Chapter 4: The Factory’s Shadow

Nathan awoke with a jolt, his breath ragged and uneven. His heart

pounded as though he'd been running for his life, the nightmare clinging

to him like a second skin. The room felt suffocating, the air heavy with a

strange, oppressive weight. He wiped the sweat from his forehead, his

hand trembling. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't shake the vivid

images from his mind.

The factory.

It came to him like a flash of lightning, a memory long buried yet

disturbingly vivid now. The Glenwood Factory, abandoned for decades,

stood on the outskirts of town like a monument to decay. As children, he

and Ryan had dared each other to approach its rusted gates, but they'd

never stepped inside. Even then, the factory had felt alive, as though

something ancient and malevolent slumbered within its walls.

Now, that same feeling clawed at him, stronger than ever. It wasn't just

the whispers haunting his nights—there was something deeper,

something primal, urging him toward the factory.

"It's just a stupid building," he muttered, trying to steady his racing

thoughts. Yet, no matter how many times he repeated the words, they

rang hollow.

By midday, he couldn't take it anymore. Hours of restless pacing and

failed attempts to focus on his studies left him feeling caged. The pull was

too strong, the whispers too loud. He grabbed his jacket and stormed out

of the house, his feet carrying him toward the outskirts of Glenwood with

a determination that felt both foreign and inevitable.

The streets were eerily silent as Nathan walked. No cars passed, no voices

drifted from nearby homes. It was as though the entire town had paused,

holding its breath. The sky above was a dull, oppressive gray, casting a

strange, muted glow over everything.

When the factory came into view, Nathan's breath caught. The gates

loomed ahead, twisted and rusting, their jagged edges a stark reminder of

time's relentless grip. A nauseating stench hung in the air—a mix of

decay, mildew, and old metal.

Nathan hesitated, his body screaming at him to turn back. But the pull

was too strong. His legs moved of their own accord, carrying him closer

to the gates.

The moment he pushed them open, a cold wind swept through, chilling

him to the bone. The factory's shadow stretched long and distorted across

the ground, almost as if it were reaching for him.

Inside, the air felt thick, almost liquid, pressing against his skin. The

factory was a graveyard of rust and ruin. Broken glass and debris littered

the ground, the remnants of a life long gone. Every step Nathan took

echoed unnaturally, the sound swallowed by the vast emptiness around

him.

His unease deepened as he ventured further. The walls seemed to close in,

and the shadows danced unnaturally, shifting in ways that defied logic.

His breathing quickened, each inhale sharp and shallow.

Then he saw it.

At the far end of the room, a staircase spiraled upward, its steps warped

and splintered. It seemed untouched by time, out of place amidst the

decay. A strange sense of inevitability gripped him as he stared at it.

Go up.

The thought wasn't his own. It came unbidden, pressing into his mind

with a force that made his knees weak.

Before he could think, his legs were moving, carrying him toward the

staircase. Each step groaned under his weight, the sound echoing like a

warning.

At the top, he found himself in a small room cluttered with rusted

machinery. Dust coated every surface, and the air was damp and musty.

But Nathan's gaze was drawn to the far corner, where a large, rusted door

stood slightly ajar.

His chest tightened. The whispers returned, louder this time, their voices

overlapping in a discordant symphony. They didn't speak words he

understood, but their meaning was clear.

Open it.

Nathan hesitated, his hand hovering over the door's handle. The metal

was cold, almost icy, sending a sharp jolt through his fingers when he

touched it. The whispers grew louder, more frantic, urging him on.

The door creaked open, revealing a dimly lit room. A single bulb hung

from the ceiling, its weak light flickering erratically. In the center of the

room sat an old, imposing safe. Its metal surface was marred with

scratches and dents, and its door was slightly ajar, revealing a black void

within.

Nathan's gut screamed for him to leave. The air in the room was heavier

than before, thick with an unnatural energy that made it hard to breathe.

Then, the shadows moved.

They twisted and coiled like living creatures, pooling in the corners

before converging into a single mass. Nathan froze, his heart hammering

as the darkness took shape.

The figure that emerged was both familiar and alien, its form shifting and

writhing like smoke caught in a gust of wind. Its face was indistinct, a

blur of shadows and flickering light, but its eyes—two piercing orbs of

pale blue—bored into Nathan's soul.

"Nathan…"

The voice was low and guttural, reverberating through the room. It

wasn't a whisper this time; it was a command.

Nathan stumbled back, his pulse thundering in his ears. The figure moved

toward him, its presence filling the room with an overwhelming sense of

dread. He tried to run, but his body refused to obey.

The figure reached out, its hand—or what passed for one—stretching

toward him. Nathan gasped as an icy chill seeped into his chest, spreading

through his veins like liquid frost.

And then, the light from the bulb flickered and died.

Darkness enveloped him, thick and absolute. The whispers stopped.

Nathan was alone.

Or so he thought.