She couldn’t remember how she got here. The room was dimly lit, and the air was thick with a musty odor that clung to her skin like damp wool. Shadows danced across the cracked walls, flickering as if alive, and the only sound was the distant, rhythmic drip of water echoing through the silence. As she struggled to piece together the fragments of her memory, a chill settled in her bones; she could recall only fleeting images—a gleaming kitchen knife, the laughter of her friends, an argument that had escalated too quickly. Panic swelled in her chest as she pushed herself off the cold, hard floor, her heart racing as she searched the room for clues. There were no windows, only a heavy wooden door that appeared to be slightly ajar. Summoning all her strength, she staggered toward it, her breath quickening with each shaky step.

The door creaked ominously as she eased it open, revealing a narrow hallway that was bathed in shadows. The flickering light bulbs overhead buzzed ominously, their pale glow casting eerie patterns that played tricks on her mind. She hesitated, hearing a faint sound, like soft pleading, drifting down the corridor. Was someone else here? A sense of trepidation gripped her, but the instinct to find help propelled her forward. As she walked, the walls closed in around her, and she felt the oppressive weight of something unseen watching her every move.

Suddenly, she heard it again—a whisper just behind her, calling her name in a voice that sent shivers down her spine. “Help me.” It was sweet and haunting, a siren's call that twisted her gut with dread. She spun around, her heart pounding within her chest, but the corridor was empty. Panic clawed at her throat as she moved faster, propelled by an innate urge to escape. Her mind raced to understand what had happened. The last thing she remembered was the party: bright lights, laughter, and the taste of cheap wine. But then the argument and… darkness.

She stumbled upon an open door, half-hidden in shadows, and hesitantly stepped inside. The room was cluttered with broken furniture and dust-covered trinkets, but the air held a desperate tension. In the center of the chaos was a mirror—its glass cracked and jagged, reflecting her fear-stricken face in a distorted way that made her skin crawl. It was then she noticed the photographs lining the walls—faces she vaguely remembered from her past, friends turned strangers, their eyes hollow and despairing. Warm memories twisted into cold panic as she recalled how they had all vanished one by one, their laughter reduced to silence. An unbearable weight of guilt bore down on her; was this her fault?

A loud bang echoed behind her, jolting her into action. Heart racing, she darted back into the corridor, that cursed whisper still haunting her. “Help me.” This time she recognized the voice—it was Emily, her best friend who had gone missing just weeks before. “Emily!” she called out, desperation spilling into her voice, but it was swallowed by the darkness. The air grew heavier, thicker, as the whispers coalesced into a chorus of anguish spilling from every corner, wrapping around her like barbed wire.

Driven by instinct, she continued down the corridor until she found another door, this one peeling and warped as if it had not been opened in years. She pushed it open with trembling hands, revealing a small, dimly lit room adorned with rusted chains dangling from the walls. Her breath caught in her throat as she caught sight of a figure slumped in the corner, weakly illuminated by a flickering candle. “Help,” it croaked, a pained whisper emanating from cracked lips, the voice raspy and broken.

“Emily!” she cried, rushing to her friend’s side. The sight of her battered body, bruised and frail, sent waves of horror crashing over her. Emily lifted her head weakly, eyes glistening with fear and accusation. “Why didn’t you save us?” she rasped. “It’s too late.”

Confusion clouded her mind. “What are you talking about? I’m here! We can get out!” But deep inside, a chilling realization began to take form: Emily was not alone in her despair. Shadows coiled around the room, lurking just beyond her vision, and a sense of foreboding gnawed at her. The whispers grew louder, taunting her, echoing with the voices of all those she had cared for—each one a reminder of her failures.

Suddenly, Emily let out a blood-curdling scream as an unseen force yanked her back into the shadows. “No! Emily!” she shouted, lunging forward, but the darkness enveloped her friend, who disappeared as if swallowed whole by the gloom. She was left grasping at the empty air, panic surging through her veins. The room began to shake, the walls trembling with anger as the shadows surged forward, reaching for her. Act now or be consumed, her mind screamed, and she turned, sprinting down the corridor, echoing cries for help ringing in her ears.

She reached another door, throwing it open blindly, and stumbled into what appeared to be a living room frozen in time. The dust-covered furniture and the flickering light above gave the impression of a home—yet everything felt wrong. Pictures of families adorned the walls, their smiles wide and joyous, but the faces twisted as if caught in a silent scream. In the center of the room was another mirror, this one whole but darkened, reflecting shifting shadows instead of her own image.

The whispers intensified, crashing over her like waves. “Join us,” they hissed. She could feel their fingers of despair elongating, grasping at her resolve. Desperately, she turned her back on the mirror and pressed forward, determined to escape. As she moved, she caught her breath and tried to think clearly. The door at the end of the hallway must lead to freedom.

Each step was a battle against the weight of guilt that threatened to pull her back into the dark. She could hear her friends’ voices, their helpless cries, echoing in her mind. “You left us!” “Why did you come back?” The questions clawed at her, and with each echo, a memory surfaced—laughter turned bitter and arguments transforming into grief. She was forced to confront the truth: she had walked away when they needed her most, when the darkness began to take them one by one.

Reaching the end of the corridor, she found the door, battered and splintered, but a glimmer of hope sparkled in the cracks. The whispers grew frantic, desperate to keep her from opening it. “Stay with us,” they pleaded, but she gritted her teeth and pushed the door. It groaned in protest, finally yielding, revealing a blinding light that stung her eyes and sent a wave of warmth through her. She stepped through, feeling the icy grip of the darkness falter, and staggered into the light beyond.

The moment she crossed the threshold, the whispers faded to silence, and the dismal weight on her chest lifted. She blinked against the brightness and found herself back at the kitchen where the party had started, surrounded by friends laughing and chatting. Confusion gripped her; nothing seemed amiss, but there was an unsettling undercurrent to the scene—something felt wrong yet familiar.

As she surveyed the room, her eyes landed on the gleaming kitchen knife resting on the counter and the reflection of her face in its polished surface. It was then that she realized—she had not escaped at all. The light, the laughter; it was all an illusion, a cruel trick played by the very darkness that had ensnared her. The whispers rose again, echoing in her mind as her heart dropped into an abyss of despair. She was trapped, destined to relive the horror of betrayal and guilt over and over again, her friends’ voices forever echoing in the void. She could feel their cold, unyielding hands grasping for her as the darkness came creeping back, inching ever closer, ready to claim her once more.

Ezra Blake

@Ezzer

Oklahoma

Ezra Blake has not written a story.