Aarav stood still, staring into the darkness beyond the door.
"Who's there?" he asked, his voice shaking.
No reply.
He turned on his phone flashlight and stepped down the stairs.
The walls were damp, scratched with deep black marks, as if someone had clawed them.
At the bottom, a small room opened up.
In the center stood an old wooden chair.
The seat was stained with dried blood.
Aarav swallowed hard.
On the wall behind the chair, written in white chalk, was a sentence:
"Those who search for the truth never return."
His flashlight flickered.
That was when he felt it.
Someone was standing behind him.
Breathing.
Watching.