Chapter 1: Room 304
The first rain of the season fell relentlessly over the campus, cloaking the worn-out buildings in an eerie, oppressive gloom. Cold wind slipped through shattered windowpanes, letting out hollow, wavering howls. Beneath the overcast sky, An pulled her suitcase through puddles, her back already damp with drizzle. Behind her, Linh followed with a box in her arms, occasionally glancing up at the looming dormitory building.
"Wait, I thought only Building A was for female students? This one—Building B—looks like it's been abandoned," Linh said, brow furrowed.
"Probably overcrowded," An replied. "I heard the rooms here are cheaper, so they're letting students stay temporarily. At least it's close to the lecture halls." She pointed at a crumpled sheet of paper taped beside the entrance:Room 304 – 3rd Floor.
The stairwell was narrow. Cracked walls peeled like old skin. Each footstep echoed as if bouncing off the bottom of a dry well. The air reeked of mildew and decaying wood—a sour, clinging stench that refused to leave. Room 304 was at the end of the hallway, where the dim hallway light failed to reach. An slid the key into the lock and turned. The door creaked open with a long, strained groan, as if protesting the disturbance after years of silence.
Linh instinctively stepped back.
"It's so dark in there…"
The room was bigger than expected—two bunk beds, a long wooden desk, and a pair of old metal lockers. The walls were coated in a faded layer of paint, mottled with dark stains that looked disturbingly organic, like something had oozed out from within. But what made both girls freeze was the giant mirror affixed to the inside of the door. It stretched nearly from floor to ceiling, almost as wide as the door itself, layered in a thick coat of gray dust. In its dull reflection, they saw warped images of themselves—pale skin, eyes hollowed by shadow.
"Why would there be a mirror here?" Linh whispered.
"Maybe just old design. My cousin's room had one too, but smaller," An replied—though she couldn't take her eyes off it.
Linh reached out and touched the glass.
"It's freezing… Creepy. Let's cover it. I don't want to see it every time the door closes."
That evening, they went out and bought a large, pale green decal with a soft floral pattern. Back in the room, they measured and trimmed it carefully, smoothing it over the mirror until it was completely hidden. No more warped reflections—just a soothing field of green. The room felt lighter, like it could breathe again.
But that first night… was unnaturally quiet. No creaks, no whispers, no dreams. And somehow, that silence made it worse. The kind of silence that presses down on you. The kind that listens.
The next morning, Linh woke first. She cracked open the window to let in some fresh air. Sunlight poured in, weak and filtered, unable to dispel the lingering damp. Then she saw it—down on the grass below, a little girl, maybe five or six years old, wandering the courtyard alone. She held a small red umbrella, spinning it slowly as she walked.
But what stopped Linh cold was the fact that… there shouldn't be any children here. The dorm was strictly for university students. And yesterday, they'd been told that Building B had been practically empty for the past year.
Then the girl looked up.Right at Room 304.Her eyes were wide, blank, unblinking. Her face—expressionless.
"An… wake up. There's a little girl. Something's off…"
An sat up groggily and followed Linh's gaze. But by then, the child had vanished behind the trees.
"Probably someone's kid from around here," she mumbled.
"But the semester hasn't started yet…"
An didn't reply. The green decal still clung to the door, perfectly intact. But something about that calming color—it no longer felt comforting.Not anymore.
Chapter 2: Silence
That evening, An returned to the dorm after her first day of classes. Linh was at the desk, headphones on, bobbing her head slightly to the rhythm of music. Outside, the rain had just stopped, leaving behind a crisp chill in the air. The musty smell inside the room had grown heavier, even though the window had been left open all day. An stepped in and quietly shut the door, her eyes briefly glancing at the pale green decal that now covered the mirror.
For some reason, it looked… swollen in the middle. As if there was a bubble or a slight gap beneath it. She ran her fingers across the surface—still smooth. Nothing unusual.
"Hey, did you hear anything strange around noon?" An asked without turning around. Linh took off her headphones.
"No. What do you mean?"
"I was lying down and thought I heard water running… but our room doesn't have a faucet, right?"
Linh frowned."Probably rainwater from the gutter outside. This place has terrible insulation."
