Chapter 1 – The Arrival
The sea was a mirror of ash, stretching endlessly beneath a bruised sky. When Elara opened her eyes, she found herself drifting in a wooden boat that creaked with every movement. Her memory was fractured, like shards of glass reflecting pieces of a life she couldn’t recall. The only thing she remembered was her name—and a man’s voice whispering it softly before everything went dark.
The island appeared suddenly through the fog, rising like a phantom from the depths. Jagged cliffs framed a dense forest, and a single, crooked lighthouse blinked weakly from its edge. It looked abandoned, yet something about it felt… alive.
When the boat scraped against the sand, Elara stumbled out, her legs trembling. The beach was scattered with fragments of broken mirrors, seashells, and faded photographs half-buried in the tide. One photo caught her attention—a smiling couple holding hands beneath that same lighthouse. The man’s face was smudged beyond recognition, but the woman’s eyes mirrored her own.
Her pulse quickened.
Who was she before the ocean found her?
A voice echoed faintly through the mist.
“...You came back.”
Elara turned sharply. A man stood several feet away, tall and lean, his clothes soaked from the rain that had begun to fall. His dark hair clung to his forehead, and his eyes were the kind that carried both warmth and warning.
“Do I… know you?” she asked.
He hesitated. “You did once. My name is Adrian.”
The way he said it—it was both tender and broken. She searched his face for recognition, but her mind remained a blank, echoing void.
“I don’t remember anything,” she whispered.
Adrian’s expression tightened, as though her words hurt more than they should. “That’s how the island works. It gives you fragments. But memories here… they don’t come without a price.”
Lightning cracked over the sea, and for a brief second, the world turned white. When the flash faded, Elara saw figures far beyond the treeline—pale silhouettes watching, unmoving. The storm drowned their presence in shadows, but she could feel their gaze.
Adrian reached out. “You shouldn’t be out here. Not after nightfall.”
Something deep inside told her to trust him, though she didn’t understand why. She let him lead her toward the lighthouse, her heart thudding with every echo of their footsteps. The forest whispered as they passed, branches bending like they recognized her.
Inside, the lighthouse smelled of salt and decay. Candles burned on a rusted table, their wax pooling like frozen tears. A journal lay open beside them, its pages inked with dates and fragmented sentences.
Elara brushed her fingers across the words. She remembers when she shouldn’t. The island punishes those who do.
She looked up. “What is this place?”
Adrian’s eyes met hers—dark, haunted, and heartbreakingly familiar. “It’s not just an island. It’s a graveyard of memories. Everyone here came searching for something they lost. Some never found it. Some found too much.”
A chill wrapped around her spine. “And me? Why am I here?”
He stepped closer, his voice low, almost trembling. “Because you promised you’d come back. Even if it killed you.”
Her breath caught. His words stirred something—an echo of warmth, of pain, of a night under the same storm where she’d said goodbye. But before she could ask, a shriek tore through the air, distant yet inhuman. The candles flickered violently.
Adrian’s hand tightened around her wrist. “They’ve found you already.”
“Who?”
“The ones who remember you.”
The door slammed open as wind howled through the cracks. Outside, the fog swirled like living flesh, and from it emerged shapes—half-human, half-forgotten, their eyes glimmering with sorrow. Elara’s reflection rippled in each of their faces, like they all carried a piece of her.
And as the storm consumed the lighthouse, she realized something terrifying.
Maybe she hadn’t just arrived on the island.
Maybe she had returned to it.
Chapter 2 – The Whispering Fog
The storm raged like a living thing, tearing through the old lighthouse and rattling its bones. Elara pressed her back to the wall, her breath sharp and uneven as the pale figures outside moved closer through the mist. They didn’t walk—they drifted, their bodies shimmering like echoes.
Adrian pulled her toward the staircase. “Up. Now!”
They climbed the spiraling steps two at a time, the air thick with salt and fear. The walls groaned as if remembering pain. Halfway up, Elara looked down and froze. The door below had burst open, and the fog had slithered inside, curling like fingers reaching for her ankles. Within it, faces formed—distorted, whispering, familiar.
