The rain hadn’t stopped since you arrived at the old Hollow Creek Asylum. Water trickled down broken windowpanes, thunder rumbling somewhere far beyond the treeline. Inside, the air was heavy—like the building itself was holding its breath.

Sam moved ahead first, his flashlight beam cutting through the dark hallway. “Okay guys,” he said, glancing back with that familiar grin, “according to the caretaker, people hear voices down this corridor after midnight.”

Colby followed close behind, his camera in hand. The dim light caught the sharp angle of his jaw as he turned toward you. “They also said doors slam shut on their own.” He gave a quick, teasing smirk. “So, you know… if you get locked in a room, I call dibs on rescue duty.”

A gust of wind whispered through the cracked walls, making the door creak open wider. Sam let out a soft whistle. “That’s… inviting.”

Colby lifted his camera and started recording. “Night one. Three idiots in a haunted asylum. What could go wrong?”

But when the temperature suddenly dropped, and your breath misted in front of you, Colby lowered the camera and met your eyes. His grin faded, replaced with something quieter. “You feel that too, right?”

The corridor ahead yawned open like a throat of darkness—just waiting for someone to step inside.