An nodded, but something still felt off. She decided not to mention the slight bulge on the decal—probably just moisture. That night, they agreed to study at the library and return to the room later.
When they came back, the hallway was deserted. Dim fluorescent lights flickered against the cold tile floor, casting trembling shadows that seemed to breathe.
"This hallway gives me the creeps every time," Linh muttered, pulling her jacket tighter.
"It's just the lighting. This dorm must be decades old," An replied.
She unlocked the door. It creaked open with the same prolonged groan. Inside, the lights were still on. Everything seemed untouched. But one detail made them both freeze:The window, which had been left cracked open earlier... was now wide open.
"Wind blew it open?" Linh asked, stepping forward to close it.
"But there wasn't any strong wind today…"
A cold, damp gust swept through the open window, brushing past them like an icy breath. An shivered and drew the curtain shut. Her gaze drifted back to the decal—still intact. She forced a smile.
"Guess the room just feels strange because no one's lived here for a while."
Linh didn't reply. She was scanning the room, as if something had shifted—something subtle. But she couldn't quite say what.
Midnight.
A soft click echoed through the darkness. Linh's eyes snapped open. The room was pitch black. She hadn't turned the nightlight on. Sitting up slowly, she strained her ears. Nothing—just the faint patter of rain outside. She glanced over—An was still asleep. Then something brushed against her hand.
She flinched. Switched the light on.Nothing.
The blanket had slipped slightly. She stood, walked over to the door, and stared at the decal. A long pause.A soft breath.So faint, it could've been imagined—like it came from behind the mirror beneath.
Linh stepped back.
"Probably just my mind playing tricks on me…" she whispered, and turned toward her bed.
In the mirror…There was nothing.
No reflection at all.
But perhaps the light was too dim. Or… maybe the mirror was no longer there?
No.The decal was still there. She could see it.
Couldn't she?
Chapter 3: The Corner
Darkness
That afternoon, weak sunlight streamed through the window of Room 304, stretching across the old tiled floor. The air inside felt somewhat lighter, ever since the pale green decal had been firmly pressed over the mirror. The unease had quieted—replaced by the usual fatigue that came with the first weeks of school. An was lying on her bed, reading, while Linh scribbled lecture notes at the desk. Outside, the dormitory courtyard was silent, broken only by the occasional chirp of distant birds.
But that silence didn't last long.
A child's laughter echoed from below.
Both girls looked up.
An walked to the window and gently pulled back the curtain. Down in the courtyard, a little girl—about five or six—was playing alone. She wore a plain white dress, her hair neatly tied in twin pigtails. What caught An off guard wasn't her presence, but the fact that the girl was staring directly up at their window. At her.
An frowned.
The girl didn't blink. Her round eyes locked onto An's through the glass. No wave. No smile. Just a blank stare—empty. Something about it made An shiver involuntarily.
"Linh, come here," An called softly.Linh joined her, peering down.
"Who is she? Why's she playing out there alone? Where are her parents?"
An only shrugged.
Not long after, a middle-aged woman and a man appeared from across the yard, waving for the girl to come. She turned and ran toward them. But just before leaving, she paused, looked back—not at the girls, but toward the dark corner of the courtyard wall, near an overgrown planter box.
She whispered:"I'll come play with you again tomorrow, okay?"
And then she was gone, her tiny hand clasped in her mother's.
That sentence echoed in An's mind for the rest of the evening.
Night fell faster than usual.
By the time the two girls were in bed, the room had sunk into deep silence. The pale green decal on the door now looked like a fragile barrier—something paper-thin separating them from the dark hallway outside.
Around 3 a.m., An suddenly woke up.
She didn't know why.
There was a heaviness in her chest, a sense of stillness so complete it made her skin crawl. Wind hissed faintly through a crack in the window. Then she heard it—soft, almost imperceptible.
A rustle.A whisper.As if someone—or something—was breathing near her ear.
She turned. Linh was still asleep. But the sound continued.
It came from... the corner of the room.That one corner the light never touched.The darkness there was thicker than anywhere else, like a part of the room the world had forgotten.
An sat up, squinting.
Was there… something there?
She was just about to call Linh—Click.
The door handle turned sharply.
Both girls jolted awake.
Someone was trying to open the door—from the outside.
