I slammed the door shut.
I didn't remember moving.
One second, I was staring at myself—blank-eyed and blood-drenched, standing in the hallway.
The next, the room was sealed, my back pressed against the wood, my breath fogging in the cold air.
It shouldn't have been cold.
But Room 616 obeys its own seasons.
I slid down to the carpet, trembling. My hands wouldn't stop shaking. I tried to steady my breathing, but the air itself was heavier now. Like I was inhaling dust and fog and regret all at once.
Across the room, the mirror was gone.
In its place, an old television stood on a cart, static crackling across the screen.
And then, without me touching it—
It turned on.
---
The image was grainy at first.
Just static and hiss, white noise burrowing into my spine.
Then it flickered.
And showed… me.
Sitting in a hospital room. Crying. A younger version of me, thirteen maybe. My hair shorter. Face rounder. Terrified.
A nurse stepped into frame, her back to the camera. She placed something in my lap.
It was a box of matches.
And in the background, my sister lay in her hospital bed.
Still. Pale. Already gone.
But I was talking to her.
My lips moved.
The camera zoomed.
I said:
> "If you won't wake up… then I'll wake you up myself."
I lit a match.
And smiled.
---
I staggered back from the TV.
"No—no, that didn't happen," I whispered. "I didn't—I wouldn't—"
But the TV wasn't done.
It kept playing.
Now I was older. Just last year, maybe. Sitting at my laptop, browsing obscure hotel forums, looking for cursed places. Places no one would dare stay.
And in the comments, highlighted in red, was a thread:
"Anyone heard of Room 616?"
My comment was pinned below:
> "It's just a myth. I'd sleep there in a heartbeat."
I don't remember typing that.
But the video showed me laughing as I did.
---
The screen flickered.
Then it displayed something new:
> You have stayed here before.
Night Count: 7
Number of Escapes Attempted: 4
Number of Realities Forgotten: 3
Current Loop: 5
And then it faded to black.
---
I stood frozen.
What the hell did "loop" mean?
I ran to my phone. Still no service.
But the journal on the desk had changed. New page. New entry.
In my handwriting again.
---
> *"Loop Five.
I remembered something I shouldn't have.
The room knows. It always knows.
I saw her again. She's not just a memory. She's part of the room now.
I think I made her that way.
I think I brought her here."*
---
The lights began to flicker.
The walls pulsed—no, breathed.
From behind the closet, the door began to thud. Slowly.
Boom.
Boom.
Boom.
Like something inside wanted out… but not too fast. It wanted me to know it was coming.
I backed toward the bathroom—my only hiding place.
But as I opened the door, I saw myself again.
This time, inside the mirror.
Not a reflection. A second me. Eyes blank. Fingers bleeding. Teeth grinding down like she'd been chewing stone.
She mouthed one sentence:
> "You were the fire."
---
The door behind me creaked.
Not the closet.
The front door.
I turned, dreading what I'd see.
It was wide open now.
The hallway no longer empty.
A long, red carpet stretched into black.
And on the walls, dozens—no, hundreds—of photographs.
All of me.
Sleeping. Crying. Screaming. Running.
Each one labeled with a name and date.
Not my name.
Different ones.
Mira Grayson. Mira Lee. Mira Collins. Mira Chang.
In each one… the same face. Mine.
---
> I've been here before.
I've always been here.
I am the ghost Room 616 tells stories about.
And now, I'm the one knocking on someone else's door.