The air is thick, suffocating, pressing against your skin like unseen hands.
And then—
A creak.
Low. Slow. Right in front of you.
The box.
It’s opening—on its own.
Your breath hitches. Your phone is dead now, the screen lifeless in your trembling grip. There’s nothing left to light the room. Nothing but the sound of the wooden lid shifting—
And the whisper that follows.
"You should never have taken it."
Your pulse hammers. A flicker of memory flashes in your mind—
A night just like this. A cold wind. A hole in the ground. You kneeling, burying the box, whispering, “Stay gone.”
Stay gone.
Stay gone.
But it didn’t stay gone, did it?
A rush of air explodes from the closet. The darkness around you moves. Something is here—and it’s not alone.
Your fingers dig into the floor as you scramble back, heart racing. But the shadows stretch further, creeping toward you, swallowing everything in their path.
Then—
A hand.
Not yours.
Not human.
It shoots out from the open box, fingers curling like claws, reaching for your wrist
You scream.
The air turns freezing. Your skin burns where it touches you. You thrash, pulling back, but the grip tightens.
A final whisper slithers through the dark—soft, mocking.
"You can’t run from what you’ve forgotten."
And then—
A pull
Like gravity shifting sideways. Like the world tilting wrong.
You are yanked into the darkness.
The last thing you hear is the click of the box snapping shut.
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