The key felt heavier with each passing second, like it was anchoring her to something she wasn't ready to face. She turned it over in her palm, tracing the unfamiliar symbols carved into the surface. They shimmered faintly under the pale light leaking through the cracked window.
Somewhere, a door had to be waiting.Somewhere, an answer was locked away.
She slipped the key into her jacket pocket and crept into the hallway. The air was thick, almost syrupy, clinging to her skin and slowing her movements. Every step echoed loudly, too loud, as if the house itself was listening.
The hallway stretched longer than it should have, like a dream slipping out of focus.Was this real?She gritted her teeth. It didn't matter. Real or not, she had to move forward.
Halfway down the hall, she saw it—a door at the end, covered in peeling black paint. No handle. No markings. Just a single keyhole, exactly the size of the key in her pocket.
Her hands trembled as she slid the key in.
It clicked once, twice, then the door creaked open on its own.
Inside, the room was empty—except for a single table and an old radio crackling softly in the center. Next to it, a slip of paper.
She approached cautiously, every nerve screaming for her to turn back. But something stronger pulled her forward: curiosity. Maybe desperation.
The paper read:
"Rule One: Trust nothing. Not even yourself."
The radio crackled again, and then a voice—mechanical, distant, yet eerily familiar—spoke:
"Your memory is a lie. To find the truth, you must first forget everything you think you know. Solve the puzzle, or be lost forever. You have three days."
Three days.She barely had time to process the words when the radio sputtered and died, the lightbulb above her head flickering violently before plunging the room into total darkness.
She stood there, heart pounding, the words repeating in her mind.
Trust nothing. Not even yourself.
In the pitch black, she heard it—the faintest sound of footsteps behind her.
And this time, she knew she wasn't imagining it.
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