My Husband Said Floor 4 Didn't Exist While Draining My $145,000 Savings—Until His Ex Revealed The 1912 Pact Sealed Above Our Bedroom
👉 Previous decision: You chose to use a crowbar to force open the iron framework behind the plaster tonight.
I wedged the steel crowbar into the seam where the fresh plaster met the old wood molding. The silence of the night pressed in.
The rusted iron door groaned, then popped open three inches with a metallic shriek.
A rush of sub-zero air, thick with the scent of old sulfur and burnt paper, spilled out into the hallway. My breath plumed white.
Through the narrow gap, I saw a dark corridor. The walls were lined with faded wallpaper from 1912, patterns of forgotten roses barely visible.
A single oil lamp flickered on a wooden side table further down the hall, casting dancing shadows. There were no electrical wires leading to it.
“Hello?” I called out, my voice swallowed by the cold.
No answer. Only the rhythmic drip of water somewhere in the oppressive silence.
I reached out, trying to push the door wider, to see beyond the flickering light.
Suddenly, with an immense, unseen pressure, the heavy iron door slammed shut. The rusted frame vibrated, nearly trapping my hands in the unforgiving metal.
My heart hammered against my ribs. I stared at the closed door, the illusion of an empty void shattered. Floor 4 was not a forgotten structural gap. It was active, and something inside didn’t want to be seen.
➡️ Read CHAPTER 3 to continue the story.
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