The film roll was hidden behind an old painting in the bedroom.
I don't know why I checked it — maybe because of the dream last night. I was standing in the dark hallway of the apartment, and a small voice whispered in my ear:
"Burn it, or it will burn you."
When I woke up, I knew what it meant.
The film roll was small, round, rusted at the edges. No label. No clue.
But the moment I touched it, my heart started pounding.
Like a ticking clock… in reverse.
I tried to open it, but couldn't. The plastic was too old, too stiff. As if it was guarding something that didn't want to be released.
And I knew, like every other item on that list, I had to destroy it — not understand it.
But before I burned it, I needed to know…
What was Liana trying to hide?
I went to an old camera shop downtown — the only place that could still process analog film.
The owner, an elderly man with thick glasses, greeted me with a look that mixed curiosity and concern when he saw the film roll.
"This… this is from the '90s. Never seen this brand before," he said.
I just nodded.
"Are you sure you want to see what's on it?"
I wanted to say no.
But I nodded again.
It took an hour to process.
During that time, I sat on a plastic chair against the wall, surrounded by photos of smiling families — their happiness too bright compared to the thoughts in my head.
When the old man returned, his face was pale.
"Are you sure you want to take this?"
I took the envelope from his hands.
"There's something on the last slide," he said softly. "Not damage… but I suggest you don't look at it for too long."
I returned to the apartment.
Closed all the curtains.
Turned on a small reading lamp.
And began going through the prints one by one.
First photo: Liana and a young girl — probably Mara — standing in the kitchen of unit 4B, smiling. The image was a bit blurry, but full of warmth.
Second photo: Liana writing something in the notebook, Mara sitting on the floor hugging a doll. There was a strange light in the window — as if the sun wasn't shining from outside, but from inside the room.
Third photo: Liana standing in front of a mirror. But the mirror didn't reflect her — it reflected me.
I fell back in my chair. How was that possible?
It was me. Wearing a gray hoodie and messy hair.
But this photo was taken years before I moved in.
I almost couldn't bring myself to look at the fourth photo.
But I had to.
The final slide.
I pulled it out slowly.
A black-and-white photo. Taken from the ceiling of the bedroom.
Liana was sleeping.
Surrounding her bed were five figures, standing in a circle.
All faceless.
Heads too tall. Bodies too thin.
And in the bottom corner of the photo…
There I was.
Standing at the door. Smiling.
But it wasn't my smile. It was wider. Emptier.
I dropped the photo.
I almost burned everything right then and there.
But I couldn't.
I needed to know… when it was taken.
I turned the photo over. On the back, written in red ink:
"The night before she vanished.And the night you arrived."
I couldn't breathe.
Was I part of this?
Had I always been here?
Or… was I living inside a memory that wasn't mine?
I looked at the list.
Item five began to tremble — not physically, but in my mind. The words pressed harder:
5. Burn the film roll
I went to the kitchen.
Turned on the stove.
I placed the photos into the flame one by one. Each sheet caught fire slowly, releasing the scent of burning plastic and… something fouler.
Liana's photo.
Mara's photo.
My photo.
And finally, the black-and-white slide.
As the last image burned, the apartment lights went out.
Total darkness.
Then, from the bedroom mirror, a small voice whispered:
"Now you're ready for the truth."
The lights came back on.
I stood alone in the middle of the room.
The mirror was now whole — no cracks, no fog.
And inside it, only my reflection.
But when I stepped away…
My reflection didn't move.