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The cavern glittered with veins of gold, slick as they were from the damp. Mara’s breath curled in the frigid air as she chipped greedily at the walls, her lantern throwing twitching shadows. The map she bought had been vague, scrawled with cryptic symbols she’d dismissed as local superstition. Still, she’d traced the largest spiral with a finger and felt an unnatural hum in her marrow—like a heartbeat beneath the rock.

She struck again, harder. The chime of her pick reverberated too long, a sound that dripped unease, but the gold glinted, justifying the risk. Through the silence came a faint whisper. A chill bloomed down her spine, though she told herself it was only wind threading through unseen cracks. “Don’t stop now,” she muttered, her voice hoarse, brittle, and lonely in the suffocating black.

Her greed was the only light here. Even as the whisper thickened into a symphony of hisses and low groans, she struck one more time. Her lantern flickered.

Then, quiet. Smothering.

A low sighing sound rose—sinuous, wet, and close. From the cavern walls leached translucent shapes, their features melted, their eyes sunken voids. Fingers like wet roots touched her cheek, beckoning.

Mara screamed, her breath tasting of decay.

The light went out.

Carter always wanted more. More money, more status, more sparkle to his name. Tonight, the decaying mansion on Blackthorn Hill seemed his ticket—rumored to house hidden riches. Its sagging walls exhaled a damp musk, and the air hung heavy with mildew and rot, as though the house itself were breathing. Somewhere, water dripped with an irregular rhythm, each plink like an unseen heartbeat.

In the parlor, a tarnished mirror caught his eye. Its surface shimmered unnaturally as he approached, cracks spidering out like veins. Carter chuckled at his own jittery reflection before noticing something—his face didn’t follow when he moved. Instead, his double stared back solemnly before lifting a finger, pointing downward.

Beneath the mirror rested a trapdoor. He hesitated, the memory of the reflection’s warning gnawing at him. But greed surged, silencing doubt. Whatever lay below had to be valuable. He pried it open, the iron handle cold and slick against his palm.

A vault-like chamber awaited, lit dimly by a faint, sickly glow. Relief bubbled; inside were heaps of gold coins. He stepped down, savoring the metallic tang that thickened the air. Chest heaving, he snatched a handful and let them clink through his fingers. When nothing happened, he laughed. Easy.

Then he noticed the silence. The dripping had stopped. The glow began shifting, pulsating like a predator’s breath. Behind him, the trapdoor slammed shut.

The walls stretched grotesquely, and the air grew solid as shadows poured from the corners. They peeled from the surfaces, coalescing into a figure devoid of features. It leaned down, its whisper low and guttural, smelling of burnt hair and decay.

Carter reached for the coins. They crumbled to rust in his hands.