The Memory Room

The Memory Room

By Gabriella Cooper

CHAPTER ONE: THE MANDATE

It started with the Mandate. At first, people thought it was a conspiracy. A fringe rumor whispered in online forums and late-night radio shows. But then the letters came—official, government-sealed envelopes delivered to every doorstep.

You had to give up a memory.

The news channels sugar-coated it. “A humanitarian program,” they called it. “A chance to unburden yourself.” Officials claimed it was a measure to ease psychological distress, to help citizens live happier lives.

But the truth bled through in the silence.

People showed up to the Memory Rooms in droves. No one could refuse—not without consequences. Employers were informed. Schools kept attendance records. If you didn’t comply, you disappeared. Quietly. Without explanation.

They never said where the memories went.

Or what they were used for.

And still, we lined up.

Some gave away heartbreaks. Others, traumas. Some brave souls tried to trick the system, offering up moments they barely remembered.

But once it was gone, it was gone. Something about you changed.

Something about me changed.

I watched as more people crowded the Memory Room. Everyone was seemingly sad—tears in their eyes, hugging each other, holding their purses really tight—and I couldn’t understand why they didn’t just pick a random, meaningless memory and give that away.

As I walked through the Memory Room and signed in, they had us all wait. They called out a number—I remember I was number 727. As I was waiting, I was thinking of all kinds of different memories, like the kind you would want to forget. But I started to think: I wouldn’t be myself without the trials of my life. So I decided to pick a memory about a dream I had a couple of years back—about going into church with my family. Then, on our way out, we were driving around a speedway track in Indiana. It was right around our house. We were almost there… and then the ground separated.

The person driving kept going. Instantly, everything went black and I fell—standing straight up—and lost all feeling in my legs. That’s all I could remember of it.

All of a sudden, my name got called. I rushed to the front and gave them the memory.

As I walked out of the Memory Room, a strange man started calling me by a name only people close to me use. He was old and looked pale and brittle, with thin black, greasy squiggles for hair. He was very tall, and he continued to say “Ella” five times—significantly louder each time.

I looked at him and froze in a panic. I felt like I was going to have an anxiety attack. I lost my breath. I felt very uneasy and zoned out, paying very close attention to how the man looked. I tried to rush out of there as fast as I could and ran to my car.

As I was running to my car, I felt a cold, brittle old hand grab me by the wrist. It sent chills down my spine. He murmured, “Ella, come with me. I have something for you.”

I told him to get away from me, then pushed him and ran to my car. I locked it as fast as I could. As soon as the locks clicked, he banged his hands against the window, and I drove off.

I was so stunned, I rushed home as fast as I could. I didn’t even remember the drive home. One second I was pulling away from the Memory Room—next thing I knew, I was parked outside my building, engine still running, hands shaking on the wheel. My wrist still burned where he grabbed me.

I got out and felt very paranoid. I went inside, locked all the doors closed, and locked all the windows. Then I got in the shower in hopes that it would ease my mind. But as I was in the shower, I had this feeling like I forgot to do something. I thought to myself, what could it be? Did I forget to go get groceries? Maybe my meds from the pharmacy? I chose to forget about that and got out of the shower and got dressed. I sat down in my bed and tried to relax and watch some TV. It had been hours and I couldn’t fall asleep, so I got up and decided to take some melatonin. I took like three and went to lay down.

The next thing I know, I woke up with a strange feeling like someone was in the room with me. I looked over—and there they were: shadowy figures standing beside the man from the Memory Room, holding what looked like my dream… sealed inside a jar, glowing softly among a dozen others.

The shadows whispered louder as I stared at the glowing jars. The one holding my dream pulsed rhythmically, like a heartbeat in the dark.

“I have to get it back,” I said, voice shaking.

The old man nodded. “But beware—the Memory Room doesn’t just store memories. It traps pieces of your soul. Each memory you give away weakens you. The dream you lost is a key to something bigger.”

I swallowed hard, feeling the weight of those words.

“Will I see you again?” I asked.

He gave a faint, sad smile. “I’m not who you think I am. I’m a warning, and maybe a guide. But the rest… is on you.”

With that, he vanished into the shadows, leaving me alone with the jars and my racing heart.

I reached for the jar with my dream. The glass was cold and smooth, but as my fingers touched it, visions flooded my mind: the church, the speedway track, the ground splitting open, and then… darkness.