“Elara…”
Her name echoed from a dozen mouths at once. She stumbled back, gripping Adrian’s arm. “They’re calling me.”
“They always do,” he said grimly. “Don’t answer. The island feeds on recognition.”
When they reached the top, Adrian slammed the trapdoor shut and shoved an old beam across it. The lantern light flickered, casting jagged shadows across his face. For a moment, the rage in his eyes softened. “You shouldn’t have come back.”
She wanted to ask why, but the wind outside wailed like a wounded soul. Instead, she turned toward the cracked glass window overlooking the sea. The fog was spreading, swallowing the beach, the forest, the horizon itself. Only the lighthouse’s flickering beam cut through it—weak, but defiant.
Elara shivered. “You said the island gives fragments. What if those things out there… are my memories?”
Adrian’s jaw clenched. “Then some memories should stay buried.”
He walked to an old chest in the corner, pulling out a small silver locket. He handed it to her. “You dropped this when you left.”
The metal was cold, etched with strange symbols. When she opened it, a faint melody played—a lullaby, slow and mournful. Inside was a faded photograph: her, smiling in the rain, her hand resting on Adrian’s shoulder. Her breath caught.
“We knew each other,” she whispered.
He nodded, eyes clouded. “We were engaged. Before the island took everything.”
Her mind flashed—waves crashing, hands reaching, someone screaming her name—but the image shattered before she could hold it. “What happened to us?”
Adrian turned away. “You tried to save them. The others who came before. But the island doesn’t let anyone leave without taking something in return.”
As he spoke, the trapdoor shuddered violently. The whispers below grew frantic, their voices overlapping in anguish.
Remember us… Remember what you did…
Elara covered her ears, her pulse pounding. “They know me, Adrian!”
He grabbed her shoulders. “They know who you used to be. That’s not the same thing.”
The trapdoor cracked open, a hand sliding through—a hand that looked exactly like hers. The fingers were pale, trembling, dripping seawater. The voice that followed was her own.
“Elara… you left me.”
Her scream tore through the air. Adrian yanked her back and brought down the iron bar, crushing the phantom hand into mist. The fog retreated with a sound like a sigh.
Silence followed—heavy and raw.
Elara trembled. “That voice… it was me.”
Adrian’s eyes were haunted. “Every soul trapped here becomes a reflection of who they were before. The island keeps copies. Shadows of your guilt.”
She sank to the floor, clutching the locket. “Then how do I stop it?”
“You don’t,” he said softly. “You remember what truly happened. That’s the only way the island releases you.”
Lightning struck again, illuminating the dark sea below. For a fleeting moment, she saw something floating in the water—an overturned lifeboat, a figure bound in ropes, drifting lifelessly.
And the face looked just like Adrian’s.
When she turned to him in horror, he was gone.
Only the open locket lay on the floor, the lullaby still playing its haunting tune.
Chapter 3 – The Phantom Below
The melody from the locket echoed through the tower long after Adrian vanished. Elara stood frozen in the dim light, her mind spiraling. The air was colder now, dense with the scent of salt and decay. Every beat of the lullaby seemed to pulse with meaning she couldn’t yet grasp.
“Adrian?” she whispered. No answer. Only the groaning of the lighthouse and the storm’s relentless breath.
She descended the stairs cautiously, each step groaning beneath her weight. Halfway down, she stopped—the trapdoor was open. The fog had retreated, leaving the lower floor eerily silent. The whispers were gone, replaced by the rhythmic drip of water.
“Adrian!” she called again, her voice cracking. Still nothing.
Then she saw it. Wet footprints leading away from the door, deeper into the trees beyond the beach. They weren’t his. These prints were smaller—hers.
Her pulse quickened. She hadn’t walked that way. She couldn’t have. Yet the proof glistened before her. Against every instinct screaming to run, she followed them.
The forest loomed tall and ancient, its trees gnarled like twisted ribs. Every rustle felt alive, every shadow heavy with intent. The footprints continued along a narrow path until they reached a clearing—and there she saw it.
