The Forgotten Room Book Novels & Stories

White roses lined the halls, guards pinned silver wolf badges to their jackets, and every window in the main house blazed with light. Serena was back. The sister who had run from the altar, forced me into her wedding dress, and still somehow remained the daughter everyone loved had finally returned to New York. I entered the code at the front door. Red flashed on the screen. [Denied.] I tried again. [Denied.] In my last life, this had happened too. The day Serena came home, every code in the manor changed: the front door, the wine cellar, the private elevator. Everything was reset to her birthday.

Because a couple of things had to happen in a room by yourself, before anyone else’s response to them could color how you felt about them. This was one of those things. The storage facility was the sort of place that lived in the gap of remembering and forgetting — rows of identical metal doors beneath rows of fluorescent lights that rumbled at a pitch just above hearing, the air scented with dust and cardboard and the stale reminiscence of things that had been sealed away in packages with the expectation of opening them later, only later to silently become nooit without confronting that silently. unit 114.

A strange blue light appeared inside. Then— silence. I stepped through. And stopped. The room was enormous. There were no photographs. No books. No weapons. Just walls. And hundreds of clocks. Every clock showed a different time. Some were ticking. Some had stopped. Some moved backward. I stared at them. "What is this?" My mother whispered: "The memory room." Damien looked around. "What does that mean?" "It's where the Circle stored memories." I frowned. "You can't store memories." "You can when you know how."

Ellie My books just laid there, on the floor, not in any order. I had shelves without organization, leaving gaps where I should have figured something else out. I didn’t want to tell Mom we couldn’t leave because I had to sort out my crazy person brain, so I’d walked away. I left, with my mind focused on the fact that my books could have been tipping over. If they tipped over, then it could have caused a massive crash. The weight would press down and everything could come falling over. My things would break, damaging the floor. Then people would come in and have to fix it, being in my space, getting their scent on things, looking around. They would be there, and I would have to watch them. W

I thought to myself as I reached the hall. As I entered the lecture hall for my first class, I took a deep breath, trying to calm my racing heart. The room was filled with students, all eager to begin their academic journey. I chose a seat near the back, hoping to avoid drawing too much attention to myself so what happened earlier would not be repeated but my efforts were of little use. Immediately I stepped into the hall, everywhere became silent again, although I loved the quite, I hated the chattering that came after. I was already getting annoyed by the whole situation so I quickly made my way to my seat. As I took my seat, I noticed the curious glances from my classmates, no doubt wonde

She tilted her head, unbelieving what she just experienced. Something wasn't right. The girl standing in this mansion today felt very different from the Amber they remembered. Much different. ************************* Amber followed Elizabeth through a series of elegant hallways before they entered a private sitting room. The room was beautifully furnished. Elizabeth walked toward a chair and settled into it comfortably. Without speaking, she poured herself another glass of wine. The rich red liquid swirled gently inside the crystal glass. Only then did she look at Amber again. "You wanted a privacy." Elizabeth said, taking a seat and pouring herself another drink. "Sit."

“What the f-k is an oubliette, daddy?” “It is called the Forgotten Room, as that is it’s purpose,” Talen told her. “It is where you put people you wish to forget. Our friend’s stay will be temporary, however, just long enough for him to well and truly repent his sins. We have a… hmm, collection agency,” he slid a look at her from the corner of his eye. “They clean up things we don’t want to reappear. They will find a use for our friend. One which will keep him from causing further trouble.”

Anything. Her fingers grasped a small, forgotten journal. She threw it across the room, the pages fluttering like wounded birds. Moments after she threw it, a forgotten memory resurfaced, and her head snapped to where the book landed–just in front of the door. She rushed to pick it up as a fresh wave of memories crashed down upon her. Her fingers slowly grazed over the cover, nostalgia settling in. A small, strained sigh escaped her lips as she tentatively opened the book.

Call ended. I placed the phone down and turned to the far corner of my room. My fingers curled around the spine of an old leather book — Feral Decay, it read. Fitting. I tilted it. Click. A mechanical hum stirred to life. The wall trembled — then split open. Cool air rushed out. I stepped inside. The room beyond was bathed in soft red light. The walls, lined with shadows and secrets. In the center stood a queen-sized bed, draped in black silk. Cuffs hung from its corners. Straps. Whips. Tools of command — untouched, unused... until now.

She was far from home and she was in unknown territory. Finding what he was looking for, he tilted the book with the title on its spine, To Kill A Mockingbird. A resounding click was heard, and the bookshelves parted into two like the Red Sea to reveal the titanium door with a security pad on the side. Phil punched in the codes in haste, and before you know it, they were inside the secret room.