The fresh, bloody fingerprint slowly bled and widened across the pristine white photographic paper, emitting a pungent, coppery stench of iron so thick it instantly made Arya's stomach churn. His throat felt choked, as though an unseen hand were squeezing his neck from behind.

"N-no... this isn't real. This must be a nightmare. I must still be asleep in the car!" he ranted hysterically, tears of terror beginning to streak down his cheeks. His legs trembled so violently he nearly collapsed to the floor.

His breath came in ragged gasps, feeding a mounting panic. Without wasting a single second, Arya spun around, his back to the workbench, and bolted in a frantic scramble toward the darkroom's exit. He grabbed the iron door handle and yanked it with all his might while screaming hysterically, "Open! Open the door! Please!"

Yet the door remained locked tight, refusing to budge even an inch. The wood felt as hard as solid steel, as if it had fused entirely with the surrounding concrete wall.

"Damn it! Damn it all! Why is it locked?!" Arya screamed, beating his trembling fists against the wooden door until his knuckles bruised and thawed with stinging pain. Desperation instantly shattered the remaining fragments of his sanity. He was trapped in a cramped underground room, surrounded by an ominous blood-red glow, with no way out.

Amidst his choked sobs, his gaze inadvertently drifted back to the main workbench across the room.

The white light from the enlarger machine suddenly shifted on its own, illuminating a corner of the desk previously hidden in shadow. There, right beside a stack of chemical bottles, lay an antique, rusted biscuit tin adorned with a floral pattern characteristic of the 1980s.

Arya froze, his breath catching in his throat. He distinctly remembered that tin hadn't been there before.

Driven by a morbid curiosity mixed with paralyzing terror, Arya stepped backward slowly, away from the door, his eyes never leaving the tin box. His trembling hand reached out to touch the cold, lightly dusted metal surface.

Hesitantly, with his breath nearly halted, Arya lifted the lid of the tin.

Creak...

The groan of aging metal grated harshly inside the quiet room. Inside the tin box, dozens of vintage black-and-white film rolls were neatly arranged. Each roll featured a small paper label bearing exceptionally neat handwriting in black ink, marking years from the past: 1985, 1988, 1992, 1995...

"What kind of film rolls are these...?" Arya whispered tremulously, his voice sounding utterly fragile.

Right beside the biscuit tin lay an old synthetic black-leather diary showing clear signs of wear. What made Arya's heart instantly stop beating was the fact that the diary was opening itself, its pages turning slowly on their own, as though an invisible finger were reading through them, until it stopped precisely on the final page inscribed with red ink.

Arya leaned closer, his eyes widening in horror as he read line after line of Grandfather Haris's handwriting, which appeared jittery and frantic at the bottom of the page:

"If you are reading this note, it means you have already opened the door beneath the stairs. Do not try to get out. Do not try to run. They watch every single snap of the lens. I tried to destroy the camera, but it was too late... They never leave after being photographed. They are waiting for their next turn inside that solution..."

That final line stood out with brutal clarity, looking as though it had been penned in dried, blackened blood:

"They are waiting for their next turn inside that solution."

"No... no way! Grandfather... what does this writing mean?!" Arya shrieked hysterically, clutching his head with both hands.

SLAM!

A deafening crash suddenly thundered inside the room. The darkroom door behind Arya slammed shut on its own with terrifying velocity, kicking up a fierce gust of wind that extinguished the enlarger machine instantly.

Before Arya could turn around or scream, the mechanical whir of iron gearing spun to life on the outer side of the door.

Click... click... click!

The deadbolt twisted on its own from the outside, sealing shut every avenue of escape. Arya was now truly trapped within absolute, suffocating darkness illuminated only by the remnants of a dim crimson glow—all alone with his grandfather's terrifying secret.