Ethan woke with that dull ache behind his eyes again, the kind that told him he'd been used like a chew toy by something he couldn't punch back. His last memory was sprinting out of that blood-smeared "not-church," the flickering crosses that weren't crosses, the cultists closing in—then nothing. Just blank space and cold. Now he was standing—or rather, slumped—against a wall, in a corridor that smelled of mildew, candle smoke, and…something faintly metallic.
"Perfect," he muttered, rubbing his face. "From nightmare house to nightmare church to nightmare hallway. At this rate, by next week I'll be living in a nightmare dumpster."
He pushed himself up. The corridor stretched endlessly in both directions, walls cracked and bleeding faint red light through the stone. The ceiling sagged like ribs, curving over them. And the floorboards? He swore they pulsed under his boots, like veins.
"Yep. Not creepy at all. Ten out of ten. Would Airbnb again."
That's when he heard it—the faint scrape of something ahead. Footsteps. Instinctively, Ethan crouched, hand brushing against the broken wood of a half-splintered chair lying discarded nearby. A weapon was a weapon.
Then she appeared. The ninja girl.
Her black outfit was torn at the sleeves, one arm smeared with dried blood. Her katana was still sheathed at her side, though her hand hovered near it. Her eyes snapped to him, sharp and calculating, though the faint tremor in her breath told him she was just as ragged as he felt.
"You—" she hissed.
"Oh, great," Ethan groaned, throwing his arms up. "Of all the charming neighbors I could run into, it had to be stabby McSlice."
Her eyes narrowed. "Why are you here?"
Ethan raised an eyebrow. "Why am I here? Lady, I don't even know where 'here' is. I was just trying to live my best broke-college life, and now I'm stuck in Ghost IKEA."
She blinked at him. Maybe she didn't get the joke, or maybe she just wasn't the laughing type. "This place isn't supposed to let outsiders live."
"Yeah, well," Ethan shrugged, "tell that to my student loan officer. I'm too stubborn to die before he gets his money."
For a moment, they just stood there—two half-broken people, circling like stray dogs, waiting to see who moved first. Then the corridor itself groaned.
A low sound, like shifting stone, echoing in both directions. Both of them froze. Ethan glanced left, then right.
"Cool. Very cool. Love that sound. That's the sound of us not dying horribly, right?"
The girl didn't answer. She finally spoke, voice clipped and tense. "If we fight each other, neither of us escapes."
Ethan squinted at her. "So, what, truce? Because last time we met, you were trying to cut me in half."
"Last time," she said, "we were ordered to kill you."
Ethan gave a bitter laugh. "Ordered. Nice. Glad to know I'm not even worth your personal vendetta."
Her eyes narrowed, but she didn't deny it.
The corridor groaned again, louder, and something flickered in the distance—shadows that didn't match their bodies, twitching along the walls.
"Alright," Ethan said, gripping the broken chair leg tighter. "Fine. Truce. But I swear, if you stab me in the back, I'll haunt you so hard you'll wish you were never born."
She didn't reply, just moved forward, steps silent. He followed reluctantly, muttering under his breath about how ridiculous his life had gotten.
They walked. And walked.
After maybe ten minutes, Ethan realized something was wrong. The cracked stone wall had a particular streak of dried brown, almost like old handprints smeared across it. He noticed it once, twice…then a third time.
"Uh, not to be that guy," Ethan said, pointing, "but we've seen that same wall stain three times. Either the architect really hated symmetry, or…"
"We're looping," the girl said flatly.
"Bingo." Ethan tapped the wall. "It's the corridor that never ends. Great. I always wanted to live inside a horror version of Pac-Man."
They tried different things. She drew a line across the wall with her blade—next time they passed, the mark was still there, but faded, like the walls themselves were healing. Ethan threw a piece of debris down the hall. A minute later, it rolled back to his feet.
He bent down, picked it up. "Yep. This place is officially gaslighting us."
The girl closed her eyes, muttering something low under her breath. Maybe a prayer, maybe just a curse. Ethan leaned against the wall, trying to keep calm.
"Okay," he said, clapping his hands. "Think, Ethan, think. If it's looping, there's gotta be a trick. Like, I don't know, turn your shirt inside out, walk backwards, click your heels three times…"
"Shut up," she snapped.
He held up his hands. "Just saying. Wouldn't be the weirdest solution."
But the more they walked, the heavier the air grew. The corridor began to feel smaller, pressing in. Whispers crawled along the edges of their hearing, words too faint to catch. Ethan's skin prickled.
At one point, he glanced over his shoulder and froze.
Behind them, just at the edge of the flickering red light, was a shape. A long, thin figure, stretched unnaturally, its head tilted at an impossible angle.
"Uh," Ethan whispered. "Friend. Ally. Stabby girl. Please tell me you see that too."
She turned. Her eyes widened slightly. Hand on her sword. "Run."
They ran. The corridor warped around them, floorboards flexing like muscles. The shadow followed, every step a broken lurch, its limbs scraping against the walls.
"This is the part where I say I hate cardio!" Ethan gasped.
The girl unsheathed her katana, spinning, slicing through the air as the figure lunged. For a moment, the blade connected, and the shadow split like smoke. But it didn't fall. It multiplied.
Two shapes now. Both shrieking soundlessly, their heads spinning too far.
"Oh, fantastic," Ethan yelled. "You cut it in half and now we've got buy-one-get-one-free monsters!"
"Keep moving!"
They sprinted again, but the shadows were faster. Ethan felt claws scrape across his shoulder, tearing his shirt. Pain burned, hot and sharp.
He stumbled, swung the chair leg blindly. By some miracle—or dumb luck—it connected, cracking against the shadow's head. For one second, the thing recoiled, and Ethan saw its face.
It was his.
His own face, pale, eyes hollow, mouth sewn shut.
Ethan screamed.
"Keep running!" the ninja girl shouted again, grabbing his arm and pulling him forward.
They tore through the corridor, dodging the grasping limbs. Finally, she shoved open a door on the side—one that hadn't been there before—and they tumbled through.
The door slammed shut behind them.
They landed in another corridor. This one was different—narrower, the walls covered in symbols carved deep into the stone. The air felt thick, suffocating.
Ethan sat up, panting, sweat dripping down his forehead. "Okay. I vote we never do that again."
The girl didn't answer. She was staring at the symbols, face pale.
"What?" Ethan asked.
"These are binding marks," she whispered. "For keeping something in."
Ethan looked at the walls, at the strange claw-like patterns etched into the stone. Then he looked back the way they came.
"Uh-huh," he said. "Cool. So, if this corridor's a cage, what exactly are we locked in here with?"
The answer came immediately: a low, guttural growl that shook the floor beneath their feet.
Ethan swallowed hard. "Of course. Should've asked sooner."