The tunnel yawned before them — a black wound carved into the earth. Mist rolled out in slow, deliberate breaths, crawling over their boots as if alive. The air was colder here, damp and heavy with decay.
Ethan adjusted the strap of his backpack, flashlight trembling slightly in his hand. The beam cut through the fog but never reached far; it simply dissolved, swallowed whole by the dark.
Clara stood beside him, clutching the Bible close to her chest. Her knuckles were pale. The wooden cross hung from her wrist by a strip of frayed cord.
"You ready?" Ethan asked, his voice low, barely audible over the soft drip of water echoing from within.
Clara nodded, though her lips trembled. "Ready as I'll ever be."
He took a deep breath and stepped inside.
The tunnel swallowed the light.
Ethan's flashlight beam cut through the mist in jagged strokes, illuminating broken tiles and damp stone walls that seemed to breathe with the fog. Every sound — dripping water, shuffling feet, the distant hum of wind — echoed like whispers that didn't belong to either of them.
They moved carefully, breath shallow, their backpacks rattling with the little protection they had — flashlights, spare batteries, a small crowbar, a baseball bat, a worn Bible, and a wooden cross.
Clara's voice trembled. "This is where they found her… fifteen years ago."
Ethan nodded, eyes fixed ahead. "Let's make sure she's not still here."
The light from the world outside vanished within a few steps, leaving only the narrow cones of their flashlights to hold back the dark. Each drop of water from the ceiling sounded deafening. The smell of rot and damp stone filled their lungs.
Graffiti scarred the tunnel walls — words smeared over older carvings, strange spirals and faces with empty eyes. Some of the letters looked fresh, glistening under their light.
Ethan brushed the wall with his fingers. "These symbols again. Crowe must've known this place existed."
"Or Margaret did," Clara murmured. Her voice cracked. "He said she wanted beauty that never fades. Maybe this is where she got it."
They walked in silence for a moment. The fog thickened, coiling around their ankles. Ethan's flashlight flickered once, then steadied. He tightened his grip on it, jaw clenching.
Something moved behind them — a soft shuffle.
Ethan spun around. The beam cut across the mist. Nothing. Just the echo of their own breathing.
"Probably rats," he muttered, though even he didn't believe it.
Clara stayed close, her hand brushing his arm for comfort. "You feel that?" she whispered.
"What?"
"The air. It's… humming."
Ethan paused, listening. She was right — a faint vibration, too low to be sound, pulsed through the stone under their feet. Like a heartbeat.
They pressed on, the path sloping downward, the walls narrowing. The sound of dripping intensified — slower now, rhythmic, almost deliberate.
And then they saw it.
A mirror, cracked and smeared, leaning against the wall. It didn't belong there — its frame was ornate, golden, with small etchings of lilies and faces that seemed to twist when the light hit them.
Clara stopped dead. "That's the mirror from the surgery room photos…"
Ethan crouched near it, careful not to touch. His flashlight beam trembled across the surface. Their reflections wavered, distorted — stretched smiles, hollow eyes.
"Crowe said it came from Japan," he muttered. "Occult beauty practices…"
Clara took a shaky step back. "Don't look at it too long."
Ethan nodded, standing slowly. "Let's keep moving."
But as they turned, the fog thickened again — rising now, waist-high, swirling in tight circles. It whispered.
Ethan froze.
The whispers weren't echoes. They were voices.
Soft. Feminine. Familiar.
"Ethan…"
"Clara…"
"Do you think I'm beautiful?"
The air went ice cold. Their breaths came out in white clouds.
Clara's light flickered wildly. "Ethan—"
"I hear it," he whispered. "Don't answer. Just move."
They began to walk faster, but the tunnel seemed to stretch. Every step forward led them deeper into fog that refused to lift. The air was thick — heavy, suffocating.
The whispers grew louder. Some were gentle, some mocking.
"She thought she was prettier than me."
"Now I'm the only one left smiling."
Ethan stopped when he noticed something ahead — a faint glow in the mist. Not light. Reflection.
Another mirror, larger this time, embedded into the wall like a wound of glass. The frame was cracked, its edges fused with the stone.
The fog pulsed once, then split apart — revealing her.
She stood just beyond the glass.
A woman in a white surgical gown, motionless, her head tilted slightly to one side. Her porcelain mask gleamed under the flashlight's trembling beam — cracked down the middle, pieces held by thin black threads like sutures.
The mist behind her shimmered with faint movement, as if others — hundreds of reflections — stood behind her. Watching. Smiling.
Clara clutched Ethan's sleeve. "Oh my God…"
The woman's head jerked slightly — snap — an unnatural motion, too sharp, too precise.
And then she spoke.
"Do you think I'm beautiful?"
The words didn't echo. They layered — one voice on top of another, like a hundred throats whispering in unison.
Ethan froze. His throat went dry.
"Answer her," Clara hissed, tears in her eyes. "Just answer—"
He swallowed, voice barely a breath. "Yes."
For a long moment, silence. Then the mask began to crack further — threads snapping, pieces falling away like shedding skin.
She lifted her hand and tore the mask off.
Beneath it — lips split open from ear to ear, torn flesh pulled into a permanent grin. Her gums were raw, her teeth blackened. Blood oozed from the corners as she smiled wider, impossibly wide.
"How about now?"
Clara screamed.
Her flashlight burst — glass shattering, plunging them into half-darkness. Ethan's light flickered wildly across the tunnel walls.
The fog churned, alive with movement. Faces flickered in and out of the mist — smiling, screaming, merging with hers.
Ethan stumbled back, heart hammering. He swung the baseball bat, hitting only air. The echo reverberated like thunder.
Blood dripped from the ceiling — slow at first, then faster, painting dark streaks down the stone. It smelled of iron and rot.
Clara pressed the Bible against her chest, whispering prayers between sobs. "The Lord is my shepherd… please…"
The Red Smile tilted her head again, her eyes—empty black sockets—turning toward Clara.
Ethan grabbed the wooden cross and held it out. "Stay back!"
For a moment, the air shimmered — as if the world itself recoiled. The fog hissed, retreating several feet, edges fraying like smoke against firelight. The Red Smile twitched, her grin faltering for the first time.
A low, guttural growl escaped her throat — dozens of voices speaking at once.
"You think your faith can unmake me?"
The cross in Ethan's hand began to tremble, growing hot. Light bled from its edges — faint but real. Clara's voice grew stronger, louder, words from the Bible cutting through the whispering.
The entity shrieked — the sound sharp enough to split the air. Her form flickered, distortions rippling through her reflection like a disrupted dream.
Ethan staggered, clutching the cross tighter as the glow pulsed once more, forcing her back into the deeper mist.
"Clara! Now!" he shouted.
He yanked her to her feet. They ran — stumbling through the swirling fog as the tunnel seemed to breathe behind them. The laughter returned, jagged and broken, echoing through the stone.
The entity screamed again, fury rippling through the air — but weaker now, distant, its edges unraveling like smoke caught in a draft.
They reached the slope upward, gasping for air. The fog thinned slightly, but the whispers persisted, crawling inside their heads.
Clara turned, screaming, "She's following us!"
Ethan spun around. The tunnel behind them was empty — just mist and darkness.
But then… something clattered to the floor.
Ethan looked down. His camera — it had fallen from his backpack. The light from its cracked display flickered, showing the last thing it had recorded.
On the screen, a reflection in the broken mirror — Ethan himself, standing in the tunnel.
But his face was wrong. His mouth stretched unnaturally wide, split from ear to ear.
And he was smiling.