The silence after the door opened wasn't just quiet.
It was suffocating—wrapping around my lungs until each breath felt like a theft.
The door looked like solid iron: cold, heavy, unyielding.
Yet when I pushed, it swung open without resistance.
Doors like this didn't just open.
Not without a reason.
And never without consequence.
Beyond it—nothing.
No torches. No furniture. No ghost.
Only darkness thick enough to touch.
"It's… so dark," Ronald muttered, voice shrinking to match the space.
"That stupid old ghost could strike anytime. Stay sharp."
As if my words were a cue—
Baam!
The door behind us slammed shut, the impact rattling my teeth.
'A door that closes on its own has only two meanings: it wants to keep you out… or it wants to keep you in.'
Ronald spun. "What was that?!"
We both turned.
Too late.
The metal surface glinted faintly under the torchlight, sealed tight.
Ronald shoved, pulled—nothing.
"Come on, Ronald. Don't waste your energy."
"But—"
"It's not opening. Let's move."
He hesitated, then nodded reluctantly.
We walked deeper.
The torchlight sputtered.
The shadows moved.
The room wasn't just dark anymore—it was wrong. The walls pressed in and stretched out all at once. Light didn't reflect—it dissolved.
The darkness felt… hungry.
"Strange. Was the room always this long?"
"I remember it being the size of a bedroom," Ronald said, frowning.
Space was bending. Stretching like taffy.
'At this rate, we'll wear out. Not good.'
Click.
A sound that sliced the silence in half.
I looked down.
My foot had pressed a tile.
"…Oh crap." I muttered. "Ronald, I might have accidentally stepped on a trap."
"T-Trap?! Oh no!" Ronald's voice shot up an octave. "Are you alright, Llyne?"
"For now, but we wouldn't know what would happen next."
I turned to him. "I'll stay. You move ahead—find an exit and signal me."
"…Okay." He tried to mask his worry, but it bled through.
I grabbed his hand. "Careful. The ghost isn't the only thing here."
"Okay, Llyne. You too!"
He vanished into the void, torchlight swallowed whole. Within seconds, it was as if he'd never been there.
I stood alone.
'I'm not fond of darkness,' I admitted to myself. My heartbeat pounded.
The air was heavier. Time slower.
My mind drifted—
Not to the room.
Not to the ghost.
But to a memory.
I was small back then, barely tall enough to reach the edge of the bed without climbing. The nightlight was my shield, and without it, shadows seemed to creep in from the corners.
"Lights off, dear. It's time to rest," Ma said, her voice calm but firm.
"No!" I blurted. "What if ghosts or monsters appear?"
Her gaze lingered on me, curious—as if I'd just spoken in some cursed tongue. "Ghosts? Monsters?"
"Yeah! They like to come out in the dark."
She chuckled softly, leaning down to kiss my forehead. "Dear… there are things far scarier than ghosts or monsters."
I blinked. "There are?"
"Yes," she said, her eyes holding a depth I didn't understand at the time. "Humans."
"Humans? Like us?"
"Exactly like us."
I frowned. "Why?"
"Because they're unpredictable. They can pretend to be kind, hide their claws, and strike when you least expect it."
"Ghosts and monsters don't do that?"
"Ghosts follow their nature. Monsters follow instinct. Humans… change their nature when it suits them."
I hesitated, chewing on her words. "Then… how do I know if someone's good or bad?"
"You don't," she replied simply. "You learn. You survive long enough to see their truth."
"And if I don't survive?"
Her laugh was soft but edged with something else. "Then be smart, dear. And remember—you're human too."
She tucked me in, the shadows no longer quite as threatening as before.
Since that night, I could sleep in the dark.
But it never meant I stopped fearing it.
The memory slipped away.
And then—
Grr~
A growl slithered through the dark.
'What was that?'
My thoughts were still tangled, stuck halfway between reality and the stubborn fragments of memory that refused to fade.
Grrr~
'This sound again… A zombie?!'
I froze.
'Where is it?'
I turned in every direction, but the darkness swallowed everything. No glint of bone. No gleam of rotting flesh. Only the tunnel, breathing like some buried beast.
'Ugh… where's the zombie?'
And then, my mind caught on a loose thread—Master's voice.
"When the eyes fail, let the rest speak. Let your skin, your ears, your heartbeat tell you where they are."
I shut my eyes. Drew in a breath.
Focused.
The air shifted—subtle, like a ripple under still water.
My ears caught it first:
—Grrrhkkk~
Low. Wet. Teeth dragging against gums.
It wasn't just sound. I could feel it.
The vibrations crawled up my skin, followed the narrow curve of the tunnel.
It came from ahead.
From Ronald's direction.
'Ronald!'
"Ronald? Ronald! You okay?" My voice echoed.
…No answer.
"Ronald!"
Silence.
'Why isn't he responding? Did something happen to him?'
Silence is often worse than any scream.
It leaves space for your mind to invent the worst possible truths.
A tightness twisted my chest.
I glanced down. The tile was still pressed in.
"It's going to be okay." I whispered the lie to myself like it could change reality.
I lifted my foot—slowly.
Nothing.
"…Wasn't it a trap—"
Crack.
Ching!
Clack!
The room screamed.
Metal shrieked against stone. The air vibrated in my teeth.
Rumble. Rumble.
Thunk!
"Ouch!"
A weight slammed into me. I looked up—
The ceiling was moving.
Descending.
"Eh? Eh? Eh?! The ceiling can move?"
It wasn't just descending—it was trying to crush me.
Walls shifted.
The ground trembled.
A trap room.
A death box.
'Move!'
I rolled to the side, dodging falling debris, desperately scanning for an escape—but there was none.
The ceiling was closing in from every side.
And then—
"Llyne! Llyne! Where are you!"
Ronald's voice tore through the chaos.
It snapped me back.
"Ronald! I'm here!"
I bolted forward—blind, desperate, following his voice.
Ahead—
A sliver of light.
A door—barely open.
A silhouette in the glow.
'Ronald?'
"Ronald? Is that you?"
"Llyne! Hurry!"
The ceiling groaned.
Metal scraped against stone.
Now or never.
I ran. Faster than I ever had.
Dropped low.
Skidded.
Dust bit into my arms and knees.
The ceiling was a breath away. Inches from flattening me.
Ronald's hands shot out—grabbed my wrist—yanked me through.
Boom!
The door slammed shut.
We'd escaped the trap.
Which only meant one thing.
Whatever came next… was worse.