A pond, still as glass, reflecting the pale moon above. In the reflection, she saw herself standing at the edge, eyes hollow, lips moving. But when she looked down—there was no reflection at all.
The chill that crawled through her veins was almost electric.
“Elara…”
The voice rose from the pond’s surface, a whisper that sounded like drowning. Shapes rippled below—a woman reaching upward, hair fanning out like seaweed, eyes open but empty. Her own face stared back from beneath the water.
“Help me,” the reflection gasped.
Elara staggered back, shaking her head. “No… this isn’t real!”
“Everything here is real once,” the reflection hissed. “Until it’s forgotten.”
The water exploded upward, hands bursting through the surface, grasping her wrists. The cold was unbearable, like ice dragging her under. She fought, screaming, pulling against her mirror self as the pond churned into chaos.
“Let go!” she cried.
But the reflection’s voice was calm, almost tender. “You left him to die, Elara. Don’t you remember?”
The world blurred. Images slammed into her mind—Adrian’s hand slipping from hers in a storm, the boat overturning, the taste of salt and guilt in her throat. She had screamed his name as waves swallowed him whole.
“No,” she gasped, tears mixing with rain. “I tried to save you!”
The reflection smiled, cruel and knowing. “Then why are you alive?”
The grip tightened, pulling her closer to the water’s edge. Her lungs burned as the pond’s surface warped, showing flashes of faces—the pale figures from before, the ones who whispered her name. They were all watching her now, waiting.
Suddenly, a voice cut through the chaos.
“Elara, don’t listen to it!”
Adrian burst from the fog, his arm wrapping around her waist. He dragged her backward, away from the water’s pull. The reflection screamed—a sound that cracked the air—before vanishing beneath ripples that stilled too quickly.
Elara collapsed in the mud, coughing, her body trembling violently. Adrian knelt beside her, soaked and pale, his hand gripping hers as though afraid she’d vanish again.
She looked up at him, eyes wide. “You were dead… I saw you in the water.”
He shook his head slowly. “Not yet. But the island wants you to think I am.”
“Why?”
“Because it feeds on guilt. It shows you the worst version of your past until you believe it. And once you do… it keeps you forever.”
Thunder rolled across the sky, and for a moment, Elara saw the faint outline of the lighthouse beam sweeping across the trees—like a heartbeat guiding her back.
She turned to Adrian. “If I really left you to die… then why are you here?”
His answer was barely a whisper. “Because even death couldn’t make me forget you.”
And from the pond behind them, her reflection smiled—still watching.
Chapter 4 – The House of Echoes
By morning, the storm had softened into a quiet drizzle. The forest glistened, its branches heavy with rain. Elara walked beside Adrian, her clothes still damp, her mind tangled in the fragments of truth she had seen. The pond, the reflection, the voice that accused her—it all pressed like cold fingers around her heart.
“Where are we going?” she asked softly.
Adrian’s gaze remained fixed ahead. “There’s an old house near the center of the island. It belonged to the first ones who came here. If there are answers, they’ll be there.”
Elara hesitated. “And the things we saw—the ones whispering in the fog?”
“They won’t follow us during daylight,” he said. Then, quieter: “Usually.”
The forest path wound upward until they reached a clearing. There, half-swallowed by ivy and time, stood a massive wooden mansion. Its windows were shattered, its porch slanted, but faint light still flickered within, like candles left burning for ghosts.
Elara felt her chest tighten. “I’ve seen this place before.”
Adrian glanced at her sharply. “When?”
“In a dream… or maybe a memory.” She ran her hand along the doorframe. “I was standing right here. You were beside me. We were arguing.”
He tensed but said nothing. Instead, he pushed the door open. It groaned, revealing a hallway lined with portraits—faces blurred or burned out, as if time itself had erased their identities. Only one remained clear: a woman in a white dress, her eyes identical to Elara’s.
Her breath hitched. “That’s her again. Me.”
Adrian’s expression darkened. “That’s not you. That’s the island’s way of making you think it is.”
