BELOW THE CRIMSON FLOOR
373 Words
Aria stood at the center of the South Wing observatory, her pulse pounding like a drum. The air felt heavier now, suffocating in its stillness. The room was quiet eerily so.
"Lina?" She called. No answer. She pun around. The door she'd just entered through had vanished - replaced by a walk of seamless stone. She ran her fingers across it, pressing, knocking. Nothing. No c***k, no give.
The observatory's once - grand glass had fogged with an oily sheen, blocking out all lights. The chandelier above creaked over so slightly, swaying - though there was no breeze.
Then.... a sound. A slow creak from beneath her feet.
Aria froze.
The floor beneath the velvet rug was groaning, revealing faint seams - an outline. Tentative, she peeled the rug back. Her breath caught her throat.
A trapdoor.
Her fingers trembled as she gripped the rusted iron ring and pulled. A rush of cold, musty air burst upward, thick with the scent of old earth and something acrid...... something burnt.
She stared to the pitch - black void below. Descending the ladder felt like falling into another time. The air grew colder with every step. Her flashlight flickered to life- its beam slicing through dust and shadow.
She reached the button and turned. A narrow tunnel stretched out before her. Damp stone walls pressed in close. Symbols were etched into them - crude drawings of clock faces, watchful eyes and a spiral staircase that kes nowhere.
But what unsettled her the most were the names.
Dozens of them, carved over each other.
And then... she saw hers.
ARIA.
Scrawled again in jagged letters on a shattered mirror that leaned against the wall. Her reflection looked back - warped, multiplied, wrong.
A soft whirring sound buzzed behind her.
She turned slowly.
A tape recorder sat on a metal tray, its reels turning on their own.
"She found the door, just like the others.... but she won't remember this either. They never do."
A scream tore through the tunnel- distant, ragged, unmistakenly real. Aria backed away, flashlight shaking, illuminating handprints - fresh and red smeared along the stone as though someone had just been dragged through.
She ran.
As she did the trapdoor above slammed shut.
- Writer
