The door creaked open, and I stepped into the room. The air was thick, suffocating, the walls drenched in an unnatural red. It felt like the room was watching me, waiting. In the center, a figure sat slouched in an old chair, his face hidden in shadow. His fingers twitched unnervingly in his lap, as though moving to some unseen rhythm. A voice, low and rasping, echoed in my mind. “You shouldn’t have come,” it whispered. I froze. My heart pounded. I wanted to leave, but the door behind me had vanished, replaced by solid wall. The figure shifted, slowly, deliberately, as if waking from a long slumber. “You’ve opened it,” he said, his voice a hiss. “Now you’re part of it.” The room seemed to pulse with a life of its own, the walls pressing in closer. And then, I realized—whatever was in here was coming for me.