“The Black Room”

Rajib was a city boy with an energy for photography. Whereas others chased advanced horizons, he found magnificence in ruins—abandoned houses, broken dividers, blurred memories. The more frequented, the better. One evening, while looking over on Facebook, he faltered upon a photo of a rotting chateau in a removed town. Made of ruddy bricks and choked with vines, the house looked like it had been overlooked by time. But what genuinely caught his eye was a single, pitch-black entryway within the center of the house. Not at all like the rest of the structure, it appeared untouched by age—almost like it didn't have a place.

Somebody had commented on the post:

“That's the Dark Room. No one who enters ever comes back.”

Rajib grinned. "Normal urban legend."

He pressed his camera the following morning and set off, decided to expose the myth.

— After a six-hour travel, he checked into an unassuming motel close to the town. The owner was a slight old man with sharp eyes. When Rajib said the house, the man developed pale.

"You shouldn't go there, child. That house, that room, it takes individuals. Four lost within the final few a long time. The police gave up. Everyone has. "

Rajib shrugged. “I've listened more awful stories.”

—

The following morning, beneath a gray sky, Rajib arrived at the house. The smelled of spoil and hush. Nature had wrapped the building in a ghastly grasp. Takes off didn't stir, and birds didn't sing. It was as in the event that the world around it was holding its breath.

And after that, he saw it—that dark entryway, standing superbly still in the midst of the decay. He raised his camera and clicked a number of shots of the outside. At that point, with a profound breath, he strolled forward and tenderly pushed the entryway.

It opened without a sound.

Interior, it was total haziness. Indeed, his spotlight felt frail, as if the shadows were gulping the light. The discussion was cold and overwhelming. The floor was littered with broken glass, fragments, and earth. On the dividers were aggravating drawings—figures without faces, children with empty eyes, and in each picture, a clock solidified at 1:

13 AM.

Rajib gulped difficultly. A shudder ran down his spine, but he squeezed on, telling himself it was fair creative energy.

Then—tap… tap… tap…

Strides.

He spun around. Nothing.

But when he looked through his camera lens—there it was.

A shadow. Moving.

He turned the spotlight toward it—gone.

A sudden squeak behind him.

Another entryway, littler, half-hidden within the divider, gradually opened by itself.

Haziness spilled out like smoke.

And then… a whisper.

“Rajib…”

His heart skipped a beat.

Who… knew his title?

He hesitated—but interest won.

As soon as he ventured into the covered up room, the entryway pummeled closed behind him. Everything went dark.

Add up to hush.

Then—his electric lamp glinted and kicked the bucket.

Unhinged, he activated his camera streak. And froze.

There, within the corners of the room, stood four figures.

Pale. Still. Faceless.

However, he may feel them gazing at him. One gradually ventured forward.

And whispered:

“You'll be one of us now… forever.”

Rajib supported absent. Freeze took over.

“These… these are the lost people,” he realized.

He turned and ran for the door—but the room was changing. Dividers turned like a labyrinth. The floor cracked.

Everything spun and bowed, just like the room was alive—and chuckling.

His shouts were gulped in entirety. At that point, everything went quiet.

—

The following morning.

Villagers found the house entryway wide open.

But no sign of Rajib.

As it was, his camera lay within the tidy. They picked it up. The battery was about dead.

On the screen—one final photo.

Rajib, standing following the four faceless figures. — Presently, when somebody dares to go near the chateau, they say the discussion gets colder. A few indeed listen a whisper—

“Tap… tap… Rajib…”

And the clock inside?

It does not appear at 1:13 AM. It presently ticks at 1:14.

Since Rajib joined them.

And they're holding up for one more.