They moved deeper into the house. The air was thick, heavy with dust and the faint scent of flowers long dead. Every step stirred whispers that came from nowhere and everywhere at once—soft voices calling her name, murmuring secrets she couldn’t make out.
“Elara…”
The sound was closer this time, a whisper that brushed against her ear. She turned sharply. Nothing.
Adrian lit a lantern and handed it to her. “Don’t respond. They’re fragments of memory—echoes of people who never left.”
They entered a vast dining room. The table was still set, silverware gleaming faintly, plates empty but arranged as if dinner might resume any moment. In the center lay a single music box.
Elara wound it gently. The melody was the same as her locket’s lullaby.
Her vision blurred. Flashes came fast—sitting at this same table, laughter, candlelight, a toast. Then screams, breaking glass, blood pooling across the floor.
She stumbled back, clutching her head. “I was here, Adrian. I remember this!”
He caught her before she fell. “Stop! The island’s pulling too deep. If you remember too fast, it’ll consume you.”
She met his eyes, tears slipping down her cheeks. “Why are you so afraid of me remembering?”
Adrian froze. His grip loosened. For a heartbeat, she saw something—fear, guilt, love—all flicker across his face.
“Because,” he said quietly, “when you remember everything… you’ll know what I did.”
Before she could ask, the lantern flickered out. The room plunged into darkness. A cold wind swept through the hall, and the portraits began to whisper, their voices merging into a low chant.
She remembers. She remembers. She remembers.
Elara’s heart pounded. “Adrian—what’s happening?”
He backed away slowly. “The house reacts to memory. It’s alive, Elara. The moment you recall, it wakes.”
A door creaked open on its own at the far end of the hall, revealing a staircase descending into blackness. From below came a faint sobbing—familiar, fragile.
Elara took a step toward it. “That sounds like…”
Her own voice. Crying.
Adrian grabbed her wrist, but this time she pulled free. “I have to see.”
And before he could stop her, she began to descend, the echoes growing louder, wrapping around her like a lullaby meant for the dead.
Chapter 5 – The Basement of Names
The wooden steps groaned beneath Elara’s feet as she descended into the darkness. The air thickened with the smell of damp earth and rust. Each breath tasted like dust and old secrets. Above her, the faint creak of floorboards told her Adrian hadn’t followed.
Only the sound of her own breathing filled the space now—until it didn’t.
The sobbing returned, quiet at first, then closer. It was her own voice, echoing from somewhere ahead. She reached the bottom, holding the faint glow of her lantern high. The basement stretched deep, walls lined with shelves stacked with hundreds of glass jars. Inside each jar floated scraps of paper—names written in fading ink.
She stepped closer. The nearest jar read: Mara Elen.
The next: Theo Carven.
Then another: Elara D.
Her heart stopped. She lifted the jar carefully, the glass trembling in her hands. Inside was not just a piece of paper, but a lock of black hair—her hair.
A whisper rippled through the air. You left them all behind.
She turned sharply. A shadow moved between the shelves, fluid and silent. “Who’s there?”
The voice that answered was her own again, but older, rougher. “You shouldn’t have come back.”
Elara spun, lantern shaking. The light flickered across a figure standing in the far corner—herself. But this version of her was pale, hollow-eyed, and smiling faintly as though mocking her confusion.
“What are you?” she whispered.
The other Elara tilted her head. “A memory you buried. The part of you that stayed when you ran.”
“I didn’t run.”
“Yes, you did,” the doppelgänger said softly, stepping closer. “You left them to drown. The island, the souls, him.”
“Adrian?”
The figure’s smile widened. “He was the first name you wrote.”
Elara’s stomach twisted. She looked at the shelves again. Every jar trembled, their papers fluttering like trapped wings. “What do you mean?”
The voice came from everywhere now, overlapping—her own words, repeated by countless echoes.
You wrote the names.
You sealed them here.
You made the island remember.
Her head spun. The walls seemed to breathe. Images crashed through her mind—a storm, dozens of people clinging to wreckage, her voice shouting over the wind, chanting names to keep them alive. But instead of saving them, the words had bound them here.
