The closet door stands open. The darkness inside feels alive, pulsing, waiting.
Unknown
Choose
Your breath is shallow. Your heartbeat thunders in your ears. Every instinct in your body screams at you to run, to leave, to pretend none of this ever happened.
But that memory—blurry, half-formed—refuses to fade.
A box. You took something. You hid something.
And whatever is inside that closet wants it back.
Your fingers tighten around your phone. Slowly, hesitantly, you step forward. The air grows heavier, colder, pressing against your skin like unseen hands.
With a trembling breath, you reach for the door.
The moment your fingertips brush the wood—
A sharp knock echoes through the room.
Not from the closet.
From behind you.
You freeze.
Your phone buzzes violently.
Unknown
Don’t turn around this time.
Your pulse spikes. The knocking comes again—louder. Insistent.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
A chill slithers down your spine. You’re trapped. The closet in front of you. Something else behind you.
Your phone buzzes once more.
Unknown
Open the box. Now.
Your breath catches. You don’t remember a box being inside the closet. But as you slowly reach forward and pull the door open wider, your eyes adjust to the darkness—
And there it is.
A small, old wooden box, sitting on the closet floor. Dusty. Unmarked.
Your hands tremble as you crouch down. You reach for the lid—
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