The old building stood at the edge of town, half-hidden behind a tangle of ivy and overgrown hedges. No one knew exactly when it had been built, but locals whispered that it had once belonged to a reclusive inventor who disappeared without a trace. The windows were cracked, the doors warped, and the roof sagged like a man too tired to stand. It was said that if you walked past it after sunset, you could hear faint whispers coming from inside, though no one ever dared to investigate. A group of curious teenagers, led by a boy named Eli, decided to take a look. They had heard the stories, of course—how the building had been abandoned for decades, how people who entered never came out the same. But they were young and reckless, and the thrill of the unknown was too much to resist. As they approached, the air grew colder. The trees around them seemed to lean inward, as if trying to block the view. The gate creaked open on its own, and the rusted hinges groaned like a dying animal. Inside, the silence was absolute. Even the wind seemed to hold its breath. They stepped into what must have once been a grand foyer. The floorboards were splintered, and the walls were covered in peeling wallpaper that looked like it had been painted with someone’s last thoughts. A chandelier hung from the ceiling, its crystals long since broken, but as they passed beneath it, a single light flickered to life. The teens froze, eyes wide, but no one spoke. They moved deeper into the building, their footsteps echoing unnaturally. The hallway stretched on endlessly, though it couldn’t possibly be that long. At the end, there was a door, slightly ajar. Eli pushed it open, revealing a room filled with strange contraptions—gears, levers, and devices that didn’t seem to serve any practical purpose. In the center of the room stood a large mirror, its frame ornate and gilded, though the glass was clouded with dust. One of the girls, Lila, stepped closer. As she reached out to touch the mirror, her hand passed through it as if it were made of smoke. She gasped and pulled back, but the mirror remained unchanged. The others watched in stunned silence. Then, the lights flickered again. This time, the entire room dimmed, and the temperature dropped so suddenly that their breath formed visible clouds in the air. The mirror began to shimmer, and for a brief moment, they saw reflections of themselves—but not quite right. Their eyes were too dark, their smiles too wide. When they blinked, the images vanished. Eli tried to leave, but the door behind them had locked itself. They pounded on it, shouted, but no one answered. The hallway outside had changed; the walls were now covered in strange symbols, and the floorboards had shifted, forming patterns that looked like maps or riddles. The air smelled of burning paper and old wood. Suddenly, a voice echoed through the halls—not from anywhere in particular, but from everywhere at once. It was calm, almost gentle, speaking in a language they didn’t recognize. The words felt familiar, like something they had always known but had forgotten. Then, the mirror began to clear. Not just the dust, but the image itself. They saw not their own faces, but a different version of themselves—older, wearier, as if they had lived this day before. One by one, they turned to each other, eyes wide with realization. When the door finally opened, it was morning. The sun was rising, and the building looked the same as it always had. But none of them could remember how they had gotten out. They left the place behind, but the memory of the mirror lingered in their minds, haunting them with questions they couldn’t answer. No one ever returned to the building. But sometimes, when the wind blew just right, you could hear the whispering again. And if you listened closely, you might think you heard your own voice, calling you back.