“No…” She dropped the jar. It shattered, and the name inside dissolved into smoke. From that smoke rose a faint silhouette—a man’s face, lips moving silently before vanishing.
The whispers grew deafening. You made us stay.
Elara stumbled backward. “I was trying to help you! I didn’t know—”
“You always say that,” the reflection sneered. “Even when you betrayed him.”
The basement door burst open. Adrian rushed down, his flashlight slicing through the dark. “Elara! Don’t listen to it!”
The reflection’s eyes met his, and for a heartbeat, Adrian froze. “You again,” he muttered.
Elara looked between them. “You’ve seen it before?”
He nodded. “It’s not you. It’s the island’s guilt given form. It feeds on what you can’t forgive yourself for.”
The shadow laughed, the sound sharp and broken. “And what about you, Adrian? Do you forgive yourself?”
Adrian flinched. The flashlight flickered. “Quiet.”
“You lied to her,” the shadow hissed. “You said she left you, but you’re the one who let go.”
Elara’s breath hitched. “Is that true?”
Adrian’s silence was answer enough. The reflection smiled wider. “See? The living and the dead—all of us are bound by what we refuse to admit.”
The jars began to shake violently. Glass shattered in waves. Whispers became screams, filling the air until Elara could barely hear her own thoughts. She grabbed Adrian’s hand.
“Let’s get out of here!”
They ran up the stairs as the basement collapsed behind them. The last thing she saw before the door slammed shut was her reflection standing amid the falling debris—smiling, holding the locket, whispering,
“You can’t run from yourself.”
Chapter 6 – The Lighthouse That Bleeds
By nightfall, the wind had returned—wild and cold, clawing at the forest like it wanted everything to remember. Elara and Adrian stumbled through the darkness, their clothes torn and streaked with dirt from the collapsing basement. The mansion burned faintly behind them, its windows glowing like dying eyes.
Elara’s pulse wouldn’t calm. “Those names, Adrian. All those people—I did that, didn’t I?”
He didn’t answer at first. His silence was heavier than any truth. “You believed you were saving them,” he finally said. “You thought if you spoke their names, the island would keep their memories alive. But the island doesn’t preserve—it traps.”
She stopped walking. “So all of this—the ghosts, the reflections—they’re because of me?”
Adrian’s gaze softened. “Because of both of us.”
The lighthouse loomed in the distance, its light flickering weakly through the mist. It felt different now—angrier, alive. As they drew near, Elara noticed something dripping from its walls. Not rainwater—blood. Thick and dark, seeping from the cracks between stones.
Her stomach turned. “What is this place becoming?”
Adrian’s voice was low. “The island’s heart beats beneath the lighthouse. It bleeds when it remembers too much.”
They stepped inside. The air was warm and metallic. The walls pulsed faintly, as though veins ran through them. The floorboards were slick, whispering beneath their feet. Somewhere deep within, a rhythmic thumping echoed—steady, like a heartbeat.
Elara gripped her locket tightly. “If the lighthouse is the heart, then maybe destroying it ends the island.”
Adrian looked at her sharply. “Or it ends you. You’re part of it now.”
She stared at him, shocked. “What do you mean?”
“The night the storm took us,” he said slowly, “you didn’t just survive—you merged with the island. You bound your soul to it when you tried to save everyone else. That’s why it remembers through you.”
She stumbled back, her voice barely a whisper. “So I’m the reason this place can’t die.”
Adrian stepped closer, his hand trembling as it reached for her. “I tried to bring you back before. I failed. But maybe this time, we can set it free.”
Before she could respond, a loud creak echoed from above. The lanterns hanging from the ceiling swung wildly. Then, from the shadows, the reflection appeared again—her other self, dripping seawater, eyes burning red.
“You can’t destroy what you are,” the reflection said softly. “You built this world. You gave it life.”
“Stay back!” Adrian shouted, pulling Elara behind him.
The reflection smiled sadly. “You still protect her, even after she let you drown.”
Adrian’s jaw tightened. “I forgave her.”
