I slam my palm into the nearest wall. The impact rattles through my bones as a jagged crack fragments the surface, thin lines spidering outward beneath my hand.
"Damn it!" I roar, voice echoing down the empty corridor. "I killed that motherfucker, so why the hell am I back here again?!"
My breath comes in ragged gasps. Every stomp of my boot on the tile feels like a challenge to this nightmare, but the halls remain silent, mocking me with their stillness.
Do I have to hunt that thing in the woods too? But the letter warned me. "Never follow her into the woods." Hell, I can barely get past the school gate. The woods can kiss my ass.
With a steadying breath, I head for the stairs, though I know my crowbar has vanished too, stolen away by this twisted place. It finally clicks: this isn't a neat time loop at all, but a warped hell where hours stretch and contract without warning.
Even so, something's changed in me. My strength has grown, and my eyes strain less against the gloom. I can make out shapes now, blurry, shadowy outlines, but enough to see where I'm stepping.
I move carefully, every creak of floorboard setting my nerves on edge. The memory of that eight-foot nightmare still claws at me: she could be lying in wait on the second floor, stalking these halls like prey.
So I climb, slow and silent, listening for any sign that bitch still alive—and still hunting me.
Each step up the staircase feels like it takes a year off my life. The air thickens, weighted with that metallic stench—blood, rust, or something worse, I can't tell. My fingers graze the bannister, slick with something that's definitely not water. I wipe my hand on my trousers and immediately regret it.
The second floor greets me like a coffin lid slowly creaking open.
It's darker here.
I came here before with the flashlight, but I don't have it now. Even with my improved eyesight, I can barely see.
Not the kind of dark that comes from a busted bulb or a moonless night. No, this dark presses in like a living thing. Like it's watching. Like it's waiting.
A faint humming buzzes in my ears, just under the edge of hearing. It gets louder when I focus on it, like static tuning into something real. Something whispering.
A hallway stretches before me—lined with classroom doors that shouldn't be there. Too many. Way too many. More than the building should hold.
I tried the first door, it wouldn't budge. The next one, same story. One after another, all locked tight. Then I spotted it: a single door slightly ajar. Two mice scurried out, tails flicking as they vanished into the dark.
Well, at least the mice are normal... except they're on the second floor instead of in the storage room or basement or, y'know, literally anywhere that makes sense.
Well, it's not like I've got a buffet of options. Let's see what kind of nightmare snack hides behind door number one, or maybe five. Whatever, all the doors look the same anyway.
I slowly pushed the door open, the hinges groaning like something in pain. The darkness inside was thick, almost solid, wrapping around me like a wet sheet. I squinted, blinking against the black as my eyes struggled to adjust.
Shapes twitched along the floor. Tiny, twitching shadows. Then I saw them—eyes gleaming like pinpricks of red light in the dark. Mice. Dozens. No, hundreds. Maybe thousands.
They blanketed the room like living carpet, squirming and squeaking, their tiny claws scraping against tile. A wave of movement rippled through them, and for a second, I swore they were forming patterns.
My skin crawled. The smell of musty fur and rot hit me like a brick wall. And still, more kept pouring from cracks in the walls, from desk drawers left ajar, from holes I couldn't even see.
Just my luck. The one unlocked room on this cursed floor, and it's hosting a rodent apocalypse.
The moment I stepped back, the silence shattered.
A sharp, collective squeak rang out, then the entire room erupted. The mice surged toward me, a living, shrieking tide of fur and teeth. Their tiny feet slapped against the tile in a grotesque rhythm, like some twisted drumroll.
"Oh no no no nope nope nope!" I barked, spinning on my heel and bolting for the stairwell.
I could hear them behind me, flooding the hallway like a damn tidal wave of vermin. Claws skittering. Squeals rising in pitch. A wall of rodent fury.
"HAHAHA... HAHAHAHA!" The sound tore out of me, ragged and raw, echoing down the corridor like something unholy. It wasn't joy. It wasn't relief. It was the unraveling of a fraying mind, a laugh soaked in panic and disbelief. And I couldn't stop.
Of course, the rats are creepy monsters too—just what did I expect in this hell?
As I sprint down the hallway, it feels like I'm running in circles, same place, endless stretch. Doors. Door after door. And behind me, a churning flood of mice, relentless and rising.
This won't do,
I'm on the verge of collapsing if this keeps up. I force my pace down, chest heaving, every breath a rasping scream. Then, without warning, a rat lunges at me, claws digging into my skin like tiny knives. Instinct takes over—I snatch it up and crush it mercilessly in my fist. The snap of brittle bones is sickening, and warm, thick blood oozes between my fingers, sticky and foul. Fur mats to my skin, mixed with the coppery stench of death.
From the crushed corpse, a thin wisp of black smoke curls out. A pale echo of the monstrous shadow that once towered over me, that towering eight-foot nightmare that swallowed the darkness whole. This smoke is small, almost timid, but it coils into my veins with a cold fire, burning ice where it touches. It's a mere trickle compared to before, but just enough, just enough, to remind me I'm still tethered to this twisted hell.