Whispers behind Locked Doors

The Price of Silence

Clara's heartbeat thundered in her chest as the footsteps neared the door. Every instinct screamed at her to run, to flee before whatever waited behind that door could take her. But she was rooted to the spot, too terrified to move. The weight of the house's oppressive energy hung in the air, pressing down on her like a suffocating blanket.

The door creaked open with a groan that echoed through the silence of the room. Clara's breath caught in her throat, but she didn't dare look away. Through the crack in the door, she could make out nothing but the shadowed outline of a figure — tall, broad, unmistakable.

Thomas.

But this was not the man she once knew. His face was gaunt, his eyes hollow with the same dark void that seemed to consume the house itself. There was nothing human in him anymore — just the empty shell of a man, a pawn to the house's insatiable hunger.

"Clara..." His voice was a rasp, the sound of gravel scraping against stone. It was as if the words weren't even his own. "You should have left when you had the chance."

Clara swallowed hard, her throat dry, but she found her voice, though it trembled. "What is this place, Thomas? What *are* you?"

Thomas stepped into the room, his movements slow and deliberate, as if savoring the moment. "This place... This house has a mind of its own. It *feeds*, Clara. On time. On memories. It twists them. What you see now is not real. This is not the man you knew. This is... a reflection. A shadow. A *slave*."

Clara's stomach churned. She had suspected as much, but hearing the words spoken aloud made them all the more horrifying. The man standing before her wasn't Thomas. It was something *else*. Something that had been consumed by the house's malevolent presence.

"You were never supposed to be here," Thomas continued, his voice cold, emotionless. "None of us were. But once it chooses you... it *binds* you. You cannot escape."

Clara's mind raced. If this wasn't Thomas, then where was he? What had the house done to him? And what had it done to Emily?

A surge of determination washed over Clara. She couldn't allow herself to be swallowed by the darkness. She couldn't let this thing wear Thomas's face any longer. She had to know the truth — about the house, about Emily's disappearance, about everything.

"You think you can control me, don't you?" Clara spat, her voice trembling but defiant. "You think I'm just another victim in this twisted game. But I'm not. I won't be."

Thomas's expression twisted into a cold, detached smile. "You don't understand. It's not about control. It's about *survival*."

Before Clara could respond, a sharp noise echoed from the hallway — a low, guttural sound that seemed to vibrate through the floorboards. The house was stirring. Clara could feel it. Something was coming, something worse than the man who had once been her ally.

"Clara..." The voice came again, this time not from Thomas but from somewhere deeper within the house. Faint, ghostly, but unmistakably *Emily*'s.

Clara's breath hitched. She turned toward the direction of the voice, her eyes widening in disbelief. The air in the room grew heavier, more suffocating. The walls seemed to close in on her, as if the house itself were breathing with her. The very air around her seemed to crackle with energy.

Without warning, the mirror — now a blackened, swirling mass of dark reflections — began to pulse again. Clara stepped toward it, her feet dragging as if some unseen force were pulling her closer. She had no choice now. She had to understand. She had to break free from whatever hold the house had on her, or she would be consumed.

The mirror's surface shifted, rippling like liquid. Then, through the murky glass, Clara saw it.

A figure. A woman. And not just any woman. It was Emily.

But this Emily was different. Her eyes were wide, staring at Clara with a mixture of fear and longing, as though trapped in some unending nightmare. Her features were distorted, contorted by the house's dark influence. The reflection of Emily in the mirror was not the girl Clara had known — this was something else. Something broken.

*"Clara, please... help me..."*

The voice — so close now — was a plea, laced with desperation. Emily's ghostly image reached out toward the glass, her hand pressed against the mirror's surface, but it was as if an invisible force was holding her back.

*"You have to stop it."*

Clara's breath came in shallow gasps as she stared at the tortured face of her best friend. "What happened, Emily?" she whispered, her voice breaking. "What is this place?"

The figure in the mirror blinked, and the distortion around her face deepened. "The house... it's too strong, Clara. It — " Emily's image flickered violently. "It takes everything. Time, memories, even *us*."

Before Clara could respond, the image of Emily in the mirror began to distort, becoming jagged and twisted as if something in the reflection was pulling her deeper into the glass. The room around Clara seemed to tremble, and she felt herself being drawn toward the mirror again, a pull so strong it was as if the house itself was trying to swallow her whole.

"No!" Clara screamed, forcing herself to turn away. She couldn't let herself be taken in. Not like this. Not without knowing the truth.

But then, a new voice joined the chorus of whispers in the room. It was low and menacing, an unmistakable presence that made the air grow colder.

*"You cannot leave, Clara."*

The voice was coming from Thomas, but it was no longer his voice. It was deeper. Darker. The house was speaking through him now.

Clara stepped back, her mind whirling as she turned to face the twisted form of Thomas. She had no choice now — she had to end this. She had to break free from the house's influence, or she would become another lost soul, trapped within its walls forever.

In the distance, Clara thought she heard a door creak open. Then the sound of footsteps — faint but unmistakable. Emily. She was *still* in there.

"Clara..." The voice again. This time, it was Emily's voice, desperate and tinged with an unbearable sorrow. *"Please... help me... before it's too late."*

Clara took one last, deep breath. She would help her friend. She had to.

With trembling hands, Clara reached toward the mirror once more.