The Mirror in Room 42

The Grandview Hotel wasn't grand, and the view was of a brick wall. But it was cheap, and Jennifer was broke, so when the night clerk offered her room 42 at half price, she didn't ask why. The mirror dominated the room - an ornate, gold-framed monstrosity that hung over the dresser like a warning. Jennifer avoided looking at it as she unpacked, unsettled by something she couldn't quite name. That night, she woke to whispering. The sound came from everywhere and nowhere, words in a language she almost recognized. Jennifer fumbled for the light switch. In the sudden brightness, she saw the mirror's reflection - and froze. The room in the mirror looked similar but wrong. The wallpaper was different, faded and peeling. The furniture was older. And standing in the corner, watching her, was a woman in a Victorian dress. Jennifer spun around. The corner was empty. But in the mirror, the woman smiled and raised one pale finger to her lips. Jennifer didn't sleep. When dawn came, she tried to leave, but the door wouldn't open. The clerk had said something about the lock sticking, but this was different - the handle turned, but the door remained sealed, as if the frame had fused shut. She called the front desk. No answer. Her phone showed full signal but wouldn't connect to any number. Panic rising, she turned back to the mirror. The woman was closer now. And she wasn't alone. Shadows moved behind her - figures in outdated clothing, faces pressed close to the mirror's surface like prisoners behind glass. Jennifer could see their mouths moving, forming words she couldn't hear. One figure stood out: a young man in a 1940s suit, his eyes desperate. He held up a sign - a piece of paper with words scrawled in shaking letters: 'DON'T TOUCH THE MIRROR.' Jennifer stepped back, heart hammering. But the Victorian woman was reaching through now - her hand actually emerging from the mirror's surface, fingers stretching impossibly long, reaching for Jennifer. 'What do you want?' Jennifer screamed. The woman's smile widened until it split her face. When she spoke, her voice came from the mirror itself, echoing with the weight of decades: 'We want OUT.' Jennifer ran to the window, but it was painted shut. The bathroom had no windows at all. She was trapped with a mirror full of ghosts, and they were coming through. More hands emerged - dozens of them, clawing at the air, pulling at the boundary between their world and hers. The room grew cold. Frost spread across the walls. The lights flickered and died, leaving only the pale glow emanating from the mirror. In desperation, Jennifer grabbed the lamp and swung it at the mirror. It should have shattered. Instead, the lamp passed through the glass like water, disappearing into the reflected room. She heard it crash somewhere on the other side. The Victorian woman laughed, a sound like breaking bones. 'Every room has a door,' she said. 'You just have to choose which one to walk through.' Jennifer understood then - the mirror wasn't showing another time. It was showing another place, a pocket dimension where the hotel's victims had been trapped. Each one had tried to escape through the mirror, only to become part of it. But maybe if she turned away completely, if she refused to acknowledge it... She positioned herself at the room's real door and, using only her peripheral vision, slammed herself against it with all her weight. It opened. She tumbled into the hallway, gasping. Behind her, from room 42, came a wail of fury. The next morning, the hotel manager found Jennifer sleeping in the lobby. She tried to explain, but he just smiled apologetically. 'Room 42 can be problematic,' he admitted. Jennifer left without her suitcase. Sometimes, she still sees that Victorian woman in random mirrors - watching, waiting.