Ellison's flashlight cut through the darkness of the passageway, the beam weak against the oppressive shadows. The narrow corridor smelled of damp wood and decay, and the air seemed heavier here, like it resisted his every breath.
"Why does every bad idea feel like a good YouTube video?" he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper.
The walls were lined with peeling wallpaper, floral patterns faded to near invisibility. As he walked, he noticed faint scratch marks along the wooden panels, as though someone—or something—had clawed at them.
A faint sound made him stop in his tracks. It was barely audible, like a whisper carried on the stale air. He froze, heart hammering, and listened.
It came again—a faint voice, distorted and low, almost like someone murmuring just out of earshot.
"Hello?" Ellison called, his voice cracking.
The whisper stopped. The silence was deafening.
Ellison forced himself to move forward, his footsteps unnaturally loud. He filmed the walls as he went, hoping his viewers might catch something he missed.
At the end of the corridor, he came to an old wooden door with iron hinges. The handle was tarnished, but warm to the touch.
He hesitated, glancing back toward the way he came. For a split second, he thought he saw movement—another shadow flickering at the edge of the passage.
"You're just imagining things," he told himself, but his voice lacked conviction.
Ellison pushed the door open.
The room beyond was small and circular, the walls lined with old television screens stacked haphazardly. Most were cracked or coated in dust, but a few flickered faintly, displaying static-filled images.
In the center of the room sat a single chair, facing a table with a rotary phone. On the table was a puzzle box, its surface covered in intricate carvings of roses and thorns.
Ellison approached cautiously, his flashlight illuminating the puzzle box. It was about the size of a shoebox, made of dark wood, with no visible hinges or seams.
"What are you hiding?" he murmured, running his fingers over the carvings.
As soon as he touched the box, the static on the television screens changed. One screen flickered to life, displaying an image of Kaylee B Hamilton sitting in the very same chair.
Ellison jumped, almost dropping his flashlight. The footage was grainy, but unmistakable. Kaylee's face was pale, her wide eyes staring directly into the camera. She looked scared—no, terrified.
Her voice crackled through the static:
"If you're seeing this... you're already in danger."
Ellison's blood ran cold. The screens all around the room began to hum, their static distorting into jagged patterns. Kaylee's voice continued, overlapping itself in an eerie echo.
"You have to solve it. The box... it's the only way. But be careful—"
The message cut off abruptly, replaced by loud static. The lights in the room flickered, and the shadow of something humanoid appeared briefly on the far wall before vanishing.
Ellison stumbled back, his flashlight trembling. "Nope. Nope, nope, nope."
But his eyes kept returning to the puzzle box. Whatever was happening, whatever had happened to Kaylee, this box was at the center of it.
He steadied his breathing and turned his camera to film himself. "Alright. This is insane, but I didn't come here to back out now. If Kaylee solved this, I can too."
Ellison set his flashlight down and examined the carvings again. Among the roses and thorns, he noticed small symbols—arrows, dots, and lines etched so faintly they were almost invisible.
It wasn't just a puzzle box; it was a maze.
The first twist of a dial caused a click to echo in the room. The static on the screens shifted, displaying fragments of a new image—Kaylee standing in front of a large iron door.
Ellison's fingers trembled as he worked the next part of the maze, each movement accompanied by the unnerving feeling that something was watching him.
When the final piece slid into place, the box clicked open. Inside was a small, blood-red key, its surface cold to the touch.
At the same moment, the televisions all went dark. The room plunged into silence, and for a heartbeat, Ellison thought he was alone.
Then he saw it—a shadow darting across the far wall, disappearing into the corridor he had come from.
Ellison grabbed the key, his camera, and his flashlight. "If I survive this, I'm getting so many views," he muttered, heading back toward the corridor.
But as he stepped out, he realized something was different. The walls were no longer peeling, and the scratch marks were gone. Instead, strange symbols glowed faintly, illuminating the path ahead.
The game had just begun.