The Mirror in Room 313

Rafiq checked into the old Hotel Shonali that stormy night. The building sat at the edge of a dying town, cracked walls, and echoing long-forgotten memories. A traveling salesman from that lifeless town had nowhere else to go. The rain poured like silver needles, while thunder shook the earth. The receptionist, a pale old man with sunken eyes, hardly looked up as he handed the room key.

"Room 313," he mumbled, sliding the rusted key across the counter. "Don't look in the mirror after midnight."

Confused, Rafiq blinked. "Excuse me?"

The old man slowly raised his head and said, "Just don't. That'll be all."

Thinking it was one big joke, Rafiq laughed and headed up. Room 313 was right at the end of a narrow corridor. Lights flickering in the hallway felt damp underfoot. The moment Rafiq opened the door, a rush of chilly wind greeted him. The room had an odor of mold and dust, but it was still better than sleeping in the car.

The room had an old wooden bed, a broken window, and a tall antique mirror standing in the corner. The mirror looked out of place — too clean, too polished for the rest of the room. Its silver frame was carved with some strange-looking symbols, almost like runes.

Rafiq chose to ignore it. He dried himself, changed, and sat on the bed to watch some videos on his phone. Time flew by, and soon enough, the clock on the phone said 12:03 AM. Without even thinking about it, he glanced at the mirror.

At first, everything was normal. In the mirror, his reflection stared back: tired, hair wet, shirt half-buttoned. And then it smiled.

He hadn’t smiled.

His back straightened. The reflection was still.

“What the hell…”

The reflection’s eyes then became pitch black. Its mouth was torn open into an impossible grin, its jaws filled beyond the number of teeth any human should possess. Blood began oozing from its eyes in thick, black rivulets.

Rafiq was up and on his feet, backing away from the mirror, his heart in a panic. He turned around, fearing that something could be standing behind him — but the room was empty.

When he turned back, the mirror had fogged. On the surface, words now appeared, as if written by an invisible finger: "Nope. No, no, no." Rafiq grabbed his bag and decided to leave immediately. But the doorknob wouldn't turn. It was stuck. He bashed on the door, screamed, but all he got in reply was silence.

Then, suddenly, he heard a voice from behind him.

"Raaafiq…"

He froze. The voice emerged from the mirror.

Gradually, he turned. The mirror now reflected an entirely different room: darker, decaying, with walls covered by handprints and running writing. In the center stood a shadow — tall and thin, glowing red eyes staring from a faceless visage.

It began to approach him… but only within the reflection.

He stumbled back. The lights flickered and went out. The room was engulfed in darkness, save for a dim glow from the flashes of lightning seeping through the window.

Suddenly, there came a crash from behind. The mirror shattered. But instead of shards falling away, a hand reached through: long, blackened fingers with broken nails.

Rafiq screamed.

He picked up the desk lamp and hurled it against the mirror. Sparks shot through the air as glass finally burst outward. Then the hand pulled backwards, and the mirror plunged into absolute darkness.

A moment later, the lights began flickering back on.

Everything looked normal. The mirror was now cracked but glowing no more. No shadow, no whisper, no blood.

His feet made him move. He dashed toward the door. This time, it opened. He tore down the staircase, crying for help, but the reception desk was deserted.

He dashed outside in the rain, into his car, and drove off without glancing back.

The cops found Room 313 empty the next day. No one named Rafiq checked in, nor was there any record of a guest that night. The hotel itself, anyway, had been abandoned for five years.

Local tales say nobody dared enter Room 313 since the "incident" of 1987, when a man was found dead, persistently gazing into a mirror with black eyes and a twisted grin frozen upon his face.

But travelers would sometimes claim to see the lights turned on in that room… and a figure watching from behind the glass.