Lena stood frozen in the doorway, her breath shallow. Something was wrong with the study.
The room wasn't how she remembered it.
The old mahogany desk was still there, the bookshelves still lined the walls, but the furniture was covered in a thick layer of dust, as if no one had stepped inside for decades. The air smelled of old paper and something damp, rotten.
And the fireplace—
The flames inside burned blue.
Lena's stomach twisted. That wasn't normal. That wasn't right.
She took a hesitant step forward.
Her eyes landed on something new—something that hadn't been in this room before.
A table in the center of the study, covered in old parchment. The papers were arranged in a strange pattern, edges curling, ink faded with time.
Lena swallowed hard and stepped closer.
It was a blueprint.
A map of the house.
Her fingers trembled as she reached out, smoothing the paper. The layout was familiar, but there were additions—rooms she'd never seen before. Hallways that shouldn't exist.
And then she saw it.
The basement.
But there was something below it.
A chamber.
Her breath caught in her throat. The chamber wasn't labeled, but someone had written a single word beside it, over and over, as if warning whoever found it.
DON'T OPEN.
The ink was smeared, as if written in a hurry.
And just below it, a new message.
Scrawled in fresh red ink.
"Too late, Lena."
Lena staggered back, her pulse hammering.
The air shifted.
Behind her, the door creaked open.
She turned slowly.
The hallway beyond was pitch black.
And then—
A hand reached through.
Pale. Too long. Too thin. Fingers curling around the doorframe.
Lena's scream caught in her throat.
The thing pulled itself into the room.
Not walking—crawling.
It was her.
But it wasn't.
Its body was wrong—stretched, distorted, moving in unnatural jerks. Its black eyes locked onto hers, its mouth twitching into a smile.
It opened its lips—
And in her own voice, it whispered:
"You should've stayed out of the basement."