I woke up to the dull, throbbing pain in my temples, my head pounding like a distant drumbeat. The cold, hard floor beneath me sent a shiver up my spine as I pushed myself up onto my elbows. My vision blurred for a moment, my eyes struggling to adjust to the dim lighting that bathed everything in a sickly, artificial glow.
I had no idea where I was. The air was stale, carrying the scent of mildew and old rot, and as I breathed in deeply, a metallic tang settled at the back of my throat. I rubbed my temples and slowly took in my surroundings. Towering storefronts lined a massive hallway, their glass windows smeared with dust and grime. Some still had mannequins frozen in lifeless poses, their plastic eyes staring blankly ahead. Others were nothing but empty husks, the shelves inside stripped bare. It was an abandoned mall—one that had clearly been forgotten by time.
A faint buzzing sound filled the silence, and I turned toward the flickering fluorescent lights overhead. Some still sputtered weakly, casting elongated shadows across the cracked tile floor. I swallowed hard, the sheer desolation of the place sending a creeping unease into my bones.
I couldn’t remember how I got here. My last clear memory was being at home, lying in bed, scrolling mindlessly on my phone before exhaustion took over. And now—this. The thought sent another spike of pain through my skull, but I forced myself to my feet, ignoring the way my legs trembled beneath me.
I needed to get out.
I scanned the corridor, hoping to find an exit, but every direction seemed to stretch on endlessly, the hallways curving into darkness. My heart pounded as I took a tentative step forward, my footsteps echoing too loudly against the hollow walls. The sound unnerved me, making me feel even more alone in this vast, decaying space.
Or maybe I wasn’t alone.
That thought lingered in the back of my mind as I moved toward the center of the mall. Kiosks stood abandoned, their cheap trinkets covered in a fine layer of dust. A few scattered signs still clung to the walls, their faded lettering peeling away.
FOOD COURT – THIS WAY
I hesitated, my stomach twisting in knots. The idea of finding something edible here was absurd, but the food court might have an exit—or at least a clearer view of where I was. I started walking, the silence around me growing heavier with each step.
And then I heard it.
A whisper.
It was faint, like wind rustling through dead leaves, but there was no mistaking it. My breath hitched, and I spun around, scanning the shadows. Nothing. Just empty storefronts and mannequins with lifeless faces.
My pulse thundered as I quickened my pace. The whispering didn’t stop. If anything, it grew stronger, curling around my ears like icy tendrils. It wasn’t in any language I recognized—just hushed, unintelligible murmurs, layered over one another like an eerie, discordant melody.
I broke into a run.
The food court loomed ahead, its wide, open space filled with overturned chairs and tables. The counters of the old restaurants were coated in filth, their menus hanging in tatters. A skylight above let in a dull, gray light, offering a momentary break from the suffocating gloom. My chest heaved as I scanned the area, searching for any sign of an exit.
And then I saw them.
Silhouettes.
At first, I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me. They stood at the far end of the food court, barely visible in the murky light. Their shapes were human-like, but something was wrong. They didn’t move. They didn’t breathe. They just stood there, staring, watching.
The whispering grew louder.
I took a step back, my body screaming at me to run, but my legs wouldn’t cooperate. The figures twitched, a single, jerky motion that sent ice through my veins. Then, as one, they began to move. Not walking—gliding, as if their feet never touched the ground.
I turned and bolted.
My lungs burned as I tore through the mall, my only focus on escape. The corridors blurred past me, mannequins flashing by like pale ghosts. My footsteps pounded in rhythm with my heartbeat, but the whispers never faded. They were inside my head now, coiling around my thoughts, distorting them.
I stumbled into a department store, my breath ragged. The shelves were mostly bare, save for a few scattered remnants of a long-gone era. My eyes darted around, desperate for a hiding spot. A dressing room stood partially open, its mirrors reflecting the dim light. I lunged inside and pulled the door shut, pressing myself against the cold wall. My chest heaved, and I forced myself to slow my breathing.
Then, in the mirror, I saw movement.
A figure. Standing directly behind me.
My blood turned to ice. I whipped around, but there was nothing there—just empty air. But in the mirror, the shadow remained. Closer now. Almost touching me.
I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t think.
The lights flickered, and for a split second, the reflection grinned.
A hand, cold as death, clamped over my mouth.
Then the world went dark.
The Theater
I woke up gasping for air, the cold seeping into my bones like I had been lying on ice. The headache was worse this time—a deep, pounding sensation like something was trying to burrow its way out of my skull. My body ached as I pushed myself up, my fingers brushing against something damp and sticky on the floor. The air was thick with rot, heavier than before, clogging my nostrils with a putrid stench that made my stomach twist.
The mall had changed.
It was darker now, the few working lights dimmer than before, barely illuminating the halls beyond a few feet. The walls, once merely dusty and abandoned, now looked as though they were rotting. Large patches of black mold festered in clusters, and deep cracks ran along the floor, revealing something dark beneath. The air was damp, and the sound of distant dripping water echoed eerily through the emptiness.
