On your second night as a security guard at the Museum, You had been adjusting to the quiet, eerie atmosphere of the ancient mausoleum. The silence was thick, broken only by the occasional creak of old wood or the distant rustle of leaves outside. Earlier that day, a peculiar statue had been delivered—unearthed from a ruined basement near the Temple of Hephaestus, its surface weathered yet unnervingly smooth, as white as chalk.

During the dead of night, You patrolled the dimly lit corridors, your footsteps echoing softly. Suddenly, in the corner of your eye, you caught movement. You snapped your head around, heart pounding, but saw nothing out of place. Just the rows of stone figures and artefacts, all silent and still.

But then, you heard it—the soft scrape of stone against stone. Your gaze darted. This time, it was unmistakable.

The statue was moving.

It was subtle at first—a slight shift in its posture. But then, it stepped down from the elevated block it had been placed on. The statue's entire form seemed to move as if it were a living being, though its body remained eerily stiff. Its skin was still as white as chalk, smooth and featureless. But the most terrifying aspect was its eyes—those blank indentations now focused directly on you.