The Hidden Room

The rain had started just as they left the school gates. Cold drops tapped on their jackets as Emma and Nathan walked home in silence, the weight of the past few days burdened them.

That night, while her aunt Bertha watched TV in the living room with the volume too loud, Emma sat on her bed with her back against the wall, a blanket wrapped around her knees. Her journal was open in her lap. She held the pen tightly as if letting go would make her disappear.

She had been writing for an hour—everything she remembered, everything she feared. Not for herself. For whoever found the journal if she vanished.

If they take me, I want someone to know I was here.

The words filled page after page. Details about the library, the girl in the hallway, Dave's last warning, the dream about that door. Even the way Nathan looked when he didn't have the answers.

There was a strange comfort in writing it all down. But at the same time, something unsettled her. Like she wasn't alone in her room.

Then it happened again.

A whisper.

Soft. Barely audible.

Emma froze, her pen hovering in mid-air.

"Help…"

She turned her head, heart racing.

Nothing.

"Remember…"

The voice was clearer now. It sounded like a young girl—no older than Emma. The same voice from the library.

She got up slowly and turned off the lights. The room sank into shadows. Only the streetlight outside gave her vision.

And then—she saw something in the mirror above her dresser.

It was Clarise.

Standing behind her.

Emma turned around in a flash.

Gone.

No one was there.

Her hands trembled as she grabbed her journal again and scribbled down what she heard:

• Help

• Remember

• Look beneath

• Not buried, hidden

The last line made her stomach drop.

She called Nathan.

"Can you come over?" she asked, her voice low. "Right now?"

Ten minutes later, he was in her room, looking over her notes. He just nodded.

"That same voice?" he asked.

Emma nodded. "She's closer now. Like she's trying harder."

"What do you think she means by 'look beneath'?"

"I don't know," Emma said. "But it's not just a ghost. It's like she's... reaching out through memory. Trying to show me something I forgot."

Nathan stood up. "Then let's go back to where it started."

Emma blinked. "The library?"

"No," he said, grabbing his coat. "Your old house. The one before you came to live with your aunt."

They took the back streets, avoiding cameras and streetlights. The rain had stopped, but the air was damp and heavy. The farther they walked, the more distant the city felt—like they were stepping out of time.

Emma hadn't seen her old house in over a year. It stood quiet now, windows dark, the yard overgrown. A For Sale sign leaned crooked on the dead grass.

They climbed the side fence and slipped in through the back door Nathan managed to force open.

Dust floated in the air like ghosts. The floor creaked with each step. She led Nathan down the hall and stopped at a door.

"My old room," she whispered.

Inside, everything was covered in rubber. Furniture, shelves, her old desk. But the shape of the room felt familiar, even through the silence.

Emma walked over to the far wall and ran her fingers across the wallpaper. Something didn't feel right.

"There was a bookshelf here," she said. "But I remember it was moved."

Nathan helped her pull at the wall. They pushed aside an old wooden board, and behind it—dusty and hidden—was a trapdoor.

Emma's breath caught.

She dropped to her knees and lifted it.

Below was a narrow stairway, leading into complete darkness.

Nathan clicked on his phone flashlight. "Deja vu.Let's go."

They descended carefully, the steps old and weak. At the bottom was a small room, barely big enough for both of them to stand.

The walls were lined with filing cabinets.

Emma opened the first drawer.

Inside—photos.

Of her.

From years ago.

Different angles. Different moments. Some she didn't remember at all.

"What is this?" Nathan whispered.

Then Emma saw it—her mother's handwriting on a folder.

Project Keeper: Subject – EMMA

Emma's hand shook as she opened the file.

Inside were notes. Scans. Medical records. Brain tests. Memory tests. All about her.

Nathan picked up a photograph. "Your mom knew about your abilities?"

Emma nodded slowly, trying to breathe. "She was studying me. Or…protecting me from people who were."

Suddenly, the door at the top of the stairs slammed shut.

They both jumped.

Then footsteps. Heavy. Measured.

Someone was inside the house.

Emma grabbed the files and stuffed them into her backpack.

"Lights off," she whispered.

They turned off the flashlight and stood in the dark, hearts pounding.

The footsteps came closer.

Then stopped.

A silence, thick and threatening.

Then—

Bang.

The trapdoor above them creaked open.

Emma held her breath.

But nothing came down.

Then, in the darkness, a voice:

"I know you're down there, Emma."

It wasn't a stranger.

It was a voice she hadn't heard in years.

A voice from her dreams.

Emma looked at Nathan, terrified.

"It's my mother," she whispered.