Nate had always been the curious type, the kind who couldn't leave well enough alone. So when he heard the story of the old castle deep in the woods; about how it had once been a place of unimaginable wealth and power, only to fall silent after the plague; he couldn't resist. He was warned to not go near there. The townsfolk were nervous when he asked about the place. An old woman, her face drawn like a piece of crumpled paper, had grabbed his sleeve when he passed by her shop.

"Don't go there," she'd whispered, her voice trembling. "That castle... It doesn't forget. And it doesn't let go."

But Nate was stubborn, so here he was, standing at the foot of the overgrown path that led to the crumbling structure. It wasn't even much of a castle anymore. Just a few jagged stone walls and the remains of a tower that had likely crumbled years ago. The trees around it were thick, their branches twisting like gnarled fingers, blocking out the sun. He crossed the threshold. The moment he stepped inside, the temperature dropped. A cold that sank into his skin, not like the chill of winter, but something older. Something alive.

The air was thick with the scent of mildew and decay, but there was something else too. Something metallic. Like blood. He hesitated at the foot of a staircase that spiraled upward, the steps cracked and uneven. The walls were covered in dark stains. At first, he thought they were just mold, but as he moved closer, he realized they looked... too deliberate. The shapes were wrong - too symmetrical, like something had scratched them into the stone. And as he stood there, trying to make sense of it, a sudden rush of cold air swept through the hall. His breath came out in short, visible gasps.

Suddenly, he heard it. The whisper. It was faint at first, like the rustling of dry leaves, but it grew louder, closer. It seemed to be coming from the top of the staircase. A voice, deep and hoarse, but full of terrible, choking grief. "Come... closer..."

Nate's heart slammed against his ribcage, but the curiosity burned deeper than his fear. He gripped the banister and began to climb, each step creaking and groaning under his weight. The air seemed to grow heavier, suffocating, as though the castle itself was pressing in on him. When he reached the top, the whisper stopped. Dead silence. There was a long hallway ahead, lined with doorways that led into darkness. But one door, at the end of the hall, was different. It was half open, the wood warped with age. Through the crack, Nate could see something, something moving.

He took a step forward. Then another. The door swung open by itself with a sickening creak. Inside the room, it was as though time had stopped. The floor was covered in dust. The air thick with the scent of something decaying. But it was the furniture that made his stomach churn. There were chairs, arranged around a long, rectangular table, but not in any ordinary way. They were facing inward, their backs turned toward each other. At the head of the table, a figure sat, slumped forward as if sleeping. Its body was pale, too pale, the skin stretched tight over bone. And then Nate noticed the eyes. The eyes were wide open. Staring at him.

But they weren't the only ones. He turned slowly. The other chairs; there were dozens of them, had figures in them. Human shapes, hunched and staring at him with eyes that gleamed like animal eyes in the dark. Nate's breath hitched. These people, these... things, were not dead. They were watching him, their mouths twitching as if they were waiting for him to speak. But there was no sound. A thin, rasping breath escaped the figure at the head of the table. It lifted its head slowly, its neck cracking, as if it hadn't moved in years.

Then, a voice came, dry and hollow. "You're just like the rest of them."

Nate's heart thundered in his chest. He wanted to turn, to run, wanted to run, but his feet were frozen, as though the stone beneath him had turned to iron. And then, the figures began to move. Not all at once, but one by one. Slowly, deliberately. They stood. Their joints creaked, their movements jerky, as if the bodies hadn't been used in centuries. They began to shuffle toward him, dragging their feet across the dust-covered floor. The sound was unbearable. Like bones scraping together. Like the creaking of old wood. And worse, much worse... it was the sound of hungry things, desperate to consume him.

"Welcome to your place." The voice came again, but now it was joined by others, a chorus of rasping whispers. "We've been waiting for you, Nate."

The last thing he saw before the darkness closed in was the figure at the head of the table, its mouth twisting into a grin, too wide, too thin. And the gleam in its eyes, bright and cold, as if the castle itself were watching him, recognizing him. As the figures surrounded him, a sudden, unbearable pressure pressed against his chest. He gasped for air, but the cold suffocated him. The whispers intensified, filling his mind, until the last coherent thought he had was: I shouldn't have come.

Then everything went black.