The lamp flickers once, casting long shadows across the room. Somewhere, a clock ticks—but it doesn't sound right. Offbeat. Like a heart struggling to keep rhythm.
You've arrived.
Good.
I was beginning to wonder if you'd ever find this place. You see, not everyone does. Most walk right past it. Their eyes skim these pages, but their minds... their minds are too afraid to step through.
But not you. No, you opened the book.
That means something.
Welcome. Take a seat. Don't mind the dust—these stories haven't been told in a while. The room is always like this, you know. Dim, quiet, thick with secrets. Some say it only exists when someone dares to read. I say it never goes away. It just waits. Like me.
There's a book on the table. Leather-bound. Old. The kind of old that creaks when you open it. And inside?
Madness. Murder. Curses. Screams frozen in ink. Nightmares that learned how to write themselves.
Oh, but don't worry. I'll guide you. I always do.
Each night, I'll open a page and tell you a story. Not too fast. Just one part at a time. It's safer that way. Because if you read too much at once… things begin to bleed through.
When the lamp dims, we pause. That's the rule. A page a night. A breath between terrors.
You'll know when it's time to stop. I'll say the words. The ones that let the shadows settle, the nightmares rest.
And when the final chapter comes…
Well. You'll see.
So.
Are you ready?
Good.
The book creaks open. The lamp burns just a little brighter. Your shadow leans in to listen.
Let's begin.