The air outside Eldritch Mall tasted like dead leaves and forgotten promises. I adjusted the strap of my camcorder, its weight a familiar comfort on my shoulder. The setting sun bled orange and purple across the sky, casting long, skeletal shadows from the gnarled trees that choked the parking lot. Cracked asphalt sprouted weeds, and the faded lines of parking spaces were ghosts of a time when people actually came here.
"Alright, subs, here we are." My voice was a low murmur, meant for the tiny microphone clipped to my jacket. I panned the camera across the mall's brutalist concrete facade, a monument to a dead era. "The one, the only… Eldritch Mall. Closed since '98 after a series of… let's call them 'unfortunate incidents.'"
I was talking to maybe three hundred people, if my analytics were being generous. My channel, CrossExposures, wasn't exactly viral. It was my passion project, a digital scrapbook of my adventures into places society had left behind. I explored abandoned hospitals, forgotten subway stations, and derelict factories. But this was the big one. The Eldritch Mall was a local legend, the kind of place that spawned a dozen different ghost stories, each more ridiculous than the last.
They said the lights flickered on at midnight, even though the power had been cut for decades. They said you could hear the faint, tinny music of the carousel. They said the mannequins in the department store windows moved, rearranging themselves into horrifying tableaus when no one was looking. And the darkest story, the one that drew me here, was about the disappearances. At least four people had vanished after reportedly breaking in over the years. The police said they were runaways or got lost in the nearby woods. The internet said the mall ate them.
My goal wasn't to prove the stories were true. It was to prove they weren't. Show the leaky ceilings, the rat droppings, the graffiti. Demystify the legend. It would make for a great multi-part series. The Eldritch Mall: Uncovered. It had a nice ring to it.
"Cops patrol the perimeter every few hours, so we've got to be quick and quiet," I whispered, turning the camera back to my face. My reflection in the lens was a pale, serious kid with dark hair flopping over his eyes. At nineteen, I probably should have been at a college party, not breaking into a condemned building. "Got the gear. Flashlight, crowbar for emergencies, extra batteries, and of course, Old Faithful here." I patted the camcorder.
My way in was a service entrance around the back, hidden by overgrown thorn bushes that snagged at my hoodie. A thick sheet of plywood was bolted over the door. I'd scoped it out two days ago; the bolts on the bottom were rusted through.
I set the camera on its mini-tripod, making sure the frame caught my efforts. It took ten minutes of grunting and straining with the crowbar, the screech of metal on metal loud enough to make my teeth ache. Finally, with a groan of tortured wood, the bottom of the plywood gave way. I squeezed through the gap, my backpack scraping against the splintered edge, and tumbled into absolute, suffocating darkness.
The air inside was thick and stale, smelling of decay, dust, and something else… a faint, chemical scent like old perfume and ozone. I clicked on my flashlight, its beam cutting a shaky circle through the gloom. I was in a concrete corridor, pipes snaking across the ceiling like metallic vines.
"Okay, we're in," I breathed, retrieving my camera. I switched it to night-vision mode. The world turned a grainy, sickly green. "This is the backstage of the mall. Let's find our way to the main atrium."
The corridor led to a set of double doors with the words 'STAFF ONLY' stenciled on them. I pushed one open. It swung inward with a long, drawn-out creak that echoed in the vast space beyond.
And there it was. The Grand Atrium.
Even in decay, it was impressive. Three stories high, with a vaulted glass ceiling now opaque with grime. A massive, dried-up fountain filled with trash and dead leaves sat in the center. Hulking, dead escalators stood silent guard on either side. Faded banners hanging from the second-floor railings advertised sales for stores that no longer existed: 'Sonic Boom Records', 'Galaxy Arcade', 'Le Chic Boutique'.
It was a tomb. A perfect, silent, dusty tomb.
"Wow," I said, my voice barely a whisper. I swept the camera across the scene, narrating. "This is incredible. Straight out of 1995. You can almost feel the history here."
I started walking, my footsteps unnervingly loud on the tiled floor. The green glow of the night vision painted everything in an eerie light. I passed a shuttered candy store, a defunct shoe shop, and a fast-food court where the tables and chairs were still arranged as if waiting for customers who would never arrive.
I stopped in front of a department store called 'The Gilded Cage.' Its glass front was surprisingly intact. Inside, a family of mannequins was frozen in a domestic scene. A father in a dated suit, a mother in a floral dress, two children holding hands. They were featureless, their plastic faces smooth and blank, but their poses felt… wrong. Stiff. Unnatural.
