The Landlady's Secret

30 Episodes

Down on her luck and newly single, Mia needed a fresh start. The ad for a room in a beautiful Victorian house was too good to be true—pristine, charming, and dirt-cheap. The landlady, Eleanor, seemed like a lonely, harmless grandmother. But the rules were strange: no overnight guests, no loud noises after dark, and absolutely no going into the basement. Mia agreed, desperate for a roof over her head. The first week was peaceful. Then, the small things began. A favorite necklace went missing, only to reappear on Eleanor's dresser. Mia's private journal seemed… read. Eleanor would cook Mia's childhood meals, meals she’d never mentioned. The kindly facade began to crack, revealing sharp, calculating eyes that tracked Mia's every move. The isolation became a cage. The final straw was the noise. Scratches from the vents. Whispers in the walls that echoed Mia's own anxious thoughts. Driven by a terror she couldn't ignore, Mia picked the lock on the basement door. The stench of damp earth and old perfume hit her first. In the dim light, she saw them: Polaroid pictures pinned to a wall, each one a previous tenant. And in the center, a recent, hauntingly familiar photo of herself, asleep in her bed. From a shadowed corner, a weak voice croaked, "Help me. Before she finishes you, too." Mia turned to see a gaunt woman, her features a distorted mirror of Mia's own, chained to the wall. Eleanor wasn't just a landlady. She was a curator, stealing pieces of her tenants' lives, their identities, their very essence. Now, Mia is next in her collection, and the only way out is to become what Eleanor fears most: a reflection that fights back.

Introduction

Down on her luck and newly single, Mia needed a fresh start. The ad for a room in a beautiful Victorian house was too good to be true—pristine, charming, and dirt-cheap. The landlady, Eleanor, seemed like a lonely, harmless grandmother. But the rules were strange: no overnight guests, no loud noises after dark, and absolutely no going into the basement. Mia agreed, desperate for a roof over her head. The first week was peaceful. Then, the small things began. A favorite necklace went missing, only to reappear on Eleanor's dresser. Mia's private journal seemed… read. Eleanor would cook Mia's childhood meals, meals she’d never mentioned. The kindly facade began to crack, revealing sharp, calculating eyes that tracked Mia's every move. The isolation became a cage. The final straw was the noise. Scratches from the vents. Whispers in the walls that echoed Mia's own anxious thoughts. Driven by a terror she couldn't ignore, Mia picked the lock on the basement door. The stench of damp earth and old perfume hit her first. In the dim light, she saw them: Polaroid pictures pinned to a wall, each one a previous tenant. And in the center, a recent, hauntingly familiar photo of herself, asleep in her bed. From a shadowed corner, a weak voice croaked, "Help me. Before she finishes you, too." Mia turned to see a gaunt woman, her features a distorted mirror of Mia's own, chained to the wall. Eleanor wasn't just a landlady. She was a curator, stealing pieces of her tenants' lives, their identities, their very essence. Now, Mia is next in her collection, and the only way out is to become what Eleanor fears most: a reflection that fights back.