Part 1: The Foggy Invitation
It was 2:00 AM. Arijit stood before the gates of the old, abandoned city library on the outskirts of town. As an urban explorer, filming eerie, forgotten places was his passion. But tonight, the atmosphere felt heavy. The fog was so thick he could barely see his own hands.
Switching on his camera, Arijit whispered, "Hey guys, tonight we're breaking into the section of the City Library that's been sealed off for over twenty years." As he pushed the heavy iron gates, a piercing screech echoed through the silence. The air inside was stale and thick with dust—so thick that his footsteps felt like he was walking on clouds. Suddenly, his flashlight hit a dusty mirror on the wall. Arijit's blood ran cold. In the reflection, standing right behind him, was a figure with no face.
Part 2: The Game of Time
Arijit spun around instantly, but the hallway was empty. His heart hammered against his ribs. Just a trick of the light, he tried to convince himself. But then, he heard it—the rhythmic clack-clack-clack of a typewriter.
Following the sound, he reached a small room on the third floor. There, an ancient typewriter was operating on its own. Trembling, Arijit leaned in to see the paper. The keys struck hard:
"Arijit, why have you come? The door to go back was closed a long time ago." He dropped his flashlight in terror. To his horror, he noticed the walls of the room were slowly closing in. The room was trying to swallow him whole. He bolted for the exit, but the staircase he had climbed just moments ago was gone—replaced by a bottomless, dark pit.
Part 3: The Hidden Truth
He realized this wasn't just a building; it was a Time Trap. A chilling memory from his childhood surfaced—the legend of a writer who vanished in this library while writing a story so powerful that its final page could make reality disappear.
Arijit spotted a torn scrap of paper near the typewriter. It read: "To escape, you must write the final word of the story with your own blood." The floor beneath him began to crumble. Desperate, he grabbed a sharp quill. But what was the word? As the darkness rushed in to consume him, he noticed a faint carving on the corner of the wooden table— 'Sunrise'.