The door to the attic loomed above them now—not where it had always been, but at the top of a spiraling staircase that had grown from the walls. The house had shifted again. Rearranged itself.
It wanted them to go up.
Claire and Evan climbed the staircase in silence, each step groaning like bones under pressure. The light above pulsed—dim, then bright, like a heartbeat. The house was alive.
At the top, the attic door stood wide open. Waiting.
Claire stepped through first.
The attic wasn't dusty anymore. No cobwebs. No forgotten furniture. Instead, it had been transformed into something unnatural.
The walls were lined with mirrors—but none showed reflections.
Each one showed a different moment in time.
A little boy crying in the closet.A woman whispering into a vent.A man with hollow eyes staring into the darkness.
Claire approached one mirror. In it, she saw herself as a child—frozen in place, standing outside the closet door, her brother screaming from within.
She turned away.
More mirrors lit up as she walked by, revealing secrets the house had collected.
"Every whisper, every thought, every fear," the house seemed to say. "I remember."
And in the center of the attic… was the final mirror.
Large. Oval. Framed in black iron.
This one showed Claire right now. Standing in the attic.
But she wasn't alone.
A figure stood behind her in the reflection.
Tall. Faceless. Its head tilted slightly, listening.
Claire spun around.
Nothing.
Evan whispered, "Claire… this place, it's not just hearing us. It's learning us. Rebuilding us."
Suddenly, the mirror cracked—not across the glass, but from inside it.
And the reflection began to bleed.
Black liquid oozed down the glass like ink, and a voice came from it—clearer than ever:
"Give me the last secret, Claire. Or stay here… forever."
Claire's hands trembled. The final secret.
Not just what happened to her brother.
But what she had done after.
The way she lied.
The way she told the police she never heard him cry.
That he just vanished.
That the house was silent.
Claire stepped toward the mirror.
"I lied," she whispered. "I heard him. I knew. I was just... scared."
The attic began to shake.
The mirrors cracked.
The black ooze vanished.
And the final mirror began to clear.
Now, Claire could see it.
A doorway.
Real. Behind the glass.
And behind it—her brother.
Alive.
Frail. Pale. But alive.
He reached out his hand.
The house whispered one last time:
"Only the honest may leave."
Claire took Evan's hand in one, and reached out with the other.
The glass shattered.
And the doorway opened.