A Reporter's Descent into the Haunting World of "Blood Magic"

November 12th 1986

Darkness shrouded my existence as I stumbled through the halls of the abandoned mental asylum. My name is Rose, a once ambitious reporter who had become trapped in this nightmarish place. The stories I sought to uncover had brought me face to face with a horror beyond comprehension.

The asylum was rumored to be a haven for doctors who practiced forbidden arts—blood magic. I dismissed it as mere folklore until I found myself locked within its sinister walls. The air reeked of decay and whispered secrets. Every step I took echoed like a haunting requiem, reverberating through the corridors.

As I ventured deeper into the asylum's labyrinthine interior, the atmosphere thickened with anticipation. The flickering lights cast eerie shadows that danced upon the peeling wallpaper. My heart raced with a mixture of trepidation and morbid curiosity, pushing me to uncover the truth that lay dormant within these unholy halls.

Suddenly, a door creaked open ahead, its hinges protesting against the passage of time. I approached cautiously, peering into the dimly lit room. The scene that unfolded before my eyes froze my blood in my veins. A circle of doctors stood around a sacrificial altar, their white coats stained scarlet with the essence of life.

In the center of the grotesque ritual, a patient lay restrained, his eyes wide with terror. The doctors chanted in an ancient tongue, their voices clawing at the edges of sanity. I watched in horror as they drew their instruments across their own flesh, crimson rivers flowing freely.

With each drop that fell upon the patient's exposed skin, a surge of malevolent energy crackled in the air. The room quivered with an unholy power, threatening to consume me whole. My instinct screamed at me to flee, to escape this abomination, but my reporter's resolve demanded that I bear witness to the depths of this horror.

One of the doctors noticed my presence and locked eyes with mine. Recognition glimmered in his gaze—a mix of surprise and malice. I could see the madness devouring his soul, leaving behind only the shell of a man.

"Rose," he hissed, his voice tinged with deranged pleasure. "You were always so curious. Join us. Embrace the darkness within."

Terror gripped me as the doctors' attention shifted toward me. The patient's agonized wails mingled with their maniacal laughter. They began to move, their eyes burning with a sinister hunger.

I turned and sprinted through the labyrinth of corridors, their anguished cries echoing behind me. My breath came in ragged gasps as I sought escape, stumbling blindly in the maze of insanity.

But the asylum seemed to have a will of its own, its walls shifting and rearranging, taunting me with false hopes of freedom. The once-familiar passageways became distorted, leading me further into the asylum's sinister heart.

My mind teetered on the precipice of madness, threatened to be consumed by the malevolent forces at play. Desperation clawed at my soul as I fought against the rising tide of horror, a glimmer of hope guiding me forward.

Finally, I stumbled upon a door—a gateway to salvation or damnation, I knew not. But with no other choice, I pushed it open and stepped into the unknown.

As the door swung shut behind me, I found myself standing at the entrance of the asylum, bathed in the warm light of the rising sun. My heart thundered with relief as I embraced the realm of the living once more.

But the horrors I had witnessed haunted my every waking moment. The asylum's secrets, the blood magic rituals—they would forever be etched in my memory, a testament to the dark underbelly of the human psyche.

My name is Rose, and though I escaped the clutches of that asylum, the asylum never truly escaped me. Its whispers lingered, reminding me that some horrors cannot be easily forgotten, no matter how desperately we may try.