Screams Beneath The Surface

Nathan's mind spiraled, his thoughts fracturing under the weight of the

impossible. The figure with his face—the reflection that wasn't his—had

left him teetering on the edge of madness. His breath came in shallow

gasps, his chest heaving as though he'd run for miles. The familiar weight

of isolation pressed against his soul, now darker and more suffocating

than ever before.

He stumbled to his feet, his legs trembling beneath him. The stranger's

words echoed endlessly in his mind: You've been chosen... you've always

been chosen. The phrase twisted and turned, gnawing at the fragile edges

of his sanity. His hands clawed at his hair as though he could pull the

words out of his skull.

That smile—his smile, yet not—was burned into his memory. It wasn't

just an imitation. It was something alive, a grotesque mimicry hiding a

truth he wasn't ready to face.

Nathan pressed himself against the cold wall, its rough texture grounding

him, if only for a moment. The air in the hallway was dense, heavy with

an unseen energy that made every breath a struggle. He closed his eyes,

trying to drown out the storm raging in his head. But there was no

escape.

Why? The question screamed in his mind, desperate and raw. Why me?

His hands reached blindly for the living room door, seeking refuge, a

moment of calm to piece himself back together. But the second his

fingertips brushed the doorknob, he froze. The whispers—the relentless,

insidious whispers—were back. They weren't coming from the factory

this time. They were inside the house.

And they were calling him.

Come closer, Nathan…

The voice sliced through him, sharp and metallic, like nails dragged

across glass. It wasn't just a sound; it was a command, an inevitability

pressing against his will.

"No," Nathan whispered, his voice trembling, barely audible. "Leave me

alone."

But his body betrayed him. Despite every fiber of his being screaming to

run, his feet carried him forward, step by agonizing step. The hallway

stretched unnaturally before him, shadows crawling like living things

along the walls. Time itself seemed to distort, every second dragging out

into eternity.

Finally, he reached the end of the hallway. The whispers were deafening

now, a cacophony of voices clawing at his mind. The door before him

loomed, its frame shrouded in shadows. The air was icy, seeping into his

skin, chilling him to the bone.

Open it, Nathan. Let us in.

The knob was cold, unnaturally so, as though it had been locked away in a

frozen tomb. He hesitated, his breath caught in his throat. But the

whispers didn't allow hesitation. They pushed, they pulled, they

demanded.

With a shaky breath, he turned the knob. The door creaked open, the

sound piercing the silence like a scream.

The room beyond was cloaked in darkness. It felt alive, the shadows

shifting and breathing as though waiting for him to step inside. The air

was suffocating, thick with a presence he couldn't see but could feel in

every nerve of his body.

And then, he saw it—a thread.

A single, crimson thread lay coiled neatly on the floor, glowing faintly as

though it held a life of its own. Nathan's gaze locked onto it, his heart

pounding in his chest. Something about it called to him, an inexplicable

pull that he couldn't resist.

He crouched down, his fingers trembling as they reached for the thread.

The moment he touched it, a jolt of energy surged through him, sharp

and electric. His vision blurred, the world around him twisting and

fracturing like shattered glass.

The room was no longer empty. The walls stretched and warped, bending

reality itself. The crimson thread unraveled in his hands, slithering across

the floor like a living thing. The whispers grew louder, their words no

longer fragmented but clear and commanding.

Follow it. You must follow it. It leads to the truth.

Nathan's breath hitched as the thread began to move, pulling him forward

into the darkness. His feet followed instinctively, though every step felt

like walking deeper into his own grave.

The whispers surrounded him, their voices an endless chant: You know

what you must do. Follow the thread. It will show you.

The crimson light of the thread illuminated his path, but the darkness

around him seemed infinite, an abyss that threatened to swallow him

whole. And then, in the distance, a faint glow appeared.

Nathan's heart raced as he approached the light. It flickered like a dying

flame, but it revealed the outline of a figure waiting at the end of the

thread.

His stomach twisted in fear and recognition.

The figure turned, slowly, deliberately, its movements smooth and

unnatural. Nathan's breath caught in his throat as his eyes met a cold,

glowing blue gaze.

The figure smiled—his smile.

"Welcome, Nathan," the doppelgänger said, its voice soft but laced with

malice. "You've found your way back. Just like I knew you would."

Nathan stood frozen, his body refusing to move. The thread had led him

here, unraveling the reality he thought he knew. The figure's words, its

presence, its very existence—it was all wrong.

This moment wasn't just an encounter. It was the unraveling of

everything Nathan had ever believed.

And there was no turning back.