I zoomed in on the mother mannequin's face. "Classic spooky setup," I told the camera. "The famous moving mannequins of Eldritch Mall. Right now, they're holding perfectly still. Shocker."
I turned my back to continue my sweep of the atrium, talking about the architectural decay and the water stains on the walls. I took maybe ten steps before a sound made me freeze.
Scrape.
A soft, dragging sound. Like plastic on tile.
My heart gave a hard thump against my ribs. I slowly turned back towards The Gilded Cage.
Everything looked the same. The mannequin family stood exactly as they had before. I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding. It was probably a rat. Or the building settling. This place was a century of sound effects waiting to happen.
"Just the wind," I muttered, more to myself than to my audience. Except there was no wind in here.
I decided to head for the escalators. Maybe I could get a better vantage point from the second floor. As I approached the base of the nearest one, I noticed something odd. The metal steps were clean. Not pristine, but they lacked the thick carpet of dust that covered everything else. It looked like they'd been… used. Recently.
A cold dread, heavy and real, began to seep into my bones. This wasn't the fun, atmospheric creepiness I'd been hoping for. This was different.
I put my foot on the first step of the dead escalator. It was then that it happened.
CLANG.
The sound was apocalyptic. A final, metallic boom that echoed through the atrium like a gunshot in a cathedral. It came from the direction of the service entrance.
My blood went cold. I spun around, my flashlight beam stabbing wildly into the darkness.
"Who's there?" I yelled, my voice cracking.
Silence.
I ran. My boots slapped against the tile as I sprinted back the way I came, my carefully constructed bravery shattering into a million tiny pieces. I rounded the corner, back into the main entrance area.
The main doors, a set of four heavy glass panels in steel frames, were sealed shut. Not just closed. From top to bottom, thick, interlocking steel shutters had descended, fitting so snugly into their frames that not a sliver of night showed through. They hadn't been there before. I would have seen them. They looked new, clean, and utterly impassable.
I slammed my shoulder against one. It didn't budge. I kicked it, a useless, panicked gesture that only sent a painful shock up my leg. I threw my weight against it again and again. Nothing. It was like trying to knock down a mountain.
"No, no, no," I chanted, my breath coming in ragged gasps. I fumbled for my phone. I swiped the screen.
No Service.
Of course. I was in a concrete box.
I stumbled back to the service entrance. The heavy door I'd pushed open was now shut tight. The plywood I'd pried away was back in place, but the rusted bolts were gone, replaced by shiny, new ones. It was impossible.
Panic began to bubble in my throat, hot and acidic. "Okay, this is a prank," I said out loud, trying to keep my voice steady for the camera, which was still recording everything in nauseating, shaky-cam green. "A very, very elaborate prank. Funny, guys. You can come out now!"
My voice echoed in the crushing silence. No one came out.
I leaned against a pillar, trying to get my breathing under control. Think. Just think. There had to be another way out. A fire exit. Something.
That's when my camcorder, still clutched in my trembling hand, started to glitch.
The screen flickered. The green night vision dissolved into a cascade of static. Then, letters began to form, typed out in a simple, blocky, digital font. White text on a black screen.
INITIALIZING...
CALIBRATING PLAYER...
SYNC COMPLETE.
The viewfinder cleared, no longer showing the mall in front of me, but a new display.
RECORDING START: PLAYER 001
My blood turned to ice. Player 001? What the hell did that mean?
Before I could process it, the mall exploded with light and sound.
The dead neon signs above the storefronts flickered to life one by one, buzzing and humming, bathing the atrium in a garish, multicolored glow of pink, blue, and electric green. The dust motes danced in the air like crazed fairies. The sound of faint, tinny carousel music, the exact tune from the legends, began to drift from somewhere above.
And then, a voice.
It wasn't human. It was smooth, synthesized, and eerily calm, coming from speakers all around me that I hadn't even noticed were there.
"Welcome, Player 001, to Dead Channel."
I staggered back, pressing myself against the pillar. I swung the camera around, searching for the source of the voice, but it was everywhere and nowhere.
"The PREMIERE broadcast has now begun. We hope our audience is comfortable."
Audience? My mind reeled. The three hundred subscribers to CrossExposures? No. This felt bigger. Colder.
My camcorder screen flickered again. A HUD—a heads-up display—materialized in the corner of the viewfinder, overlaying the image of the now brightly-lit mall. It showed a simple heart icon with '100%' next to it, and a timer that was currently static at 00:00:00.
