It started like any ordinary day. Mia had just moved into her new apartment—a charming little studio in an old converted Victorian house. The ceilings were high, the windows drafty, and every creak in the floorboards felt like a whisper from decades past. But Mia loved it. She loved the history, the atmosphere, the stories that felt embedded in the walls.
What she didn’t expect was the message on the mirror.
Written in a smudged, hurried scrawl of red lipstick were the words: “DO NOT OPEN THE DRAWER.”
At first, she laughed. It seemed like a harmless prank. Maybe the previous tenant had a dark sense of humor, or perhaps it was the landlord’s idea of spooky ambiance. After all, the place had character—and character, she figured, often came with quirks.
But the drawer in question—an antique vanity tucked in the corner—suddenly felt like the center of the room. It was ordinary enough, with a cracked porcelain knob and faded wood. Yet now, it radiated mystery. Temptation. Fear.
For hours, she avoided it. She unpacked, made tea, and told herself she didn’t care what was inside. But the warning pulsed in her mind. “Do not open.” Why not?
That night, alone with only the hum of the radiator and the occasional distant siren for company, she gave in.
With a hesitant hand, she opened the drawer.
Inside was no treasure. No hidden stash of money. No secret diary. What she found was far more disturbing:
A faded photograph of a woman who looked exactly like her.
Same hair. Same eyes. Same distant sadness.
The photo was decades old, judging by the sepia tones and style of clothing. Tucked behind it was a note, also written in red lipstick:
“She didn’t listen either.”
Mia’s blood ran cold.
The apartment suddenly felt too quiet. Too still. As if the very air was waiting for something. That night, the mirror fogged even though there was no steam. And when she wiped it clean the next morning, new words had appeared:
“You were warned.”
Since then, Mia’s been trying to leave. But strange things keep happening—keys go missing, doors won’t budge, and the landlord insists the lease hasn’t started yet. The mirror message is different every morning, like a conversation from something unseen.
And the drawer? It’s locked again.
But this time, there’s no key.
