It was supposed to be a simple night.
Just four friends
Just one abandoned house.
Mira and her three friends Arjun, Neha, and Vikram drove to the edge of the old village where no one had lived for twenty years. They parked near the rusted gate that leaned against its hinges like a drunk man trying to stand.
"Only fifteen minutes inside," Vikram said, pretending to be brave. "Then we're out."
The house looked like it had been carved out of nightmares windows shattered, roof half-broken, vines swallowing the walls. Everyone in the village called it The Last Room, because they said whoever stepped inside that room never came out the same.
Mira laughed nervously. "Ghosts aren't real," she said though her voice trembled when the wind blew cold across her neck.
Inside, the air smelled of wet earth and iron. Their flashlights danced on the walls, revealing old photos faces blurred, eyes scratched out.
Arjun whispered, "Why are the eyes gone?"
No one answered.
They moved deeper. The hallway narrowed, the silence thickened. From somewhere upstairs came the faint sound of a music box slow, broken, out of tune.
Neha froze. "Who turned that on?"
They climbed the stairs. Every step moaned beneath them. On the landing, they saw the door dark red, carved with strange symbols. It was The Last Room.
Vikram grinned. "Let's finish this."
He pushed the door open.
The music stopped.
Inside was a child's room toys scattered, bed neatly made, mirror standing in the corner. The mirror's glass shimmered even though there was no light.
Mira walked closer. Her reflection looked wrong slightly delayed, her smile too wide.
Then the reflection blinked when she didn't.
"Guys…" she whispered, backing away.
The reflection stepped forward. Out of the mirror. Its feet left no shadow, its eyes hollow but burning white.
The door slammed shut.
Arjun ran to pull it open, but it wouldn't move. Neha screamed as hands began to crawl from under the bed grey, skeletal hands dragging themselves toward her.
Vikram threw his flashlight it hit the wall and burst, leaving them in darkness. Only the faint glow of the mirror remained, pulsing like a heartbeat.
"Mira," a voice whispered her own voice from behind her ear.
She turned.
Nothing.
Then her reflection grabbed her wrist from inside the mirror and yanked.
Her scream echoed but no one heard it outside the house.
---
Three weeks later, police found the house open again.
Only one phone was recovered — Mira's.
The last video showed her face, trembling, whispering,
> "If you see the mirror, don't look at it… it's looking back."
Then the camera fell.
And behind her, something smiled. 💀