Something grabbed my leg after I turned off the lights in my basement.

I had always hated my basement. It wasn’t just the usual childhood fear of the dark—it was something deeper, something instinctive. The air down there felt heavier, colder, like the walls were pressing in, whispering secrets I wasn’t meant to hear. But I had no choice. My mom asked me to grab a box of old photo albums she wanted to go through, and no amount of stalling would get me out of it.

I sighed, gripping my phone’s flashlight as I flicked the basement light on. The single bulb barely lit the room, casting jagged shadows from the stacks of forgotten junk. The worst part? The light switch was at the bottom of the stairs, meaning I had to descend into the murky dark before flipping it on.

I stepped onto the cold concrete, my breath catching as I swore I heard something shift behind an old bookshelf. Just the house settling, I told myself.

The box was buried under a pile of dusty blankets. I coughed as I yanked it free, the musty scent making my stomach churn. As I stood, I had that awful feeling—like someone was standing right behind me, watching. I turned fast, shining my light around, but there was nothing. Just old furniture, cardboard boxes, and the bare cement walls.

Shaking it off, I made my way back to the stairs. Just turn the light off and go, I told myself. Simple.

I reached for the switch, flicked it off, and spun around to sprint up the steps. That’s when it happened.

A hand— cold, wet, and impossibly strong —clamped around my ankle.

I screamed, instinctively kicking, but it didn’t let go. It yanked, and I lost my footing, slamming hard onto the wooden steps. My phone flew from my hand, its light spinning wildly before going dark.

My nails scraped against the steps as I clawed at them, desperate to pull myself up, but the grip tightened, dragging me down into the pitch black.

Then—nothing. The Room of Shadows I woke up gasping. My head throbbed, and my mouth tasted like rust. The air was damp, heavy, carrying the scent of mold and something rotting. I wasn’t in my basement anymore.

I was lying on the floor of a long, narrow hallway. The walls were made of dark, rough stone, pulsing as if alive. A dim, flickering light came from an unseen source, casting writhing shadows across the walls.

I scrambled to my feet, my breath ragged. My heart hammered so hard it hurt. The hallway stretched endlessly in both directions, curving just enough that I couldn’t see where it led.

Then came the whispers.

They slid through the air like serpents, slithering into my ears. They weren’t words—at least, not in any language I understood—but I felt them. Mocking. Hungry.

And then— the sound of something moving. A slow, wet scrape. Like claws being dragged across stone.

I turned slowly.

At first, I thought it was part of the wall. The shadows there were darker, thicker, as if they had pooled together. But then the shape moved.

A pair of eyes opened in the blackness—too large, too round, completely empty. And then a second pair blinked open. And a third.

A jagged mouth split the shifting darkness, revealing rows of teeth that weren’t right. Some were too long, some too short, some broken and jagged, jutting at odd angles. They chattered together like a swarm of insects, clicking, clicking.

And then it crawled toward me. It moved wrong, limbs folding in ways that shouldn’t be possible, jerking with sharp, unnatural twitches. Its fingers—too many fingers—scraped against the stone. It was fast.

I ran. The Endless Escape The hallway twisted and turned, never-ending. No matter how far I ran, the walls remained the same—dark, damp stone, pulsing with something unseen. I tried doors when I saw them, but they wouldn’t budge. My lungs burned. My legs ached.

Behind me, that thing never stopped. It moved in sharp, jarring motions, its many eyes fixed on me, teeth chattering like some nightmarish wind-up toy.

Then I saw it—a door slightly open.

I didn’t think. I lunged for it, throwing my weight against the wood. The door gave way, and I tumbled inside, slamming it shut just as the thing’s claws scraped against the other side.

Silence.

I pressed my ear against the wood. The whispers had stopped. Even the pulsing of the walls had gone still.

I turned.

I was in a small, windowless room. Unlike the hallway, the walls here were smooth, black marble. In the center stood an old wooden table. On it was a candle—its flame burning black. And beside the candle— my phone. I hesitated, my pulse hammering. Slowly, I stepped forward, reaching out.

Then— the whisper came from right behind me. “You should not have come here.” Ice shot through my veins. I spun around—

But the room was gone. Back to Reality—Or Not? I gasped, jerking upright. My back was pressed against something cold and hard. The scent of damp concrete filled my nose.

I was back in my basement.

My phone lay beside me, its screen cracked but still glowing. The basement light was off. The stairs stood just ahead, leading up to the safety of the main floor.

Had it been a dream? A hallucination? My head ached, and my limbs felt like lead.

Then I noticed it.

The basement door was open—but not all the way. Just a crack. Just wide enough for something to watch from the other side.

And then, ever so slowly, the door began to close.

And I heard it.

The sound of chattering teeth.