The frantic tapping from inside the wooden drawer grew increasingly frenzied. Thud, thud, thud, thud! The rhythm lost all order, transforming into a panicked barrage as if whatever object or creature trapped inside were trying to shatter the thick mahogany wood with its dying strength.

Arya staggered backward, his spine slamming against the cold wall. His breath came in ragged gasps, fueling a surging panic that clawed its way up to his throat. His heart hammered wildly, feeling as though it were about to burst right out of his ribcage.

"Damn it... damn it, what is that?!" Arya yelled at himself, his voice cracking and trembling violently in the dim room. "There's nothing in there! It's just a hallucination! Your nerves are just frayed, Arya!"

Driven by sheer terror, he lunged forward recklessly and yanked the drawer handle wide open.

SLAM!

The drawer slid out fully. Arya squeezed his eyes shut, bracing himself for the most horrific sight imaginable to leap out at him. Yet, absolute silence greeted him. No claws, no monsters, no blood-soaked hands.

Arya opened his eyes slowly, his breathing shallow and ragged. Inside the spacious drawer lay only neat stacks of blank, pristine white photographic paper. Nothing else.

"Empty? But... but how is that possible..." Arya whispered, his knees instantly turning to jelly. His mind spun into chaos. Had he already started losing his sanity only a few hours after setting foot in this studio?

Was that tapping sound real, or was it merely the echo of his own terror bouncing off the aging walls? Arya wiped his face, which was slick with cold sweat. He needed a distraction. Fighting off fear through sheer labor was the only way to keep his grip on reality from shattering.

Arya's gaze shifted to the corner of the room, right beneath the curved wooden staircase leading up to the studio's second floor. That area was choked with a massive, dusty mound of broken photo frames, shattered glass, and rotting old canvases. Yet something about the angle caught his eye. A narrow gap behind the pile of frames reflected an unnatural, dark void—a hidden empty space sealed tightly away.

"Wait... is there another room under those stairs?" Arya muttered, his curiosity now deeply entangled with a profound sense of suspicion.

Prompted by a morbid curiosity that momentarily overpowered his fear, Arya stepped closer. He began tossing the heavy, dust-caked frames aside one by one. The brittle wooden borders let out protesting groans every time they were shifted, amplifying the eerie atmosphere as the night grew deeper.

The more frames he cleared away, the clearer the hidden view became. A small wooden door, standing no higher than an adult's chest, was tucked tightly against the damp concrete wall.

Yet what sent an immediate shiver of ice down Arya's spine was the door's security. The wooden door was locked shut by a thick, rusted iron chain crisscrossed across it, secured by a massive, heavy-duty iron padlock green with age, as though the space had been intentionally sealed away to ensure no one would ever open it.

"Why... why is there a secret door beneath the stairs? Grandfather never mentioned a word about this," Arya whispered, his voice barely audible above the quiet hum of the night.

A dark thought flashed through his mind. Was Grandfather Haris hiding something behind that door? Something connected to the old man's mysterious death? Or perhaps... something tied to the strange noises that had been tormenting him ever since he arrived?

Arya swallowed hard. He knew he should walk away, stack the photo frames back in front of it, and ignore it completely. But an invisible, magnetic pull—a silent whisper—urged him to find out.

He spun around quickly, searching for the rusted toolbox he had spotted earlier near the cash register. Inside the dust-choked iron box, he found a small, thirty-centimeter crowbar and a heavy, jagged flathead screwdriver.

"Fine... let's see what's behind this damn door," Arya muttered in a wavering voice, trying to reassure himself even as his hands instinctively shrank away from the tools.

He hurried back beneath the stairs. With a ragged breath and sweat beading at his temples, Arya wedged the tip of the iron crowbar into the shackle of the padlock securing the chain.

SCREEECH... CLCK-SNAP!

The screech of aging, rusted metal pierced the silence of the night with startling loudness. It was a piercing shriek that resonated through the cavernous studio, sounding like the dying wail of tormented metal. Arya flinched violently, his shoulders locking up every ounce of his strength as he pried at the stubborn lock.

"Come on... hnnng... open!" Arya grunted through a choked gasp, channeling all his fear and frustration into the iron bar in his hands.

CRACK!

With one final, violent heave, the rusted padlock finally snapped off its chain, plunging downward to strike the ceramic floor with a heavy clatter. The heavy iron chains fell away in a tangled heap, slipping free from the latch.

Arya stood panting heavily, dropping the crowbar to the floor. He stood frozen in front of the small wooden door. His heart pounded so violently he could hear its rhythmic thud inside his own ears. The surrounding room suddenly plunged into an even deeper silence, as if the universe itself was holding its breath alongside him.

With a trembling hand, Arya slowly reached out and brushed his fingertips against the wooden door handle, which felt strangely sticky and freezing cold.

He pulled the handle toward him. The door groaned softly, drifting open by a few inches.

Yet, instead of the stagnant, stale air he had anticipated, a ferocious blast of glacial wind—so biting and bone-chilling it froze the pores on his skin—suddenly erupted from behind the doorway, carrying with it the heavy, suffocating stench of freshly dug graveyard earth and raw, rusted copper.

The lethal gust slammed straight into Arya's face, whipping his hair into wild disarray.

And at that exact second, before Arya could even process what was happening...

CLICK!

Every single incandescent lightbulb on the ground floor of the studio died simultaneously, plunging Arya into a pitch-black, absolute darkness devoid of a single speck of light.