“No,” the reflection whispered. “You never did. That’s why you’re still here.”
The floor shuddered. Cracks split open, and from them poured dark water. The reflection reached out, her voice rising like a chant. “Elara, come home. Let the memories rest.”
The walls groaned, bleeding faster. Elara clutched her head as flashes filled her mind—the shipwreck, her screams, Adrian’s hand slipping beneath the waves, her desperate words whispered into the storm: If I can’t save them, let them live through me.
That was the moment the island was born.
She fell to her knees, tears cutting through the grime on her face. “I didn’t mean for this.”
The reflection knelt before her, eyes softer now. “Then end it.”
Adrian knelt too, his hand on her shoulder. “If we destroy the heart, you might fade with it. But maybe… that’s mercy.”
Elara met his gaze, the faint ghost of a smile trembling on her lips. “If it frees them, it’s worth it.”
She rose, blood dripping from the walls around her, and stepped toward the lighthouse’s center. Beneath the floor, the heartbeat grew louder, almost human.
As she reached the final stair leading down, she whispered to herself, “If I was the beginning… I can be the end.”
The reflection vanished into mist.
Adrian followed silently, his shadow merging with hers as they descended toward the island’s bleeding heart.
Chapter 7 — Whispers Beneath the Waves
From “A Mysterious Island of Memories”
The rain had stopped, but the island felt heavier than before — as if the storm had moved inside it, lingering in its air, its soil, its people. The sea was calm, too calm, and the silence after the thunder made Elena’s skin prickle.
She sat on the edge of the wooden dock, her legs dangling over the black water. Behind her, the broken lighthouse loomed, its light long dead. She could still hear Adrian’s voice echoing in her head from earlier — “Don’t go near the water at night.”
But she couldn’t stop herself. The ocean whispered.
It wasn’t the kind of whisper the wind makes when it slips through trees — it was something lower, softer, like a voice calling her name from deep below the surface.
“Elena…”
Her heart stuttered. She leaned forward, squinting at the reflection of the moon rippling across the waves. For a split second, she thought she saw herself — but younger. Her hair shorter, her face unscarred by fear. The reflection smiled, though Elena wasn’t smiling at all.
Then the water moved.
Something — someone — brushed her ankle. She jerked back, heart slamming against her ribs, eyes wide. The surface calmed instantly, innocent again, like it hadn’t moved at all.
“Elena?”
She turned sharply. Adrian was standing near the end of the dock, his dark hair damp, his face unreadable. “You shouldn’t be here.”
“I heard something,” she whispered. “It said my name.”
He glanced toward the water. For a moment, he didn’t speak. Then, quietly, “It remembers you.”
“What?”
He sighed, stepping closer. “This place doesn’t forget. It feeds on what we leave behind — our fears, our love, our memories. The sea keeps them. Sometimes, it gives them back.”
Her throat tightened. “You think that’s what I saw? My memory?”
Adrian didn’t answer. Instead, he crouched beside her, his voice low. “When I first came here, I saw my sister. She’d been dead for five years.”
The words struck her like cold water. “Did she… talk to you?”
He nodded once. “She asked me to follow her into the sea.”
A shiver crawled up Elena’s spine. “Did you?”
“I almost did.” His hand brushed against hers, just briefly — grounding her, or maybe himself. “That’s how this island takes you. It uses the people you miss most.”
The wind shifted. The waves lapped at the dock, slow and rhythmic, like breathing.
Elena stood abruptly. “We have to find a way out.”
Adrian rose too. His eyes met hers — deep, dark, almost pleading. “Leaving isn’t easy. The island doesn’t like to be forgotten either.”
Something about the way he said it made her chest ache. She wanted to ask him what he meant, but a sudden splash cut through the air. They both turned.
A figure was floating near the dock — pale skin, long black hair spread out like seaweed. For a moment, Elena couldn’t breathe.
It was her.
Her own face stared back from the water, eyes open, mouth moving soundlessly.
Adrian grabbed her arm before she could move closer. “Don’t look!”
