CHAPTER TWO: DESCENT INTO THE ABYSS

There was no escape from the nightmare that had been chasing me all this time. Not now, not ever.

The mud sucked at my boots, the night pulling me under. The echo of the gunshot still throbbed in my ears, each breath ragged.

Streetlamps flickered, their halos warping in the rain. Iron coated my tongue, fear gripping my throat.

Footsteps echoed behind me—faint, but persistent. My heart thudded. I spun around, eyes wide with dread. Nothing. Just rain, silence, and mud.

The ache in my feet grew sharper, the rain blurring my vision. I couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe. But ahead, a broken, skeletal house loomed against the stormy sky.

I trudged toward it, the knot in my chest loosening slightly as I reached the door.

“Hello?” My voice cracked against the wind. “Is anyone here?”

Nothing but the stifling silence.

Then I heard it—a sharp jingle slicing through the quiet. My chest tightened. The damp, torn mat beneath my feet gave way with a sickening squelch.

I yanked it back, my hands trembling as it revealed a stained carpet, its edges frayed like a gaping wound. A feeble light flickered from beneath, my breath hitching.

The key was cold and metallic in my hands, but one stood out—a dark, slender one, scratched along the edges as if it had been used too many times. My heart raced as I shoved it into the lock.

The door groaned open, revealing darkness and the faint scent of smoke and rot. I stepped inside, the floor creaking underfoot.

In the corner, a table, its surface smeared with dried blood. Beneath it, a glint of metal—bullet casings scattered like macabre coins.

Chairs leaned haphazardly against the walls, some broken, others splattered with stains I dared not name. My flickering torchlight cast sharp shadows over faded crates marked with “Fragile” and “Keep Out.”

I shouldn’t be here. This wasn’t a refuge. It was a sanctuary for the forgotten—the damned. But it was too late to turn back now. The die was cast.

A cold wind stirred through the house, sending dust and cobwebs skittering across the sagging ceiling.

My gaze snagged on a corner, where a stash of warped cigarettes lay beside a shattered skull, its empty sockets staring vacantly into the abyss.

I slid to the floor, the cold stone scraping against my back. Memories of the orphanage tore through me—wounds I thought had healed long ago.

Tears burned, hot and stinging, but I pushed them down. It was all just another part of the shattered pieces I couldn’t put back together now.

A flicker of light caught my eye—a small, dim glow half-buried in the dark. My spine stiffened, and I turned toward the passage ahead.

The staircase, narrow and steep, loomed before me. A shiver ran through me as the earth groaned with every step.

Her face clawed at the edges of my sanity—fractured, jagged, and bitter. The curve of her lips. The darkness in her eyes. I clung to the memory, wishing I had saved her. I could almost hear her voice, soft yet biting, pulling me back from the edge.

But she wasn’t here. And this house, this night—it would swallow me whole before offering any comfort.

The torchlight sputtered. Shadows jerked across the walls. The words “Blackcroft Abode” leaped out—scrawled hastily in thick, crimson letters. The paint was fresh but ragged, blotched as if someone had tried to erase them.

Dark streaks marred the walls—bloodstains too deliberate to ignore. My heart lurched, a tremor snaking through my veins.

Someone had their mark here.

And I didn’t want to know why.