The Room of Mirrors
1226 Words
The hallway outside the principal's office was unnervingly still. The only sound came from the faint hum of the overhead lights and the occasional crackle from a distant speaker. Emily stood with Logan and Cass just out of view of the security camera, the bronze key clutched tightly in her palm.
Cass motioned for them to wait. She pulled a small device from her backpack, pressed a button, and aimed it at the nearest camera. The red recording light blinked off.
"We’ve got three minutes," she whispered. "Maybe four if we’re lucky."
Emily nodded. Her heart thudded in her chest like it wanted to escape.
The principal’s door loomed in front of them, heavy and old. Despite its modern nameplate — PRINCIPAL CARROW — the wood itself looked older than the rest of the building. As if it had once belonged to something else entirely.
Emily stepped forward. The bronze key slid easily into the lock. A click echoed down the empty corridor.
Logan exhaled. "We’re really doing this."
Cass pulled out a flashlight. "In and out. Fast. Grab what we can. Don’t touch anything you don’t have to."
Emily pushed the door open.
The office was larger than expected. Dimly lit, with tall bookcases lining the walls, and a massive desk at the far end. The blinds were drawn tight. A painting of Ridgewood from the early 1900s hung on the wall, but the faces of the crowd were blurred as if smeared by time.
The air smelled faintly of burning wood and old paper.
"This place feels wrong," Logan murmured.
Emily crossed to the desk. Papers were stacked neatly, too neatly. A nameplate read: Harold Carrow, Headmaster.
Not "Principal."
Cass leaned over her shoulder. "That title hasn’t been used in decades."
Emily opened the top drawer. Files. Student records. Nothing unusual.
The second drawer was locked. She tried the bronze key again. It clicked.
Inside was a leather-bound book with no title, its pages yellowed and brittle.
Cass flipped it open.
Names. Dates. All written in the same sharp hand. Most of the entries ended with the same word: Integrated.
Logan furrowed his brow. "What does that mean?"
Cass pointed at one name. Her sister’s.
"She’s in here," she whispered.
Emily flipped further. Her own name was there. Dated two days ago. The word beside it: Pending.
Before she could speak, a creaking sound came from the bookshelf behind them. A section of the wall slowly rotated inward.
A hidden passage.
They stared at it.
"Do we go in?" Logan asked.
Emily looked at the book, then at the mark on her wrist. "We don’t have a choice," she said.
They stepped into the passage. The air turned colder. The light from Cass’s flashlight danced on stone walls that didn’t belong in a modern school. Symbols marked the corridor — the same ones that had appeared on Emily’s skin.
At the end of the hall stood a metal door. Cass reached out, but the door opened on its own.
Inside was a room filled with mirrors. Dozens of them. Some old and cracked, others clean and polished. But each reflected something different.
Emily stepped closer. Her reflection didn’t match her movements.
In one mirror, she was screaming. In another, she was gone.
Logan backed away. "What is this?"
Cass's voice was shaky. "It’s not just a school. Ridgewood is a prism. It splits people. Some parts stay. Some parts don’t."
From the center of the room, a voice rose. Familiar. Calm.
"Curiosity is a dangerous thing, Emily."
They turned.
Principal Carrow stood at the far end, hands clasped behind his back, eyes glowing faintly.
"But now that you're here," he said, "you might as well see what Ridgewood truly is."
Emily stepped forward.
"Then show me."
He smiled.
And the mirrors began to change.
Each pane rippled like water. Images bled through. A student in a hallway, staring at a clock that melted like wax. A teacher writing equations that moved on their own. A girl screaming into an empty classroom as if it would respond.
The reflections were not just visual. Emily could hear muffled voices from each one — fragments of conversations, cries, confessions. Cass took a step back, her face pale.
"These are memories," she said. "Or versions of them."
Emily stared into a mirror that showed a boy curled up on the gym floor, whispering numbers to himself. Then the same boy, walking down the hall, his face blank.
"Ridgewood doesn’t erase people," Logan said. "It rewrites them."
Carrow stepped between two mirrors. "This school was built to observe. To contain. Certain students have always been receptive. Marked. Not everyone sees what Ridgewood shows. But those who do are drawn here for a reason."
Emily clenched her fists. "What reason?"
He tilted his head. "Because you belong here. Because Ridgewood is not just a school. It is a threshold. Between what is seen and what is hidden. Between reality and memory. Between the self you are and the self Ridgewood decides you become."
Cass's voice shook. "That’s why my sister changed. That’s why she vanished."
Carrow nodded solemnly. "She became part of the architecture."
Logan’s voice was low. "You used her. Just like you’re trying to use Emily."
Carrow did not deny it.
The mirrors suddenly synchronized, every reflection showing Emily, standing alone in the dark.
Carrow's voice dropped to a whisper. "You are the first to reach this room unbroken. The first to ask the right questions."
Emily’s heart raced. "So what happens now?"
He extended his hand. In it, a small obsidian key. "Now you decide. Go back to the halls and run, pretend none of this happened. Or take this key, open what lies beneath Ridgewood, and finish what began long before you were born."
Cass looked at her. "Emily, don’t trust him."
Logan stepped beside her. "You don’t owe him anything."
But Emily’s eyes were fixed on the key. The mark on her wrist throbbed, burning faintly.
She reached forward.
And took it.
The room responded instantly. The air turned dense, like the moment before a storm breaks. The mirrors pulsed with light, flickering images too fast to comprehend.
The obsidian key in her hand felt warm now, its surface humming with silent energy. Emily turned to face Carrow, whose smile faded into something colder, more ancient.
"You've chosen," he said simply.
Suddenly the mirrors began to c***k, not from a physical blow, but from something deeper — the weight of truth pressing against their silvered backs.
Cass grabbed Emily’s arm. "We need to move. Now."
Logan pulled her toward the passageway. Behind them, the mirror room erupted in sound. Screams echoed through the space, not from their throats, but from the reflections themselves, breaking apart in a chorus of fractured memory.
As they ran down the passage, the walls shifted slightly, like something was turning inside the very bones of the building.
They burst out into the headmaster’s office once again. The bookshelf was sealed behind them with a slam. The office looked untouched — too untouched. Every paper, every object was back in place.
Cass’s voice shook. "We’re not just in danger anymore. We’re part of the design."
Emily stared at the obsidian key, still clutching it in her fist. Whatever came next, Ridgewood had noticed her. Chosen her. Marked her.
And she answered.
- Writer