She tried to turn away, but her reflection smiled again — a twisted, broken smile. Then the image dissolved into ripples.
Adrian pulled her close, his voice trembling for the first time. “It’s starting. The island knows you now.”
Elena clutched his shirt, her pulse wild. “What does it want?”
He met her gaze. “You. It wants all of us — every memory we’ve ever tried to forget.”
And beneath them, the ocean whispered again, louder this time.
“Elena…”
This time, she wasn’t sure if the voice came from the water — or from inside her own head.
Chapter 8 — The House That Remembers
From “A Mysterious Island of Memories”
By morning, the island looked different again. The mist that clung to the cliffs the night before had vanished, revealing a dirt path leading deeper inland — one Elena swore hadn’t been there before.
Adrian stood beside her, silent, studying the path. His eyes had that distant, hollow look again — as if part of him had already walked it.
“Where does it go?” she asked.
He hesitated. “To the house.”
“What house?”
“The one that doesn’t stay empty.”
His words made her uneasy, but curiosity gnawed stronger than fear. Together, they followed the trail, the forest thickening around them. The air grew heavier the deeper they went — humid, scented faintly of salt and something rotten. Every now and then, she thought she heard footsteps behind them, but when she turned, there was no one.
Then she saw it.
The house stood in the middle of a clearing — an old colonial-style building, its walls eaten by vines, windows cracked, roof half-collapsed. Yet the front door was pristine, untouched by time, painted a deep crimson.
Adrian’s jaw tightened. “It wasn’t like that before.”
“What do you mean?”
“Last time I came here… it was burned down.”
Elena stared at him. “You’ve been here before?”
He didn’t answer. Instead, he stepped toward the door. The handle turned by itself with a faint creak.
Inside, the air was colder. Dust floated through slivers of light that broke through the broken windows. Old furniture lay scattered — a piano with missing keys, a chandelier shattered on the floor, a mirror leaning against the wall.
Elena’s gaze caught on the mirror. For a moment, it reflected her as she was — pale, frightened, alive. Then the image changed.
Her reflection smiled.
“Elena…” it whispered.
She stumbled back, her hand clutching Adrian’s arm. “It’s happening again.”
He looked into the mirror too — and froze.
“Elena, do you see that?” he whispered.
In the reflection, behind them, a woman stood in the hallway — dark hair tangled, dress soaked in seaweed, eyes hollow.
She reached out, her reflection moving closer, but when Elena turned around — the hallway was empty.
The sound of the piano filled the air. Soft, haunting, like fingers brushing ivory. Adrian moved instinctively, grabbing Elena’s wrist. “Stay close.”
They followed the sound through the house, down a corridor lined with portraits — but every face on the walls was blurred, smudged out as if erased by water.
At the end of the hall was a small room. Inside, a music box sat on the table, its lid open. The melody played by itself.
Elena approached it slowly. The inside of the box wasn’t empty — it held a photograph.
It was her.
Standing beside Adrian.
Her breath caught. “This can’t be real.”
Adrian looked pale. “That wasn’t there before.”
The music stopped.
Something moved in the shadows — a shape, tall and thin, crawling across the ceiling. Elena froze, her heartbeat thundering. The figure’s head turned upside down, eyes black as ink.
Adrian shoved her toward the door. “Run!”
They sprinted down the hall, the sound of something dragging behind them, whispering their names. The portraits on the wall shifted as they passed — faces forming and melting, mouths opening in silent screams.
They burst outside, collapsing on the ground, gasping for air. The house stood still behind them, its crimson door now black.
Elena’s hands shook. “What was that?”
Adrian’s voice was barely a whisper. “The island is showing us… what it wants us to remember.”
“But that picture—”
“I know,” he said, his eyes meeting hers. “It means we were here before. Both of us.”
Elena’s stomach dropped. “That’s impossible.”
He looked at her with something like sorrow. “Maybe. Or maybe we never left.”
And from inside the house, faintly, the piano began to play again.
(Let me know if you want me to complete the story 😉 and don't forget to read my new novel "The different cards" Horror & Mystery)