"Level 1: The Atrium. Objective: Collect 3 Static Shards to unlock the next area. Failure to comply will result in… termination of broadcast."
The voice said 'termination of broadcast' with the same cheerful indifference it might use to announce the weather. I didn't think it meant my camera would stop recording.
"What is this?" I choked out, my voice raw with terror. "What the hell is a Static Shard?"
As if in answer, a section of the air near the defunct fountain shimmered. It looked like heat haze, but it crackled with tiny blue sparks. The space warped, twisted, and then solidified into a jagged, crystalline object floating about four feet off the ground. It was the size of my fist, made of what looked like solidified television static, constantly shifting and glitching. It emitted a low, discordant hum.
A new icon appeared on my HUD: STATIC SHARDS: 0/3.
This was insane. I was hallucinating. The dust, the stress… I had to be.
But the cold steel of the shuttered doors was real. The hum of the neon lights was real. The crystalline shard hovering in the air was undeniably, terrifyingly real.
I took a hesitant step toward it. My legs felt like lead. My training as an urban explorer was useless here. There was no manual for this.
"Our player seems hesitant," the voice cooed. "A little encouragement may be in order. Introducing… the Janitorial Staff."
I heard it again. That sound.
Scrape.
This time, it was closer. I spun around, pointing my camera back towards The Gilded Cage department store.
The glass front was shattered, littering the floor in a thousand sparkling diamonds.
And the mannequin family was gone.
My heart hammered against my ribs so hard I thought it would break them. My eyes darted around the atrium. There. By the shuttered candy store. The father mannequin. It was standing perfectly still, but it wasn't where it was supposed to be. Its blank, smooth head was tilted slightly, as if listening.
Scrape. Drag. Scrape.
From behind a large concrete planter, another one emerged. The little girl mannequin. It moved in a jerky, unnatural way, dragging one leg behind it. Its arms were outstretched.
I backed away slowly, my gaze fixed on the plastic monstrosities. They weren't moving fast, but they were methodical. Purposeful. They were flanking me, cutting off my path.
"Okay… okay…" I whispered, my mind racing. This was a game. A sick, twisted game. And the rules, however insane, were all I had. Collect the shards. Get out.
The first shard was twenty feet away, near the fountain. One mannequin was to my left, another to my right. A straight line was the only option.
I took a deep breath, tightened my grip on the camcorder, and ran.
My sneakers squeaked on the tile. The world became a blur of neon and motion. I could hear the scraping sound getting faster behind me. They weren't just shuffling now; they were moving with a horrifying, lurching speed.
I reached the fountain and snatched the Static Shard out of the air.
The moment my fingers closed around it, it dissolved into a shower of light that flowed into my hand and vanished. It didn't feel hot or cold, just… electric. On my camcorder's HUD, the counter ticked up.
STATIC SHARDS: 1/3
A pleasant chime, like a notification tone, echoed through the atrium.
"First shard collected! An excellent start, Player 001. Our audience appreciates the initiative. Current Viewer Rating: 6.5/10."
I didn't have time to wonder what that meant. A plastic hand clamped down on my shoulder.
I yelled, a strangled cry of pure fear, and spun around, swinging my heavy-duty flashlight like a club. It connected with the mannequin's head with a hollow thwack. The head didn't break, but the force of the blow sent the creature stumbling back. It was the mother mannequin, its floral dress now grimy and torn. Its blank face seemed to stare right through me.
I didn't wait for it to recover. I bolted, heart pounding, scanning the atrium for the next shard. Where was it?
"Players who demonstrate creativity are often rewarded," the voice suggested helpfully.
Creativity? What did that mean? I ducked behind the information kiosk in the center of the atrium, panting. Three of them were converging on my position now, their plastic feet making a chorus of scraping, dragging noises. I peered through a crack in the kiosk. The father, the mother, the little girl. Where was the boy?
A flicker of movement above me. I looked up.
The little boy mannequin was on the second-floor railing, right above the kiosk. It was crouched like a gargoyle, its smooth head looking down directly at me.
Before I could react, it dropped.
It landed on the roof of the kiosk with a loud bang, and I scrambled out the other side just as its plastic fingers punched through the cheap particle board where my head had been moments before.
I ran again, fueled by pure adrenaline. I had to think. The voice said creativity. The stores. Maybe a shard was in one of the stores.
