every step. The hall stretched out before them, long and narrow, with doors lining either side.
Most were closed, their wooden frames warped with time. Only
one door at the far end stood slightly ajar, beckoning them forward.
"Let’s check that room," Mark said, his voice
barely above a whisper.
Lisa hesitated. "Maybe we should just leave."
But Mark was already walking toward the door. As they
approached, the whispers grew louder. It felt as though the walls themselves
were alive, pulsating with unseen voices. Lisa’s hand brushed against the
wallpaper, and she recoiled with a gasp. It was ice cold.
"Mark, something’s wrong."
He turned to her, his face pale. "We’ve come this far.
Let’s just look inside."
He pushed the door open, revealing a small, dusty room. It
was empty, except for a large, cracked mirror hanging on the far wall. The
glass was fogged, as if recently breathed upon, despite the bitter cold.
Mark stepped closer, his breath fogging in front of him.
"There’s something in the mirror," he muttered.
Lisa didn’t want to look, but her eyes were drawn to it. At
first, she saw only their reflections—pale, distorted by the cracked glass.
But then, something moved behind them. A shadow, darker than
the rest of the room, creeping closer.
"Mark..." Lisa’s voice trembled.
Suddenly, the shadow shifted, and the cold intensified. Mark
jerked back, his hand flying to his neck. "Something touched me!"
Lisa backed toward the door, her heart racing. "We need
to get out of here!"
As Mark turned to follow her, the door slammed shut,
trapping them inside with the creeping darkness.