Maya and her Part 1
At exactly midnight, Maya heard someone walking across the ceiling.
She lived alone in an old two-story house at the edge of town. The upstairs had been locked for years. The previous owner had warned her never to open the door at the end of the hallway, but Maya had laughed when she heard it.
Now the footsteps stopped directly above her bedroom.
Step.
Step.
Step.
She held her breath.
“Hello?”
Silence.
Maya Part2
Then came three slow knocks from the ceiling.
Knock.
Knock.
Knock.
Maya grabbed her phone and turned on the flashlight. The stairs creaked as she climbed. At the top was the forbidden door. She had never noticed it before, but tonight the padlock was hanging open.
Her hands trembled as she pushed the door.
A cold wind rushed past her.
The room was empty except for an old wooden chair facing the wall. On the wall hung dozens of photographs.
Maya stepped closer.
Every photograph showed the same house.
The first picture was black and white. The second looked decades newer. The third was taken only a few years ago.
Then she saw the last photograph.
It showed her standing in the upstairs room.
She dropped it.
“No…”
A floorboard creaked behind her.
She spun around.
The chair had moved.
It was now facing her.
Maya ran for the stairs, but the door slammed shut.
She pulled the handle desperately.
Behind her, the chair scraped slowly across the floor.
She closed her eyes.
A voice whispered beside her ear.
“You weren’t supposed to come upstairs.”
The door suddenly opened.
Maya stumbled down the stairs and locked herself inside her bedroom. She called the police, but before she could explain, her phone rang.
It was her own number.
She answered.
For several seconds, there was only breathing.
Then she heard her own voice whisper:
“Don’t let them find the room.”
“What room?”
A pause.
“The one underneath your bedroom.”
Maya looked down.
The floor beneath her bed gave a loud crack.
She froze.
Something was knocking from underneath.
Knock.
Knock.
Knock.
Her bedroom door slowly opened.
A woman stood in the hallway.
Maya stared at her.
The woman looked exactly like her.
Same face.
Same clothes.
Same terrified expression.
The double smiled.
“You finally remembered,” she said.
Maya couldn’t move.
“Remembered what?”
The woman pointed toward the floor.
“This house doesn’t have an upstairs.”
Maya looked behind her.
The ceiling was gone.
Above her was another dark room.
And inside it, dozens of figures stood silently, staring down.
Every one of them looked like Maya.
The last thing she heard before the lights went out was her own voice coming from beneath the floor.
“Now we need another one.”
The next morning, the police found the house empty.
There was no upstairs.
No locked room.
No photographs.
Only one strange detail remained.
In Maya’s bedroom, beneath the bed, they found a fresh photograph.
It showed the police standing outside the house.
And behind them, in the upstairs window, Maya was smiling.