"Who's there?" Linh whispered, voice tight with fear.
They stared at the door.The handle kept turning.But the door didn't open.There was no lock engaged.
Then—The decal fluttered softly, like a breeze had passed over it.
And then came a distinct click—The sound of the door locking itself.
Neither of them had moved.
One minute passed.
Silence returned.But something had changed. Something had… left.Or was still there.
The air behind them felt colder, heavier.
They sat frozen, not daring to speak.
Then—from the far corner of the room, in the thickest part of the shadow—came a sound.
A child's laugh.
Soft.Brief.Satisfied.
Chapter 4: The Door That Wouldn't Open
A fine mist had drifted through the long night, leaving behind a biting chill in the early morning air. Room 304 remained wrapped in an unsettling silence—so quiet that even the ticking of the wall clock felt unnatural, almost sinister.
An quietly closed her book, her eyes heavy with exhaustion.She hadn't slept at all.
Not with the constant sensation that someone—or something—was watching her.Always from the mirror.Even though it had long been covered, she could feel its presence—lurking behind that pale green decal.
Linh sat at the edge of her bed, tense and pale.
"An… what if we switch rooms?" she whispered.
An looked at her—almost relieved.As if she had been waiting for that suggestion all along.
"Yeah. This place… it's not right."
Without another word, they began packing.
The room remained unnervingly still, like it was observing them.
When Linh dragged her suitcase to the door, she suddenly froze.
"Wait, An… I forgot my sketchbook."
An nodded, stepping out into the hallway.
Linh turned back into the room and quickly walked to the desk. But just as her hand touched the notebook, a sudden, icy draft brushed the back of her neck. She flinched.
When she turned, she was startled to see An back in the room.
"What is it?"
An frowned."My phone. I left it under the pillow."
They exchanged a sheepish smile—just long enough to forget the weight pressing in around them.
But the moment An reached for her phone, click.
They froze.
The door had shut itself.
An lunged for it and grabbed the handle.
It didn't budge.
"It's locked?"
Linh's voice was barely a whisper, her face pale.
"No way… We didn't lock it."
They tried everything—turning the knob, pushing, pulling, even slamming their weight into it. But the door held firm. It didn't rattle. Didn't creak. Didn't respond.
There was no sound from the hallway beyond.
As if the room had sealed itself off from the rest of the world.
An stared at the door. The decal was still there—perfectly smooth, perfectly intact.
But it no longer felt like just a decal.
It felt like a veil.Something was hiding behind it.
Something waiting.
Chapter 5: The Scratches Behind the Door
Evening had arrived. The last rays of sunlight crept silently through the window, stretching the shadows of the two girls across the moldy, tiled floor. An and Linh huddled in a corner of the room, arms wrapped tightly around their knees, their blank eyes fixed on the door.
After countless failed attempts to escape, they both knew—What held them here wasn't a broken lock.It was something else.Something that wanted them to stay.
The mirror still loomed quietly on the back of the door, cold and mocking. It reflected them with a slight distortion, as though amused. Wind hissed through the slightly ajar window, carrying a familiar scent—milk and baby soap, sweet with a faint metallic undertone.
Linh shivered. Her voice cracked as she whispered,"An… do you hear that?"
An nodded slowly.
Then it came.A faint sound—scratching.At first soft… then growing stronger.Like fragile fingernails dragging against wood, desperate.
They turned toward the door.
Just beneath it, where the overhead light couldn't reach, faint marks had begun to appear. Thin, jagged, overlapping—like a child… had once clawed at the door, begging to get out.
Linh crawled forward, trembling. She knelt before the door and gently touched one of the deepest grooves.
A freezing sensation shot up her fingers—and a vision flashed in her mind.
A little girl, no older than five or six, curled up in the corner of this very room.Tear-stained eyes.Clutching a ragged doll.Her lips moved in the silence:
"Mom… you've been gone so long… You promised you'd come back…"
The room—this room—was sealed.No sound. No food. No water.No one came.
Days passed.The light from beneath the door dimmed.The cries faded.
Until only the scratching remained.
"Mom… please… open the door…"
The vision vanished.
Linh stumbled backward, her face pale.
"She… she was left here…"
An gripped her friend's hand tightly, shaking her head.