I swallowed hard, trying to ignore the gnawing dread that coiled inside my gut. My mind screamed at me to find an exit, but something deep within me whispered that escape wasn’t an option. Not yet.
I started walking, my footsteps muffled against the warped tile. The silence was different this time. It wasn’t empty—it was expectant. Like the whole building was waiting for something. Or someone.
Then I saw it.
A faded, dust-covered directory sign stood at the center of the hallway, tilted at an odd angle like it had been knocked loose. Most of the lettering had peeled away, but one section still stood out, the words barely legible:
CINEMA – LEVEL 2
A movie theater.
It made no sense. The idea of a working movie theater in a place like this was absurd. And yet, I felt an overwhelming pull toward it, like something inside me needed to see it for myself. My body moved before my mind could catch up, my steps quickening as I followed the signs deeper into the mall.
The escalator leading to the second floor was long dead, its rubber grips coated in dust, but I climbed it anyway. Each step groaned under my weight, the sound bouncing through the hollow halls. When I reached the top, I was greeted by a massive, looming entrance.
The theater.
Its doors were slightly ajar, revealing a darkness beyond that felt different from the rest of the mall. It wasn’t just the absence of light—it was thick, almost tangible. The old marquee above the entrance still had remnants of letters clinging to it, but they were too faded to read. The smell of stale popcorn and something far more rancid filled the air.
I hesitated. Every rational part of me screamed to turn back, to run. But something about the theater called to me. I stepped inside.
The lobby was in ruins. Ticket booths were shattered, the counters smeared with something dark. Posters hung in tattered shreds along the walls, their once-vivid images now faded into barely recognizable smears. The concession stand looked like it had been abandoned mid-service—old bags of popcorn sat out, their contents reduced to moldy, green clumps. The soda machines were caked in grime, dried liquid staining the floor beneath them.
And yet…
From one of the theaters, I heard it.
A movie.
The faint glow of a projector flickered down the hallway, its rhythmic clicking filling the air like a heartbeat. The sound of dialogue drifted toward me, muffled and strange. I followed it, my breath shallow, until I stood before the entrance to Theater 6.
The door was ajar.
Inside, rows of decrepit seats stretched into the darkness, their fabric torn and riddled with decay. The screen at the front glowed with a strange, flickering light, displaying a black-and-white film. The actors on screen moved stiffly, their mouths forming words that didn’t quite match the muffled audio playing through the crackling speakers. The seats weren’t empty—shadowed figures sat scattered throughout the room, their forms barely visible in the dim light.
I stepped inside.
The moment I did, the air changed. It became heavier, pressing against my skin like a thick fog. I swallowed hard and walked down the aisle, my eyes fixed on the screen. The movie was playing, but something about it was…wrong. The characters weren’t following any discernible plot—they just…stood there. Waiting.
I sank into a seat near the back, my hands gripping the armrests. The figures in the audience didn’t move. They didn’t breathe. They were perfectly still, facing the screen with an unnatural rigidity.
I turned back to the film.
The actors—there were three of them, a man and two women—were sitting at a dinner table. They were dressed in old-fashioned clothes, their hair perfectly styled. But they weren’t eating. They weren’t speaking. They were staring.
At me.
My throat went dry. It wasn’t just my imagination. Their glassy, expressionless eyes weren’t looking at each other. They were fixed on me, unblinking, their heads tilted ever so slightly.
The whispering started again.
Soft, insidious, curling around my ears like a phantom breeze. It came from the screen, from the figures in the audience, from the darkness itself. My hands clenched the armrests tighter as my pulse thundered in my ears.
Then, one of the actors moved.
Not smoothly. Not like a person should. Their head jerked sharply, their neck snapping to the side with a sickening crunch. The others followed suit, their movements unnatural, like marionettes on invisible strings.
The whispering grew louder.
The figures in the audience shifted, their bodies twisting in their seats. I couldn’t see their faces, but I could feel their eyes on me. The air grew thick, suffocating, as the figures on the screen began to stand, their rigid limbs shaking as if struggling against unseen restraints.
I needed to leave. Now.
I bolted from my seat, stumbling into the aisle. The figures in the audience moved with me, their heads snapping in my direction as I rushed for the door. My breath came in ragged gasps as I shoved it open, tumbling back into the hallway.
The whispering didn’t stop.
I turned and ran, my vision blurring as I sprinted down the hall. The glow of the projector flickered behind me, casting monstrous shadows against the walls. I didn’t dare look back. I didn’t want to see what was following me.
I reached the lobby, my lungs burning. The air felt heavier, the rot clinging to my skin. The mall was changing again—I could feel it. The walls groaned, the floors cracked beneath my feet. It was swallowing me whole.
I had to get out.
But as I turned toward the exit, my blood ran cold.
The doorway was gone.
In its place stood another theater entrance.
The sign above it flickered to life, the letters rearranging themselves with an eerie, deliberate slowness.
NOW PLAYING: YOU
The whispering swelled to a deafening roar as the door creaked open on its own.
And something inside…was waiting.
