The Hidden Truth
1
It was the middle of the night.
Outside, rain crashed against the earth like it had something to prove.
Inside my chest… something tightened. A pressure I couldn’t name.
Emmanuel
“So… we killed someone,”
Emmanuel replied, lighting a cigarette with a flick.
The smoke curled like ghosts around us.
We were hiding in an old, abandoned house
Dust lay thick on every surface, like it had been waiting years for this moment.
Ryme said, eyes still stuck to the floor.
Like we were celebrating.
Like taking a life had somehow set us free.
The laughter echoed through the dark hallway,
Haunting and hysterical a sound we’d never forget.
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2
That was our first mistake
Or maybe our first sin.
The line between the two blurred that night, just like the rain against the windows.
Ryme worked at a call center—long hours, angry customers.
Monster worked at his brother’s club—nights filled with loud music and cigarette smoke.
And me? I sold plants in a small garden shop. Quiet, simple life.
Ryme asked, his voice small.
Emmanuel
“Nothing. Just hide,”
Monster said from the couch, not even opening his eyes.
I walked into the kitchen.
Everything was scattered—broken dishes, spider webs in corners, cabinets hanging loose.
But in the mess, I found some old ramen packets. And a half bag of rice.
This house felt abandoned… or maybe the owner just left and never came back.
I boiled water on a dusty induction stove.
The smell of instant spice filled the air
Something warm in all this cold madness.
Ryme sat cross-legged, watching cartoons on a dusty TV.
Something stupid—bright colors, silly voices. Maybe he was trying to forget.
Monster was on the sofa.
Eyes closed.
One hand covering his face, shielding it from the TV light.
Was he trying to sleep? Or just escape?
We just sat there, pretending this was normal.
Pretending we didn’t just kill someone.
3
We slept silently that night
Or at least pretended to.
No one said it out loud, but fear was in the walls with us.
A loud bang—sharp enough to make my eyes fly open.
Across the room, Monster opened his eyes too—instantly alert, like he heard it in his bones.
Ryme was already awake, sitting up, hugging his knees.
Ryme
“What... was that sound?”
Ryme asked, voice low, shaky.
Emmanuel
“Where did it come from?”
Ryme turned toward the hallway.
Ryme
“I think... the other end. Like... down.”
Monster stood without a word and reached for his bag.
He didn’t ask us to stay behind.
The house creaked with every step we took.
Each stair under our feet groaned like it hadn’t held life in years.
The lightbulb above flickered.
Not fast—just enough to make everything feel wrong.
A hidden door under the staircase.
Metal handle. Scratches all over it. Like something inside had tried to claw its way out.
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