The hall, the door and the late realisation

The hall was vast and cavernous, an ancient relic of a place, the kind of space that made you feel small and insignificant the second you stepped inside. It was as if the weight of the years pressed down on you from all sides, every inch of it a reminder that you didn't belong here, not in this place that had seen countless others come and go, never to be heard from again. The ceiling stretched impossibly high, lost in shadows, far beyond the reach of the weak, flickering light that barely illuminated the space. The stone walls were thick and foreboding, cracked and damp with age, moss creeping across them in patches like mold on a forgotten meal. The smell of decay was thick in the air, the kind of pungent, rotting stench that burrowed deep into your nostrils, turning your stomach. Something had definitely died here, and from the smell of it, had been left to rot for a very long time.

The hall seemed alive, vibrating with a strange, unseen energy. The kind of energy that makes your skin crawl and the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. She couldn't shake the feeling that she was being watched, though she couldn't see anything—or anyone—through the gloom. Every step she took echoed back at her, louder than it should have been, as though the space was playing tricks on her, mocking her presence. And though she was trying to stay calm, trying to focus on the task at hand, every instinct in her body was telling her to turn around and run. Fast.

The stone floor beneath her was uneven, cracked and broken in places, slick with some kind of moisture that seeped in from the surrounding walls. She couldn't tell if it was water, or something far worse, but she was careful to avoid slipping on it as she made her way across the hall. The smell was getting worse the deeper she went, thick and heavy, clinging to her skin and clothes like an invisible layer of filth. She could taste it in the back of her throat, metallic and sour, a constant reminder that she didn't belong here.

At either end of the hall, two fire lamps flickered weakly, casting strange, distorted shadows across the floor. The light was dim, barely enough to see by, and as she moved closer, the shadows seemed to stretch and twist, morphing into shapes that danced on the walls, making it feel as if the darkness itself was alive, creeping in on her. The flames sputtered and hissed, as though they too were fighting against the oppressive air in the room. Whoever had lit them—probably the rookies—wasn't here anymore. But the light they left behind was doing little to ease the suffocating tension pressing in from all sides.

Her heart was pounding in her chest now, every beat deafening in the eerie silence. The only thing louder than the sound of her own breath was the growing noise behind her. The creatures were following. Fast.

Her feet pounded against the stone floor as she ran toward the massive door at the far end of the hall—the only way out, or at least, she thought it was. The fire lamp she had grabbed from the wall barely illuminated her path, casting long, eerie shadows that made it hard to see what was ahead. All she could focus on was that door, the ancient, weathered door at the far end of the hall, its thick wood scarred and battered from centuries of wear and tear. Rusty metal bands wrapped around the frame, held together by bolts so worn and brittle they looked like they might crumble at the slightest touch.

There were carvings etched into the wood, symbols she didn't recognize—symbols she didn't want to recognize. Faded and worn by time, they looked ancient, menacing, like warnings from a forgotten age. Her gut twisted with unease as she approached it, the heavy air of the hall pressing in around her. The door had an ominous presence, not just a barrier, but a sentinel, a warning for anyone foolish enough to come this far.

With a grunt of effort, she threw her weight against the door, her hands trembling as she pushed, trying to force it shut. The wood groaned in protest, its age evident in every creak and crack as she shoved. Her muscles strained under the effort, but she didn't stop. She couldn't stop. The creatures were getting closer, their guttural growls and the scraping of claws against stone echoing louder, closing in with every second.

"Come on, come on!" she muttered under her breath, her voice shaky, barely audible in the vastness of the hall. If I can just close this door, I'll be fine. That's what she kept telling herself, her mind racing with panic as she tried to push harder. The door felt impossibly heavy, like it was fighting against her, refusing to close.

Her breath caught in her throat as the first of the creatures let out a shriek, a bone-chilling scream that sent a shiver down her spine. They were getting closer. She could hear the sharp sound of claws scraping against the stone floor, the heavy thud of their footsteps as they charged through the darkness, faster than she could have imagined.

And yet, there was something gnawing at the back of her mind. A feeling, a sense of wrongness that she couldn't shake, even as she fought to close the door. She hadn't paid attention. She hadn't looked around. If she had, she would have seen the rookies' gear scattered near the fire lamps, their bodies lying motionless in the shadows. If she had looked, she would have noticed the bloodstains on the floor, dark and dried, a grim reminder of what had happened here. But she hadn't.

With one final shove, she managed to push the door shut, the heavy wood slamming into place with a dull, hollow thud. Relief washed over her for a split second. She was safe.

But then she heard it. A low, rumbling growl from behind her.

Her blood turned to ice as realization dawned. She hadn't trapped the creatures outside. She had locked herself in with something worse.