The Forgotten Room

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I bought the house for a fresh start. It seemed perfect—quiet, cheap, and big. I didn’t ask why it was so cheap. I needed space to breathe. My life had been a mess for too long. This house was supposed to fix that.

In the basement, I found something odd. At first, I didn’t see it—the door was hidden behind some boxes. When I started cleaning, I saw it: a locked door. Rusty keyhole. No handle. Just a dark, cold panel.

I didn’t care much at first. I had bigger things to worry about. But that door stuck in my head. Why was it locked? What was behind it?

I made an effort to recall, but it got tougher the more I tried. Like sand between my fingers, the memory vanished. Perhaps I was going crazy, I thought. But it was just a door, right?

Then one night, I started seeing things.

It was after I moved in. The house still felt strange. I passed the basement door and saw it—a figure. It was standing still in the dark. My heart skipped. I froze. I stared, but the figure didn’t move.

I told myself it was nothing. But it happened every night. That figure. It didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just stood there, waiting.

Consequently, I broke my vow one evening. I picked the lock.

The door creaked as it opened. The air smelled old, damp. I stepped in, heart racing. The basement was dim, lit by one bulb. It was weak, casting an eerie glow.

Then I saw it—her.

A woman. She looked like me. But her eyes were dead, cold. She didn’t move. Just stared. I could feel she wasn’t just standing there. She was waiting. Waiting for something I didn’t understand.

I took a step back, gasping. My head was spinning. What was going on? Was this a prank? Had someone set this up?

Then the door slammed shut. I felt the air get thick, heavy. I heard my voice echo, but it didn’t sound right. I turned, and there she was—me—smiling from the corner. But it wasn’t my smile. It was cold, empty.

“I’ve been waiting,” she whispered. The words felt like ice.

I blinked. She was gone.

I ran out, locked the door. But even as I did, I knew I couldn’t escape her. She was inside me. Something I hid deep down. I couldn’t avoid it anymore.

Days passed. I started wondering—had I locked that door? What was behind it? Why had I sealed it away? It made less sense the more I considered it. But I had to face it.

The forgotten room wasn’t just a room. It was a part of me. A place I’d buried. I couldn’t run anymore.

She was waiting. Waiting for me to open the door.

But the real question was—what was worse? What was behind the door or what I had hidden from myself?

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