2025-03-27 04:06:34Cold air swirled around Alina, hitting her face with a bone-chilling touch. She stood stiffly before the towering old iron door, the suffocating aroma of rust and dampness filling her nostrils. Her heart pounded, her fingers gripping the silver key felt damp with sweat. Behind her, Darren's footsteps grew closer, his heavy voice breaking the ominous silence.
"Alina, don't do this," Darren whispered, his voice full of warning, almost despairing.
However, Alina ignored him. Her eyes were fixed on the keyhole that seemed to call to her, whispering promises of secrets hidden behind that door. With trembling hands, she inserted the silver key into the hole.
Click.
The small sound echoed in the silence, and something within Alina vibrated, as if the key had opened not just a door, but also deeply buried memories. She pulled the handle and pushed it open slowly, and instantly, the air around her changed. The smell of wet earth and something decaying assaulted her sense of smell, making her stomach churn. The room behind the door was pitch black, illuminated only by the dim light from the hallway lamp.
Darren grabbed her arm tightly, trying to pull her away. "You don't want to see this, Alina."
Alina turned to him, her eyes filled with questions and unwavering resolve. "I have to know, Darren. I have to know what happened here."
She broke free from Darren's grip and stepped into the darkness. The room felt like another dimension, a world separate from reality. The walls were covered in irregular scratches, some of which were scribbles of numbers and unreadable words. The earthen floor was damp, leaving faint footprints. In the corner of the room, a dilapidated bed stood eerily, surrounded by rusted chains hanging like iron snakes.
Alina shivered, her breath catching in her throat. Why did this place feel so familiar? Her feet moved closer to the bed, her heart pounding as she saw something on it. A worn-out doll, with a tattered dress and hair almost completely gone, lay there like a silent witness to unspeakable horrors.
Alina swallowed, her chest tight. Her hands trembled as she touched the doll's damp and cold fabric. And then, everything came back. Flashes of memory assaulted her head like an explosion, screams, the smell of blood, the pain in her wrists as chains bound her, the sound of someone singing a lullaby in a flat, eerie voice.
Alina screamed, clutching her head, trying to ward off those painful memories. "Alina!" Darren ran towards her, catching her before she could fall to the floor. Alina gasped, her face pale. "I... I was here, Darren. I was trapped in this place."
Darren closed his eyes, his expression full of sadness. "I warned you, Alina."
Tears welled up in Alina's eyes. "Who did this to me, Darren? Who locked me up here?"
Darren didn't answer, but his gaze said everything. That person, the one who had imprisoned her years ago, was still alive. Alina still trembled in Darren's embrace, her breath catching as those vague memories continued to haunt her. This room wasn't just a strange place, it was the prison of her past.
However, before she could elaborate further on those memories, the sound of footsteps from above grew closer. Darren immediately positioned himself in front of Alina, his protective instincts kicking in. His eyes looked towards the wooden stairs leading to the main floor of the old house.
"We have to get out of here," Darren whispered, his voice sharp but controlled.
But Alina remained transfixed, her head filled with images of the past that kept hitting her thoughts. The smell of this room, a mixture of wet earth, old wood, and something decaying, brought a heart-wrenching sense of deja vu. The footsteps stopped, then, there was another sound, a dragging sound.
Darren growled softly. "Alina, come on."
But before they could move, a creaking sound filled the room as the door at the top of the stairs slowly opened. The yellow light from the hallway lamp illuminated the silhouette of someone in the doorway. Alina held her breath. Darren reached into his jacket pocket, pulling out a small folding knife that looked small but sharp enough to hurt someone if needed.
The figure in the doorway stood still for a few seconds, then, with slow steps, began to descend the stairs. One step, two steps, the creaking of the wood grew louder. Alina wanted to hide, wanted to run, but her body felt rooted to the spot. She felt like a child again, trapped in a fear she couldn't understand.
Darren, sensing Alina's distress, tightened his grip on his folding knife. He was ready to fight, even though he knew this situation was not in their favor. The footsteps finally stopped a few meters from them. The silhouette was now clearer, a man, tall and thin, stood before them. His clothes were tattered, his face hidden behind shadows. But there was something in the way he stood, in the way he observed them, that made Alina's blood run cold.
"Finally," the man's voice was hoarse, as if rarely used. "You're back."
Alina felt her heart stop beating. She recognized that voice, the voice of someone who used to talk to her in the dark, who once whispered terrifying words in her ear when she was a child. The man smiled faintly, then stepped closer.
Alina took a step back, her body trembling. "Who are you?"
Darren moved quickly, standing between them. "Don't come any closer."
The man didn't seem intimidated. Instead, he looked at Darren with interest. "You're her little friend?" He sneered. "It's been a long time."
Darren growled. "We're leaving now," he whispered to Alina, before forcibly pulling her hand.
But before they could turn, the man spoke again. "You want to know the truth, don't you?"
Alina's steps faltered. The man laughed softly, as if knowing something they didn't. "I can tell you everything."
Darren looked at Alina, trying to convince her to keep moving. But in the girl's eyes, he saw doubt. Alina swallowed. "What do you know?"
The man smiled wider. "I know who locked you up here before. I know why you were imprisoned."
Darren whispered quickly, "He just wants to keep you here. Don't listen to him."
But Alina couldn't ignore him. The man stepped closer, until the light began to illuminate his face. Now, he was clearer. His face was old, with a scar on his cheek. His eyes were sunken and dark, like bottomless pits.
"I know who tried to kill you, Alina," he said in a low voice. "And I know why they did it."
Before Alina could say anything, the sound of more footsteps came from above. But this time, not just one person. They weren't alone in this house.
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THE END
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When the Reader Becomes the Weaver
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The Coverless Editor
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The Last Reader
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The Narrative That Devoured the Weaver
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