The park lay hushed beneath the night—
*shrrrk… shrrrk…*
dead leaves skittered across cracked pavement, chased by a tired wind.
A lone streetlamp flickered above,
*bzzzt—flick—bzzzt*,
casting weak, jaundiced pools of light that barely reached the rusted bench where Levi sat.
He looked impossibly small.
Thin shoulders hunched inward. Knees drawn to his chest. White hospital pajamas hung off his frame like shed skin—frayed at the cuffs, stained in places he refused to remember. He hadn't changed since the day the doctors told him how little time he had left.
Why bother?
Clean clothes were for people who still had tomorrows worth dressing for.
In his hands rested a paper cup of coffee, gone cold ten minutes ago—yet steam still curled upward in thin, defiant wisps, as if the liquid itself refused to surrender. Levi hadn't slept in five days. Not really. Each time his eyelids grew heavy, he forced them open again, teeth clenched, heart racing—
*thud—thud—thud*—
as though sleep were a trapdoor waiting to drop him into something final.
Dark circles bruised the skin beneath his eyes. Permanent. Unforgiving.
He raised the cup and drank.
The coffee was bitter. Cheap. Burnt at the edges. It scraped down his throat like sandpaper and jolted his heart into a faster rhythm. He winced… then drank again.
And again.
Anything to stay awake.
Anything to keep the **Midnight Spell** from finding him unguarded.
Everyone knew the stories.
A red door that appeared without warning.
Whispers that weren't quite words.
People vanishing in broad daylight—dragged into a realm of endless trials, where monsters wore human memories like masks, and survival earned only one prize:
The next, worse ordeal.
They said even knowing the Spell's name invited it closer.
Levi used to think it sounded like mercy—an escape from the slow rot of hospital beds and whispered condolences.
Until he learned the cost.
Sanity.
Identity.
Pieces of yourself that never grew back.
He drained the last of the coffee. The cup crumpled in his fist—
*crshk*—
and he stood.
The empty cup arced through the air and dropped neatly into a trash can with a hollow, mocking *clunk*.
Levi began to walk.
Hands buried in the thin pockets of his pajamas. Bare feet numb against the icy sidewalk. His dark hair—unwashed, tangled—kept falling into his eyes, but he didn't bother brushing it aside.
The night felt… wrong.
Heavier.
The air tasted metallic, like blood held too long in the mouth.
Then—
*whisper… whisper…*
He froze.
At first, it sounded like wind threading through bare branches. Low. Overlapping. Formless. Levi stopped walking. Tilted his head. The murmurs sharpened—not words, but the promise of words, brushing the edges of his thoughts like unseen fingers.
His breath hitched.
Ahead of him, in the middle of the empty street, stood a **red door**.
No wall.
No frame.
Just the door.
Tall. Narrow. Painted a deep arterial crimson that seemed to drink the streetlight instead of reflecting it. The world around it began to unravel—streetlamps, benches, distant buildings bleeding away into swirling scarlet mist.
Levi's pulse roared in his ears—
*THUD—THUD—THUD*.
He took a step back.
The door remained the same distance away.
Another step.
Closer.
Three steps—
closer still.
It was as if the ground itself had shortened beneath his feet.
The whispers thickened, pressing inward, drilling into his skull. His lungs burned. The mist slid into his mouth, coating his tongue with the taste of rust and old blood.
He spun, desperate, searching for an opening—any crack in the red fog.
There was nothing.
Only the door.
Its brass knob gleamed softly, wet and watchful, like an unblinking eye.
*click…*
The door opened on its own.
Beyond the threshold lay pure darkness—no floor, no walls—only an endless void that seemed to breathe.
The whispers surged outward, eager. Hungry.
Levi's legs locked.
Every instinct screamed at him to run, but the world had already decided there was nowhere left to go.
The darkness reached out.
Not violent.
Not rushed.
Gentle. Inevitable.
It folded around him like a final embrace.
*shhhhhh—*
The red door closed.
*click.*
And the night swallowed his name.