MidnightScreams

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I never wanted to come back. To this cursed place, where my past still lingers like a festering wound. But here I stand, beneath the crumbling archway of the monastery, as the wind whispers to me—an invitation I can neither accept nor refuse.

It was years ago that they cast me out. They called me mad, a fool who would speak of things that should remain buried. I had tried to warn them—tried to show them the truth—but they would not listen. And so, they condemned me to the shadows, to exile, where I wandered for what felt like lifetimes, haunted by the very words I had spoken.

The monastery had once been a place of sanctuary, a refuge for those seeking solace from the world. But now, it was a ruin, a forgotten relic of its former self. The stone walls, cracked and weathered, seemed to weep under the weight of years gone by. The once-pristine garden had become a tangle of thorny vines, choking the life out of everything it touched.

As I walked closer, the feeling of dread grew heavier, suffocating me. There was something in the air, something I could not name, but it gnawed at my insides. The curse that had plagued this place was not a mere superstition—it was real. I could feel it, just beneath the surface, watching me.

The heavy wooden door creaked open, as if it had been waiting for me. I stepped inside, the floorboards groaning under my weight. The dim light filtering through the broken windows cast long, twisted shadows on the walls. The silence was suffocating. It was as if the entire building held its breath, waiting for something.

I had always known this place was never truly abandoned. I had known it even as I was cast out and forbidden to return. The monks, those men of faith, had tried to bury the truth. They had tried to bury the evil that now thrived within the walls of this cursed monastery.

I had seen it in my visions. The ancient presence that had taken root here, feeding on the souls of those who had come before me. It had been dormant for centuries, but my arrival had awakened it. And now, it was waiting for me to fulfill the prophecy I had tried to avoid.

I made my way through the dark halls, my steps echoing in the silence. The air grew colder with each passing moment, and I felt the weight of unseen eyes upon me. I had never been a brave man, but there was no turning back now. My path had been set long ago.

At the end of the corridor, I found the chapel. The once-beautiful stained glass windows were shattered, their shards scattered across the floor like forgotten dreams. The altar, once a symbol of hope, was now covered in dust and cobwebs. But it was not the physical decay that made my heart race—it was the presence that lingered there, as tangible as any living thing.

I stepped closer, and that’s when I saw it: a figure, standing in the center of the altar. Its form was twisted, like a shadow stretched too thin. It turned its head slowly, as though aware of my presence. And when it spoke, its voice was not its own. It was the voice of the monks—those who had gone mad in the years after I left.


“You should have stayed away,” it said, its voice a low, guttural rasp. “But you are here now. And it is too late to turn back.”

I reached out, my fingers trembling as I touched the altar. The air around me seemed to pulse with a dark energy, the walls groaning as if they were alive. The figure stepped closer, its form shifting and changing, until it was nothing more than a mass of writhing shadows.

And then, I saw them—faces, countless faces, pressed against the walls of the chapel. The monks, their eyes wide with terror, their mouths frozen in silent screams. Their souls had been trapped here, bound by the evil that had taken root in the very foundation of the monastery.

I had been right all along. The darkness had never left. It had merely waited for me to return, to finish what I had started.

I fell to my knees, my hands trembling as I grasped at the floor. The vision of the monks’ faces burned into my mind, their silent pleas echoing in my ears. They had all been consumed by the evil I had warned them about. And now, it was my turn.

The figure loomed over me, its shadow swallowing me whole. Its voice filled my mind, a whisper that was not a whisper at all.

“Join them,” it said. “Join the forgotten.”

I closed my eyes, but it was too late. The darkness had already claimed me. The curse of the monastery was now my curse. And as the last of my consciousness slipped away, I understood the true weight of the prophecy I had once tried to escape.

The monastery would never be forgotten. Neither would I.