The heavy, male footsteps continued their ponderous, synced beat along the corridor.
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
Measured.
Patient.
Never rushed.
L14’s mouth froze in that rounded, petrified gasp.
And I knew.
The portraits stopped that frantic whispering.
And waited.
The room paused, prepared
Rehearsed.
Silence had learned obedience.
As though every chandelier, hallway and cabinet in the home had waited for those steps to instruct them.
The mansion had learned its master, too well.
Fear kept in perfect time.
The footsteps finally fell beyond the ballroom doors.
And the girl moved.
The eyes of the forgotten girl never left the doors. She reached for the brass plaque.
Almost apologetically.
She lifted as if—
Afraid.
And under it—
A forgotten name.
Almost totally erased.
Only barely recalled.
The portraits trembled.
Vigorously.
The lips of each parted.
Not in terror.
In remembrance.
Then she shook her head.
Not yet
Someone had told the house to stop the names from being spoken.
Tap.
Tap
Tap.
The ballroom doors creaked open—
Slightly
A polished white cane.
Then, a shadow.
A fedora.
With no face.
A voice—-
Too calm.
“What did I instruct you?”
CL14 bowed, too instinctively.
She backed away, much too disciplined.
Having learned the lessons that a girl of her age should not.
Mirrors of the Mind by Michelle Liew is a collection of psychological and supernatural short stories that explore the quiet unease beneath ordinary moments. These are not tales of spectacle, but of subtle fracture — where memory distorts, silence speaks, and the self is not always singular. In these stories, what is unseen often carries the greatest weight, and what lingers is not what is shown, but what is felt.