Story 958: The Hollow One

The stairs stretched upward into darkness, impossibly long, as if the house itself was shifting, growing, trapping them within its nightmare. Each step groaned under their weight, the air thick with the scent of mold, decay, and something older—something wrong.

Elias flicked his lighter. The flame flickered weakly, casting dancing shadows against the warped walls. “I swear this place is breathing.”

Mira clutched the Cursed Book, her fingers tracing its burned leather cover. “It might be.”

A low thump echoed from above.

Zara’s knife was already in her hand. “We’re not alone.”

Draven cocked his shotgun. “We never are.”

The staircase ended abruptly, leading to a long hallway lined with doors. Each one was identical, save for the last—a massive black door, its surface etched with symbols that pulsed like veins beneath flesh.

Mira’s breath hitched. “That’s it.”

But before they could move, the whispers returned.

“He is watching.”