"This place is hiding something," Carol murmured, her voice shaking slightly as she stared at the strange, melted-shadow patterns on the storage room walls—completely out of place.
"Maybe it's all just your imagination? Can't we just go back and work?" Sasha replied, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear with a nervous smile. "We've been here for less than a week, Carol. They'll fire us if we act suspiciously.
But something gnawed at Carol's thoughts. The smell in the storage room—something metallic mixed with rot—wasn't from spoiled food or cleaning chemicals. It was older, like rusted iron soaked in old blood.
As they turned to leave, the door slammed shut behind them. Hard. So hard the walls seemed to rattle. Carol and Sasha jumped back in shock.
A second later: click—the unmistakable sound of a bolt sliding into place.
They ran to the door, banging hard. "Hey! What the fuck are you doing? Open up!"
A voice replied from the other side. It was the cashier—the one with the lazy eye and the stitched-up apron. "None of your business, bitches," he snapped.
Then, his voice... shifted.
The next words came from someone else entirely. A child's voice. Guttural and broken. Familiar.
"No... no... that's the boy," Carol whispered, backing away from the door like it might burst open.
"Screw this," Sasha muttered. "We're getting out of here. Trust me."
They turned back into the storage room, sprinting toward the narrow stairwell in the far corner. It spiraled up, lined with flickering bulbs and walls that oozed condensation.
At the top was a blocked door. Planks, rotting but strong, had been nailed across it crudely, like someone had tried to keep something in—or out. And next to the door, perfectly placed like a cruel joke, was a hammer.
Sasha grabbed it and began prying the wood away. Each creak echoed like a scream. When the last plank fell, the door swung open easily, revealing nothing but pitch-black silence.
They stepped in slowly. The air was heavy, damp, and cold as a grave.
"Where's the damn light switch?" Sasha hissed. She slapped her hand along the wall.
Nothing.
"This is starting to piss me off!"
Her fingers brushed something—a switch.
Click.
The room burst into light.
And hell.
Bodies hung from the ceiling. Limp. Rotting. Some had bags over their heads. Others were tied in sacks, barely shaped like humans. The floor was stained deep crimson, with trails of dried footprints leading nowhere.
Carol screamed.
Sasha dropped the hammer.
They bolted out, breathless, slamming the door behind them.
"We just saw... we just saw dead bodies," Carol cried. "I can't—this isn't real. It can't be real."
Sasha steadied herself, biting her lip so hard she tasted blood. "We don't have time to freak out. We need to get the hell out of here."
They frantically scanned the hallway, searching for another exit.
Behind a massive, toppled closet—one filled with shredded clothes, crawling rats, and something worse they refused to look at twice—they found a small metal vent.
Barely wide enough for a grown person. Scratch marks lined the rim, like someone had tried to claw their way out.
"We don't have a choice," Sasha muttered. "I'll go first."
They climbed inside, crawling through the narrow duct. It smelled like rotting meat. Their clothes dragged across old grime, and something warm and wet smeared across Carol's hand. She didn't look down.
Then—the vent shifted. The surface beneath them gave a sudden, low creak. They stopped.
But it was too late.
CRACK.
The metal below them collapsed, and they dropped—down a long, echoing shaft that felt like it would never end.
They landed with a heavy thud on a white, sterile floor. Pain rang through their limbs.
They were inside a strange, brightly lit room. The kind you see in interrogation scenes in movies. Two metal chairs sat facing each other. A long, wide window stretched across one wall. Behind it—figures. Watching. Faceless. Unmoving.
"Where the hell are we now?" Sasha gasped, standing up slowly.
"This was... this was never a storage room," Carol whispered, backing into the corner. "We've been pulled somewhere else."
They banged on the window. "Hey! Let us out! Please!"
An automated voice spoke from an unseen speaker, robotic and cold:
"All people in the room will be punished. Thank you."
The door didn't budge.
Left with no choice, they sat on the chairs, trembling. Sasha reached out and grabbed Carol's hand. "We'll figure this out."
