Chapter 8. The Cursed

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"Alright then, let's go!" Ran said.

Nore stood at the front of the door and pulled out a key, its metallic sheen dulled by time. He slid it into the large bronze padlock securing the door with a corroded chain.

The two men beside him then delivered a forceful kick, sending the door crashing open.

A cloud of dust erupted, swirling wildly, propelled by the gust of wind created by the door's sudden movement.

"It's been so long since we last used this route…" one of the men muttered, his voice muffled behind his raised arm. He swiped at the air repeatedly to disperse the dust. Moments passed before it began its slow descent.

Ran took the lead, slipping inside first. The interior swallowed her whole, shrouded in an unnerving, pitch-black void.

With an air of familiarity, she ran her fingers along the wall, searching for the switch. A flick—a dim, erratic glow flickered to life overhead, bathing the space in a pale, quivering light.

Inside, El surveyed the scene before him, feeling uncomfortable at the chaotic mess.

It reminded him of certain unpleasant memories from his childhood spent living under his late uncle and aunt's rundown house.

Chairs were haphazardly piled against broken windows, their splintered legs jutting out like skeletal fingers reaching upward. Fragments of tables lay scattered on the floor, mingling with discarded belongings that hinted at lives once lived within these walls.

"Hmmm, I think everything is fine here," Ran said with a casual shrug.

Sill exhaled sharply, his eyes scanning the surroundings. "Dang, it’s even creepier than the last time we were here…"

The building stretched out before them, revealing a long, narrow corridor lined with countless rows of identical doors. Each door, painted a faded shade of gray, stood in stark contrast to the peeling wallpaper that flaked away in patches, exposing the bare, crumbling plaster beneath.

Some doors were slightly ajar, while others stood wide open, inviting the curious to peer inside. Yet the oppressive darkness beyond seemed to hold secrets best left undisturbed.

The corridor was dimly lit. The air was thick with a musty scent, a nauseating mix of mildew and decay.

They walked down the hallway; their footsteps echoed eerily, amplifying the unsettling tranquility.

The sheer number of doors they passed, all so similar, created a disorienting effect, as if the corridor stretched endlessly into the unknown. They also bore strange symbols and numbers, obscurely hinting at the possible purposes, but the meanings remained a mystery.

Ran and the others at the front navigated the labyrinthine corridors with an air of confidence, as if they knew the path to their destination by heart.

In contrast, Sill lingered close to El, who walked at the very end of the group, his expression a mix of concern and vigilance.

He seemed worried that El might become lost in the maze of doors or, worse, tempted by something foul and sinister lurking within this evil, forsaken building.

With each step El took, a creeping sensation crawled up his spine, queerly urging him to turn back. But of course, he wouldn’t do that!

This wicked, malevolent aura intrigued him, but he wasn’t reckless enough to delve deeper into its ambiguity.

* * *  

They moved through the narrow hallway, their footsteps hushed against the cold floor. When they reached a door, Nore pressed his shoulder against it, testing its resistance.

“It’s stuck…” he muttered, exerting careful force. The door didn’t budge.

“Move aside.” Ran stepped forward. She attached her shoulder to the door and pushed it forcefully against it. At first, it resisted, groaning under the strain. Then, with a sharp, grating creak, it swung open.

El had expected more of a struggle—had assumed Ran, of course, would need help. He was aware of the limits of a woman’s physique, especially given her slender frame. But the door gave way far too easily.

“Huh…?”

He glanced around, but the others showed no reaction to Ran’s unexpected strength, as if it were nothing unusual. Not wanting to come across as nosy, he swallowed his questions.

A gust of cold wind rushed past them, nipping at their faces with an uncanny chill.

Beyond the door lay a staircase leading upward. Without exchanging further words, they began to ascend.

“So far, so good,” Sill whispered to El.

El hesitated, then whispered back, “What is this all about? What do we need to be wary of?”

The group had been on edge throughout their journey, avoiding mirrors and ignoring clothes draped over objects. The worst of it seemed to be the dolls and small statues they sometimes encountered.

Yet, so far, aside from the flickering lights casting erratic shadows that made the atmosphere feel daunting, nothing had jumped out at El as overtly sinister.

“Oh, right! I forgot you’re not from here,” Sill replied, his casual tone giving way to something far more serious. “There’s a reason why the underside is called the Downtrodden Region. It’s a kind of remembrance, you see. When—”

Ran raised a hand, cutting off his words, halting their progress.

They had reached the third floor, and Ran stood beside a door marked with the number three, which El had noticed while still on the stairs.

Ran pressed a finger to her lips, a silent command. The others immediately followed suit, passing the message backward in a chain of quiet gestures. At the rear, Nore mirrored the motion, his warning gaze locking onto El and Sill.

Though he actually didn’t need to say anything—his glare alone was enough.

To stay quiet. To stay alert.

*Trang tang tang tang*

*Trang tang tang tang*

*Kriek kriek kriek*

*Thud*

*Bang*

A cacophony of sounds erupted from behind the door leading to the corridor on this floor. The clattering of metal, the thud of objects being thrown, and the creaking of rusted hinges filled the air with precarious, hair-raising noises.

It was as if a tumultuous scene was unfolding just on the other side of the door.

El could clearly feel the emotions radiating from behind it—fear, anger, and something inexplicably darker.

The group remained hushed. Their ears strained to catch every crisp sound of the clamor. After a hair-raising minute passed, Ran finally gestured for them to move, using subtle hand and head movements to signal everyone to follow her lead.

They crept forward, their footsteps barely making a sound, while the ruckus behind the door continued unabated.

Once they left the third floor behind, an unspoken agreement settled among them: no one dared to make a sound.

El walked with newfound caution, his mouth zipped tight, his heart pounding in his chest from the earlier peculiar occurrence.

Yet, unbeknownst to them, as they ascended the stairs, the door to the third floor—connecting the corridor to the staircase—creaked open slowly. After a moment of creepy stillness, it gradually closed again on its own.

The chaotic noises from the third floor fell silent.

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