BY: HORROR KING
She was led by two attendants down a corridor that felt colder than the rest of the estate. The walls had old portraits — some looked like the other patients. But older. Aged.
At the end of the hallway stood a thick wooden door with golden etching. The words above it read: “Only through thyself may thou be free.”
The Reflection Room was circular, and unlike any place Maya had ever seen. The walls were lined with mirrors — tall, seamless, pristine — yet they didn’t reflect anything. No image. No shadows. Just empty glass.
She stepped inside.
“Speak your pain,” said Dr. Vellum from a speaker above. “Let her out.”
“Who?” Maya whispered.
Suddenly, one of the mirrors began to change. A figure emerged. At first blurry… then clearer.
It was her.
But her smile was wrong.
The eyes were a shade darker. The mouth curled slightly upward — amused. Mocking. Her hair was the same, but sleeker. Skin smoother. She was Maya without the weight of guilt — but also without any light of humanity.
She stared at Maya and tilted her head.
“You don’t belong here anymore,” the reflection whispered. But Maya hadn’t moved her lips.
The Descent
From that day on, Maya was different.
She couldn’t sleep. When she closed her eyes, she dreamt of her double walking around the institute in her place — speaking to others, laughing, convincing them she was the real Maya.
Sometimes, in group sessions, she saw people looking at her strangely. Like they weren’t sure who she was anymore.
She started drawing again. But not with paint. She used ink, charcoal, her own blood. Her drawings showed two Mayas — one locked in a mirror, screaming; the other smiling, standing in front of it, wearing her skin like a dress.
The staff became colder. The other patients avoided her.
Until one night, she snuck into the archive room behind the therapy office.
What she found chilled her: hundreds of patient files. All admitted over the past 40 years. All had disappeared. Declared “healed.” But no forwarding address. No family contact. No discharge notes.
On the back of each file: a photograph of the patient smiling in the Reflection Room.
In front of a mirror.
With no reflection.
The Break
The next day, Maya demanded answers from Dr. Vellum. She was calm. Too calm.
“You didn’t tell me this was some twisted ritual. What did you take from me?”
Dr. Vellum gently folded her hands.
“We extract the pain. But sometimes… the pain fights back. Sometimes, it becomes a version of you that doesn’t want to go. She’s not evil. She’s what’s left behind when everything good has been peeled away. She’s the part of you that doesn’t cry anymore.”
Maya screamed. “I want her gone!”
Dr. Vellum smiled. “Then go back. Face her. One last time.”
The Battle of Selves
In the Reflection Room, Maya stepped into the center, trembling. Her double emerged again. This time, she moved.
Walked out of the mirror.
“You can have your grief,” the double said. “But you’ll never be whole.”
Maya reached into her pocket — she’d stolen a shard of broken glass from the hallway frame. She slashed at the double — but it was like slicing wind. The double laughed and grabbed Maya’s face, whispering:
“Why do you deserve healing when you let your brother burn?”
Maya collapsed, sobbing. “Because I still feel it.”
That’s when the walls began to crack. The mirrors shattered. All around her, she saw the trapped reflections of dozens of other people finally escaping, their pain released, their shadows screaming back into the void.
She passed out.
The Aftermath
Maya awoke in a real hospital, three weeks later. Found on the side of a highway, near the ruins of what used to be a private estate. Burned down. No staff. No records. No Edenridge.
They said it was all in her head. A hallucination.
But when Maya returned home, she started painting again.
And one night, while brushing her teeth, she looked in the bathroom mirror…
Her reflection stared too long.
And then smiled.
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