A drip hit Carol's shoulder.
Then another.
She looked up. The ceiling was... leaking?
Blood. It poured faster. From corners, cracks, vents—until it became a flood. A biblical rush of red. It hit their knees. Then their waists. Then their chests. They stood on the chairs, screaming. The blood climbed to their necks.
Tears streamed down Carol's face. "I can't... I can't breathe—Sasha—!"
The lights above buzzed, flickered, and went black.
They sank.
Carol woke up in a bathtub filled with blood. Still. Silent. Red.
She gasped, flailing, realizing Sasha was beside her, also waking.
"What... what happened...?" Carol whispered.
The room was quiet.
Too quiet.
Then: bubbling.
In the blood below. Plop.Plop. Tap. Tap. Tap. Something knocking.
Then a voice: "Be silent, Carol."
Sasha's whisper. "I don't like this. What the fuck is happening?" Carol hissed.
"Shh. Just listen."
The lights flickered on again.
Between them, sitting atop the surface of the blood, was a hat.
An old, child's hat. Torn. Drenched in blood. Then—it floated upward. Slowly. As if worn by an invisible figure. A face rose with it. A pale, gray child's head, bloated, waterlogged. Its mouth curled into an inhuman grin.
"Hello, you sinful people," it said, in a voice that echoed in both their heads. "How are you doing today... with your tasty little souls?"
"RUN!"
They scrambled out of the tub.
The creature rose higher, its soaked hair dragging behind, as if suspended in liquid no one else could see.
"The door!" Carol shouted.
They ran—but the knob wouldn't turn.
"No, no, NO!"
The entity raised its hand—and Carol was flung into the wall with impossible force. She smashed into the mirror, then crumpled into the sink. Glass exploded everywhere.
"CAROL!"
Sasha turned—but was snatched by the air itself and slammed against the door, pinned.
She struggled. Screamed.
"What do you want from me!?"
The entity's head tilted.
"Luke," it said simply.
"What? Why?"
"Because he brought you here. He knew. He always knew. And he let you walk straight into me. Now... you will pay. And I will take your beloved husband."
"No, please—NO! Not him! Take me, I beg you!"
The smile faded.
"Too late, my friend."
With a motionless wave, mirror shards lifted into the air.
They hurled through the room.
One pierced Sasha's eye. Another her side.
She collapsed.
The creature descended back into the tub, vanishing beneath the surface.
A heartbeat later—the bathtub exploded, flinging blood across the walls. Pipes shrieked. Lights shattered.
Sasha rose shakily.
"Carol... Carol—are you okay?"
No response.
She looked to the sink. Carol lay limp. Covered in glass.
She knelt beside her.
"Carol! Wake up! Please don't do this to me!"
Carol's eyes fluttered open. She smiled, blood between her teeth.
"K-kill those... pieces of shit off..."
Sasha grabbed her hand.
It went limp.
"No! Carol—Carol, please! I need you!"
She screamed. Sobbed. Shook her, begging. But Carol's body remained still.
Sasha cried until her throat went raw and no more tears would come.
Then—the door creaked open.
"Hello? Who's in here?" a man's voice called out.
"Please—help me!"
He stepped in. Middle-aged. Worn coat. Eyes sharp with concern. "My god... what the hell—"
"My friend's dead," Sasha choked. "She's dead! That thing—he—killed her!"
"Wait. Wait—calm down. Are you telling the truth?"
"Look at me!" Sasha screamed, showing her wounds, her blood-covered arms. "I'm dying right now!"
He hesitated. Then nodded. "Okay. Okay. My name's Charles. I'm going to call 911."
Everything after that was a blur.
Sirens. Hands. Stretchers.
They removed the mirror shards. Rushed her into the emergency room.
Sasha stared at the fluorescent lights above her as nurses shouted. The world dulled. Like she was slipping underwater again.
But she clung to consciousness.
One word repeated in her head.
Luke.