But now I saw more—something beneath the split earth, a glowing portal, and a figure reaching out to me.

I gasped, pulling my hand back. The Memory Room was no ordinary place. It was a prison, a gateway.

Determined, I pressed my palm against the glass harder. The jar cracked.

Light spilled out, engulfing me.

When I opened my eyes, I was no longer in the Memory Room.

I stood inside the dream itself.

The church bells tolled in the distance, echoing through the empty speedway. The ground beneath me felt unstable, like it could tear open again at any moment.

And then I heard it—a voice calling me, soft and urgent.

“Ella… come home.”

The voice echoed through the cold air, wrapping around me like a whisper and a command all at once. My heart hammered in my chest as I took a hesitant step forward, the cracked earth beneath my feet trembling ever so slightly.

“Ella… come home.”

I swallowed hard, trying to steady my breath. The sky above was a roiling gray, heavy with clouds that seemed to pulse with an unnatural energy. The church I’d seen in my dream stood just ahead, its stained-glass windows glowing faintly despite the gloom.

Every instinct screamed at me to run, but my feet moved toward the church as if pulled by an unseen force.

As I drew closer, the air grew thick with memories I didn’t recognize—echoes of laughter, whispers of prayers, and something darker beneath it all.

Then, from the shadows by the church steps, a figure emerged.

Tall. Pale. Familiar.

“Ella,” the voice said again—this time from the figure’s cracked lips. “It’s time.”

I froze, staring at the figure as the faint light revealed more of his features. The same pale, brittle man from the Memory Room—but here, he looked even more unreal, like a ghost caught between worlds.

His eyes held something I couldn’t place: sorrow, warning, maybe regret. “You don’t understand what you’ve done, Ella. That memory you gave away—it wasn’t just a dream. It was a key to a door you’ve now unlocked.”

My pulse quickened. “What door? What are you talking about?”

He stepped closer, his voice dropping to a whisper that seemed to seep into my bones. “The boundary between here and where the lost memories go. You’ve opened a path… and something is coming through.”

The ground trembled beneath us again, cracks snaking wider, glowing with an eerie blue light.

A cold wind rushed past, carrying distant, unearthly whispers.

“I have to fix this,” I said, voice trembling but firm. “How?”

He reached out, pressing a cold hand to my forehead. Images flooded my mind—visions of lost memories, twisted shadows, and a dark presence waiting beyond the rift.

“You must reclaim what you gave away. Find the pieces of your memory scattered in that place, or you’ll be lost too.”

Suddenly, the earth beneath us split open wide.

I tumbled forward, falling into darkness—but this time, I wasn’t falling alone.

Cold fingers brushed my skin, whispering fragments of forgotten memories. Shapes shifted around me—faces I barely recognized, places I could no longer name.

I clenched my fists, forcing myself to remember.

The dream, the church, the speedway track… but now there was more—a hidden room beneath the earth, a glowing portal, and a presence watching from the shadows.

A voice—different from the old man’s—called out, gentle but firm.

“Ella, find the pieces. Only then can you close the door.”

I forced my legs to move, stumbling through the shadowy maze of lost memories, each step pulling at the threads of who I was. The cold clung to me, but determination burned brighter.

Suddenly, a shard of light caught my eye—a fragment of my memory, shimmering like glass in the dark.

I reached out and grabbed it.

With it came a rush of warmth, a spark of hope.

The darkness began to recede, and I felt myself being pulled upward.

I awoke in my bed, sweat cooling on my skin. The Memory Room was gone from my mind’s eye, but the old man’s warning lingered.

I wasn’t just a visitor to the Memory Room anymore—I was part of it.

And the door I’d opened? It wasn’t ready to close.

But neither was I ready to give up.

I understand this contest centers around the theme of transformation—whether in a person, place, or moment. What inspired me was a real dream I had, and this is the story I created from it.

“The Memory Room” is a speculative fiction story that explores a dystopian world where memories are surrendered under government mandate. When one woman tries to give away what she believes is a harmless dream, she unknowingly unravels a deeper mystery—one that challenges her sense of reality, identity, and fate.

I want to sincerely thank Reedsy for creating a platform that empowers writers to share their voices. And a heartfelt thank-you to Lynn D. Jung for the opportunity to have my story read and considered. I’m incredibly grateful for the chance to share this piece and to grow through this experience.