Room 666

Prologue

There's a house at the end of our street, a place whispered about in hushed tones and avoided by the neighborhood kids after dark. It stands tall and imposing, its windows boarded up, and its paint peeling away like old skin. They say it's haunted, that the spirits of the damned roam its halls, but I never believed such tales. That is, until the night I dared to step inside.

It was a dare, a foolish challenge issued by my friends in the spirit of teenage bravado. "Go inside the old house," they said, "and see what's behind the door marked with 666." I scoffed at their superstitions, but the allure of adventure gnawed at my curiosity, and so I found myself standing before that ominous door, heart pounding in my chest.

The air grew colder as I approached, a tangible chill that sent shivers down my spine. With trembling hands, I reached out and grasped the tarnished brass handle, feeling its icy touch against my skin. The door creaked open with a sound like the wail of a dying beast, revealing a darkness so thick it seemed to swallow the feeble light of my flashlight.

I stepped inside, the floorboards groaning beneath my weight, and found myself in a narrow hallway lined with faded wallpaper. The air was thick with dust and the scent of decay, a sickly sweet odor that made my stomach churn. I pressed on, my footsteps echoing in the empty silence, until I reached the end of the hall and stood before the door marked with three ominous digits: 666.

With a trembling hand, I turned the handle and pushed the door open, revealing a room bathed in crimson light. Shadows danced upon the walls like twisted specters, their movements fluid and unnatural. In the center of the room stood a figure cloaked in darkness, its features obscured by the dim glow that emanated from its form.

I wanted to run, to flee from this place of nightmare and madness, but something held me rooted to the spot. The figure spoke, its voice a low and guttural rasp that sent chills down my spine.

"Welcome, mortal," it said, its words dripping with malice. "You have trespassed upon sacred ground, and now you must face the consequences."

I tried to speak, to plead for mercy or forgiveness, but my voice caught in my throat like a fishhook. The figure raised its hand, and I felt a cold grip wrap around my heart, squeezing until I thought it would burst from my chest.

And then, in a flash of searing pain, everything went black.

When I awoke, I found myself lying on the floor of the old house, the morning sun filtering through the broken windows. My body ached, and my mind reeled from the horrors I had witnessed. I stumbled to my feet and fled from that accursed place, vowing never to return.

But the memory of what lay behind the door marked with 666 haunts me still, a dark specter that lingers in the recesses of my mind. And I wonder, with a creeping sense of dread, what other horrors lie hidden in the shadows, waiting to be unleashed upon the world....

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