I sprinted toward 'Sonic Boom Records.' The metal security grate was pulled down, but it was old and rusted. I grabbed the bottom and heaved, adrenaline giving me strength I didn't know I had. It lifted a few feet with a tortured screech. I rolled underneath, the rusty metal scraping my back, and dropped the grate back down behind me.
I was safe. For a moment.
The record store was a mess. Racks were overturned, vinyl records and shattered jewel cases littering the floor. I swept my flashlight beam across the room. On the back wall, behind the old sales counter, was a promotional poster for some forgotten 90s band. Something was wrong with it. The lead singer's face was… glitching. Just like the air around the first shard.
I clambered over the counter. The scraping outside the grate was getting louder, more frantic. I could see their dark shapes through the crisscrossing metal bars.
I reached out and touched the poster. My fingers sank into it as if it were water. I felt around inside the strange, non-space and my hand closed around another jagged, crystalline shape. I pulled it out.
The second Static Shard. It dissolved just like the first.
STATIC SHARDS: 2/3
"An astute observation, Player 001. Resourceful. The audience rating is climbing. 7.2/10."
A loud BANG on the security grate made me jump. One of the mannequins was ramming itself against the metal. The whole frame shuddered. It wouldn't hold for long.
I needed the last shard. Where was it? I scanned the atrium through the grate. The fountain. The kiosks. The stores. The escalators…
The escalators.
One of them, the 'up' escalator, was now moving. Its clean metal steps were slowly, silently ascending into the darkness of the second floor. And halfway up, nestled on one of the steps, was the final, shimmering Static Shard.
Of course. The only way out was up.
But between me and the escalator were at least four mannequins. The grate groaned again, buckling inward. It was now or never.
I took a deep breath. "Okay, you freaks," I muttered, grabbing a heavy, broken piece of a shelf. "Let's play."
I heaved the grate up just enough to squeeze out and ran, not toward the escalator, but in the opposite direction, toward the food court.
"Hey! Over here!" I yelled, waving my arms.
The mannequins, their movements becoming faster and more fluid, turned their blank faces toward me. They abandoned the record store and started to converge on my new position. I let them get close, my heart a frantic drum solo in my chest. When they were almost on top of me, I hurled the chunk of shelving at the large plate-glass window of a closed burger joint.
It shattered with an explosive crash.
The mannequins, seemingly drawn by the loud noise, all turned toward the source of the sound for a split second.
It was the opening I needed.
I pivoted and sprinted for the moving escalator. My lungs burned. My legs screamed. I didn't look back. I could hear the scraping change direction, hear them coming after me. I leaped onto the first step of the escalator, my hands grabbing the black rubber handrail.
The escalator carried me upward, away from the atrium floor. I looked down. The family of four mannequins, plus a few others I hadn't seen before—a woman in a jogging suit, a man in a security guard uniform—were gathered at the bottom, their smooth heads tilted up at me. They didn't try to follow. They just… watched. It was somehow more terrifying than the chase.
I rode the escalator up, snatching the third and final Static Shard from the step.
STATIC SHARDS: 3/3
"Objective Complete! Level 1 cleared. Congratulations, Player 001."
The pleasant chime rang out again. The carousel music faded into silence. The mannequins on the floor below powered down, freezing in place like toys whose batteries had just died. The neon lights of the atrium dimmed, leaving only the escalator and the second-floor landing illuminated.
A heavy metal door at the top of the escalator, previously unseen in the darkness, slid open with a pneumatic hiss, revealing a new corridor.
"Your performance has been rated. Final Audience Score for Level 1: 7.8/10. A commendable effort for a newcomer."
The voice paused, and when it spoke again, its synthesized tone held a hint of something that sounded disturbingly like amusement.
"The audience is eager for the next segment. Proceed to Level 2 when ready. Let's see if you can improve on that score."
I stood at the top of the escalator, breathing heavily, my body trembling with adrenaline and terror. My camera's HUD blinked patiently. The open doorway before me was a maw of blackness, promising horrors I couldn't yet imagine. Below me lay a room full of monsters that could reactivate at any moment. There was no going back. There was no escape. There was only… forward.
Survival wasn't just a game. Someone was watching. And they wanted a good show.
I tightened my grip on my camcorder, the only piece of my old life I had left. I looked into the dark corridor, then back at the lens, at the blinking red light that meant I was still live, still broadcasting to god knows who.
Taking a shuddering breath, I stepped off the escalator and walked into the darkness of Level 2. The show had to go on.