Description
A man returns to an asylum he thought destroyed and finds the line between victim and architect blurred—then realizes he has become its warden. A tense, psychological horror short that folds memory and ritual into a dark, claustrophobic reveal.
Full Story
The moon hangs like a swollen eye over the graveyard. You don’t remember walking here. Cold headstones cut through the mist, and beyond them a crooked path leads into trees that shouldn’t be—trees that weren’t there before.
You remind yourself the asylum fell. You watched it crumble. You felt the curse break. Still, when the forest opens, the asylum stands whole: stone walls, broken windows glowing as if lit from within. A gate yawns open, inviting.
Branches move without wind, like bony hands beckoning. Whispers thread through your head: Come back. Your feet answer before your mind does. The undergrowth swallows your steps; rot clings to every breath. Shadows flicker just out of focus. You hold the knife because you must hold something real.
Inside, torches gutter along a hall of cold carved stone and pulsing symbols. The air tastes of mildew and iron. Cells shift with shapes that watch you. A voice—low, patient—calls your name: Welcome back, Adrian.
A staircase spirals down to an iron door etched with the same throbbing sigils you remember. Behind it, jars line the walls—twisted specimens floating in murk. At the center, a hollow figure turns: the Hollow Man, eyes burning crimson. He doesn’t need to speak to tell you the truth.
You weren’t only a prisoner here. You were the architect. The memories come like blows—rituals, experiments, your hands shaping this place. The Hollow Man smiles: You always were its heart.
Shadows swallow the knife. The chamber roars with voices. You hit the stone and wake—breathing damp air, changed. The Hollow Man is gone, but the asylum is not. It chose a new warden.
You stand. The symbols pulse to your rhythm. A cold smile finds you. You hold the knife again, but now it feels like a key.
The asylum will never die. Nor will you.
Leave a Reply