The Lost Confession

### **Chapter 13: The Voice from the Past**

The room felt heavier now, as if the walls were closing in, the air pressing down on Daniel's chest like a physical weight. Dust motes swirled in the dim light of the flickering bulb, and the scent of mildew mixed with something sharper—chemical, almost medicinal. It clung to the back of his throat, making it hard to breathe.

He had searched everywhere.

The desk. The drawer. The back of the old filing cabinet.

Nothing.

But something in the room was different now.

The cracked mirror near the corner tilted at an odd angle, like it had been disturbed. Daniel frowned. He hadn't touched it.

He hesitated before stepping closer, his shoes scuffing against the cracked linoleum. The mirror's surface was fogged, streaked with dust, but something was wedged behind it. A small, rectangular object.

Daniel reached out, fingers curling around the cold plastic.

A cassette tape.

Its label was faded, smeared, but he could still make out a single handwritten word:

> "REMEMBER."

His pulse quickened.

This wasn't just left here—it was hidden.

Someone had wanted him to find it.

But only now.

His hand trembled slightly as he turned it over. The date scribbled on the back made his breath catch.

> Recorded: 10 years from now.

---

### **The Tape Recorder**

The old cassette player sat on the desk, cracked and worn. Daniel stared at it, fingers hovering over the play button.

He wasn't sure why he hesitated.

Maybe it was the way the recorder hummed faintly, even though it wasn't turned on.

Or maybe it was the whispering dread in his gut, the one that warned him—

*Whatever's on this tape, it won't make things better.*

But he had to know.

He pressed play.

A burst of static exploded from the speaker. Sharp. Grating. Like nails dragging across glass.

Daniel flinched, his heart skipping a beat.

And then—

A voice.

Low. Tired. Familiar.

His own.

> "…If you're listening to this, then you don't remember."

Daniel's breath caught.

The voice on the tape was his, but it wasn't. It was flatter, emptier—like it belonged to a man who had already lost everything.

> "They'll come for you soon. Maybe they already have. But you can't trust them."

The static crackled.

For a second, the words distorted, overlapping, like two versions of himself were speaking at once.

> "…And you can't trust yourself."

A cold shudder ran down his spine. His reflection in the cracked mirror across the room seemed to waver, the edges blurring as if it were melting. He tore his gaze away, focusing on the recorder.

> "The key is a lie."

> "Room 19 isn't real."

> "You were supposed to forget."

The tape cut off.

Silence.

Daniel's pulse pounded in his ears.

How could he have recorded this?

When?

His breath came in short, uneven bursts. The shadows in the room shifted, stretching toward him.

And then—

Something moved behind him.

A flicker in the cracked mirror.

A shape that hadn't been there before.

---

### **The Reflection That Shouldn't Exist**

Daniel turned slowly.

The mirror was fogged and broken, spiderweb cracks splintering across its surface. But through the fractures, he saw it.

A photograph.

Not a reflection. A picture embedded inside the glass.

It was the same photo from before. The one where he stood beside a corpse.

But something had changed.

The third figure—the blurred, unrecognizable shape—was no longer blurred.

It was him.

Daniel.

His own face stared back at him. Hollow-eyed. Gaunt.

Like a man who had been awake for weeks, maybe longer.

His stomach lurched.

The corpse in the photo shifted.

Its lifeless eyes turned toward him.

Its mouth opened.

A dry, rasping whisper spilled out, like the sound of dead leaves scraping against stone—

> "You weren't supposed to find this."

Daniel stumbled back.

The shadows surged forward.

The tape recorder clicked again.

The reel began to spin on its own.

His voice—but not from the tape.

From inside the room.

> "You're not ready."

The lights cut out.

Darkness swallowed everything.

---

### **The Presence in the Room**

Daniel froze.

The air grew colder.

The scent of antiseptic choked the room.

Something moved in the darkness.

Footsteps. Soft, deliberate.

Like it was circling him.

The tape recorder clicked again. The reels spun faster. The static grew louder, angrier.

And then—

His own distorted, overlapping voice filled the air.

> "They're coming."

> "You can't stop them."

> "You were never supposed to remember."

Daniel fumbled for the door.

His hands were slick with sweat. The handle wouldn't budge. The room wasn't letting him leave.

The presence was behind him now. He could feel it.

Its gaze. Its breath.

The tape recorder stopped.

Silence.

Then—

A whisper. Low. Inside his mind.

> "You're already too late."

The lights snapped back on.

Daniel gasped, shielding his eyes.

The room was empty again.

The diary lay closed on the desk. The file was back in the drawer, neatly arranged.

Like nothing had happened.

But Daniel knew better.

He wasn't alone.

And whoever was in this room with him… wasn't going to let him leave.