The Untold

Was it just her imagination?

Jillian Spiridon
Agency Magazine

--

Image Credit: Depositphotos

Was it a knock that had woken her?

Alyssa sat up, clutching the red silk sheet to her chest as she did so, little caring about the mess she was making of the bed. Her head swam with the motion, and she brought her free hand up to her throbbing temple. With every pulse of her head, she felt as if she could just sink back against the bed and let the darkness overtake her once again.

The bed.

How had she gotten there again?

Then, again, there came the sound: a sharp tap against wood, undeniable. On shaky limbs, Alyssa stood, trailing the sheet behind her on the ground as she walked towards the door of the room she found herself in. She stared at the offending menace — a plain white door — even as she waited a hair bit longer just to see if whoever was on the other side would insist upon their presence being acknowledged by knocking again.

Alyssa frowned at the door, almost as if daring the person on the other side to do what she anticipated, but nothing came.

Slowly, she reached for the knob, turned it, and tugged the door open.

She walked onto plush red carpet in a hallway that yawned with several blank doors on either side of her. White walls completed the bland picture with not one single painting to…

--

--