Entry VII: The Room That Doesn't Stay Closed

 

Posted by Lord Alaric Thorne

“The manor does not open what it wants you to find. It opens what it wants you to fear.”

There is a door at the end of the south hall—except it wasn’t there yesterday.

I was not looking for it. That’s the trick. The manor gives you nothing when you seek it. But turn your back on it long enough, and it breathes down your neck.

I passed it at dusk. It was open just a crack. Just enough to let the candlelight inside flicker like breath.

I’ve walked that hall for years. There is no room at the end. There has never been a room.

But when I stepped in, it felt… familiar.

A rocking chair. A child’s rattle, long rusted. A mirror with no reflection. And the scent—clove smoke and cold ash.

The room whispered a name. But not mine. Seraphine.

There were no windows. No wind. But the pages of a torn journal lifted themselves from the floor and scattered as if unseen hands had just left in a hurry.

When I turned to leave, the door was gone.

There was only a wall. And in the wall, a crack that pulsed like a vein.

I placed my hand against it and felt it breathe.

“You are not the first,” it whispered.

And then it opened again. Same door. Same hallway.

But the rattle was gone. The mirror cracked. And the air smelled like blood instead of ash.

I left the room. But it did not leave me.

~ Lord Alaric Thorne
Unreflected. Unwelcomed. Unwound.