"We have to get out. We have to find a way."
Then, the room went silent again.
Inside the mirror, a small silhouette slowly began to appear.
It was her.The same round, silent eyes.But this time, she didn't laugh.She didn't speak.
She simply raised her hand and pressed it against the other side of the glass.
Across the mirror's foggy surface, a message appeared—written in shaky, childlike scrawl:
"Don't leave me again…"
An gasped.
Linh broke down into sobs.
"I can't… I don't want to be trapped here…"
The mirror trembled in reply.Then—crack.
A thin fracture split across the bottom edge of the glass, creeping upward.
"She's angry," An whispered."But maybe… if we find something important to her—maybe we can get out."
Linh's eyes lit up.
"The doll! I remember—when she was in the courtyard, she said, 'I have a doll in here. We can play together!'"
An nodded. They tore through the room in a frenzy.
And finally, beneath the bed, they found it.A faded cloth doll.One arm torn, but its eyes still intact.
Linh clutched it and approached the mirror.
"This is yours, isn't it?"
The girl in the glass stared back. Her lips moved faintly:
"It's cold… I don't want to be alone anymore…"
Then the mirror darkened.
The door began to tremble violently.Cold wind swept into the room, wild and furious.
An and Linh clung to each other, the doll held between them.
And then—POP.The ceiling light exploded.Darkness consumed everything.
From within the void, a child's voice echoed:
"Play with me… please don't go… don't leave me like Mom did…"
The night swallowed them whole.
Outside, it began to rain.
Chapter 6: The Dream of the One Who Stayed
An awoke in a room bathed in sunlight.
There was no more cold, no sound of wind seeping through the cracks, no whispering voices trailing from the mirror.
Just silence—so complete it barely felt real.
Room 304 had transformed into a soft-pink haven.Simple toys were neatly arranged around the bed.A cloth doll lay perfectly placed on a pillow, both arms intact.Crayon drawings lined the walls—sunshine, a house, a smiling mother.
In the center of the room, a little girl spun in circles, her sparkly princess dress catching the golden light. When she saw An, she froze.
Her eyes lit up.
"Big sister! You came!"
She squealed with joy, ran barefoot to An, and wrapped her arms tightly around her.
An stood still.Some part of her understood—this wasn't the real world.And yet, the warmth in that small embrace felt too real to deny.
"I dreamed and dreamed, but you never came back," the girl whispered."But you're here now… right?"
The room seemed to respond to her words. Everything brightened.Birdsong floated through the open window.Somewhere in the air, the faint smell of warm pastries lingered.
An knelt slowly and placed her hand gently on the girl's cheek.
"You've… been here all alone, haven't you?"
The girl nodded. Her smile remained, but her eyes were red around the edges.
"Mama said she'd be right back. But she never came. Then… everyone else left too. I was so scared."
An pulled her into a hug. For the first time, this dream didn't feel like a haunting.It felt like a cry—from a soul too small, too lost, and too forgotten.
"I tried to call you. You didn't hear me," the girl said."But now you're here… we can play, right?"
An looked around.There was no Linh.No mirror.No fear.
Only a child… and a dream that had never been allowed to end.
An smiled softly."Yes… I'll play with you," she said gently."But just for a little while, okay? After that, I have to go."
The girl's smile faltered."Go? No… you can't go. Mama said she'd come back too. But she didn't. Don't leave me."
The light in the room dimmed.The pink faded to gray.The crayon drawings began to peel and smear.
An held the girl's hand tightly.
"If I stay here forever, you'll never know what happened to Mama. But if you help me, I can help you. I'll help you remember. I'll help you understand. And maybe… we'll both find a way out."
The girl looked down, fingers twisting the hem of her dress.
"I don't know how…"
"Then show me. Show me what happened," An said, her voice steady, her eyes locked on the child's.
A silence passed between them.
Then, the little girl took An's hand and led her toward the door—the same old door of Room 304, now covered in claw marks, deep and jagged.
She pointed with her small fingers, her voice a whisper carried on air:
"That's the last place I saw Mama."
The door began to tremble.
And An knew—What lay beyond that door was no longer a dream—but the truth that had been buried for far too long.
