Basement horror
It was really a heavy and oppressive night. Shadows danced on the walls within the cage of my small apartment, cast by the flickering streetlight outside. I had always loved the night, but this one was different. It seemed to carry a weight, like the premonition of doom that settled in my bones.
I sat in my armchair, a glass of whiskey in hand, the only tangible object to grasp aside from the old grandfather clock standing in the corner of the room. All I could hear was its rhythmic tick, a constant reminder of time slipping away.
Then I heard it, a soft, almost imperceptible whisper. I froze with the glass halfway to my lips. The whisper came again, this time more distinct, like someone calling my name from a great distance. I placed the glass down and stood up, straining to hear more.
The whisper increased as I moved closer to the hallway, growing louder and more pressing, urging me onto the basement door that I had locked for years. My hand trembled as it reached for the key hanging on the wall. Taking a deep breath, I unlocked the door and descended the creaking wooden steps.
It was almost black in the basement—not even a few inches from the entrance. My fingers fumbling for the light, a dim bulb stuttered and flickered into life, casting weird shadows. The figure was hunched over in the corner, with its back to me. All whispering ceased, and a low, guttural moan took its place. My heart was pounding in my chest. The figure slowly turned to face me, and I gasped in horror. It was me—a twisted, decayed version of me, eyes hollow and lifeless. It reached out a hand, and I felt a cold, clammy grip take hold of my wrist.
"You will never get away from me," it rasped, a wicked grin unfurling across its face. "We're stuck together, you and I."