Chapter 7: The Door That Closed
An awoke with a jolt—her breath ragged, sweat soaking her back.The soft morning light filtered into Room 304, revealing every familiar detail under a haze of pale gold.No more laughter, no piercing cold down her spine, no strange mirror, no child.
Only silence.
Linh was awake too, curled up at the edge of her bed, eyes wide and filled with the same dread.They didn't speak.They didn't need to.Both knew what had happened wasn't a dream, wasn't a hallucination.
"We have to find out what's going on," An whispered.
At the university library, An combed through stacks of old documents—yellowed newspapers, student reports, maintenance records from the dormitory.She dug into the deepest corners of forgotten shelves, flipping pages no one had touched in decades.
Then she saw it.A name.
"Phương – age 7 – disappeared from the old dormitory in 1998."
The article was short. No photo, no full story.It only mentioned that Phương was the daughter of a temporary staff member staying at the dorm.She had been locked in a room while her mother left to grab something…And never came back.
Another note—buried in a different report:
"Phương's mother was killed in a traffic accident right outside the school gate. She died on the scene."
An sat frozen.She remembered the whispered dreams, the desperate hugs, those waiting eyes behind a thick layer of glass.
"Don't leave me...""Mama said she'd come back..."
Her heart clenched.Phương never knew her mother had died.She had waited in that room—waited until her tiny body gave out.
Alone.Terrified.
An swallowed back her tears.
She knew what she had to do.
That night, An returned to the old room.Not out of curiosity.Not because she wasn't afraid.But because she had made a promise.Because she understood now—there was a small soul still waiting.
Waiting for closure.
Chapter 8: The Dream That Ended
An stepped into Room 304—where everything began, and where Phương was left behind.She came alone.No Linh.No one else knew.
The room was still.Thick with a strange heaviness, as if the air itself had grown old and tired.
The door closed behind her without a sound.It didn't lock.But An knew it wouldn't open again—not until this was finished.
Where the doorway once was, now stood a mirror.And in its surface, Phương appeared.Eyes wide and soft, hair tousled like wisps of smoke.She smiled.
"You came back… I knew you wouldn't leave me."
An's hands clenched."Phương… your mother didn't forget you. I came back to tell you something important."
She held out a faded photograph.In it, little Phương sat in the lap of a woman with warm eyes and a loving smile.
"This is your mother. She never stopped loving you.She just… she couldn't come back.She's waiting for you now—on the stars above."
The mirror trembled.Phương stepped back, shaking her head.
"No… Mama said she would come back. She promised."
An knelt down.
"She did promise. I know. But she didn't want to leave you. It was never her choice.She couldn't come back… but she never stopped waiting.You've just been… a little lost."
"Lost?" Phương's voice was barely a whisper.
An smiled gently."Yes. You lost your way for a bit. And you waited a bit too long.But she's still there—waiting for you, up among the stars."
Phương looked down.Her tiny hands clutched at her dress.She was silent.
Then, slowly, her gaze lifted.For the first time… not toward the door, not at An—But upward.
The ceiling dissolved like morning fog, revealing a vast, endless sky.Starlight shimmered, and from its depths, a figure emerged.
A woman, radiant with gentle light, smiled down and reached out her arms.
"Mama…" Phương breathed.
No more tears.No more fear.
Only peace.
She turned to An and bowed her head lightly.
"Thank you… for showing me the way."
Then she ran—toward the light.
Her figure faded.The room fell silent, except for the breeze that now flowed through it—gentle, cool, and free.
The next morning.
An woke in her own room.Her back damp with sweat, but her breath was calm.
No laughter in the night.No knocking.No voices behind glass.
She stepped onto the balcony.The sky was just beginning to glow.A single cloud drifted by.
And for a moment—An felt as if someone, somewhere above, was waving goodbye.
Linh appeared behind her, rubbing her eyes.
"You're up early."
An smiled.
"I just came back… from a very long journey."
Linh didn't ask.She didn't need to.
She took An's hand, and they stood in silence.
No one spoke of Room 304 again.
It was sealed soon after.
But sometimes, late at night, if you listened closely…
You could still hear the faint sound of footsteps skipping down the hallway, and the soft laughter of a little girl.
Not because she was still waiting.
But because she had finally found her way home.