The door to the basement was hidden behind a curtain in the reception area. Unassuming, old, with a rusted metal handle. Just looking at it stirred unease, as if it had lived through more than one lifetime. When Mason—or rather, Noah—placed his hand on it, the temperature in the room dropped sharply. The lights dimmed, and drops of condensed moisture began dripping from the ceiling. Everyone felt the same thing: a pressure in their chests, a chilling cold burrowing into their bones, and a heavy weight, as if something were trying to hold them back.
"We shouldn't go down there," Betty said, taking a step back. Her voice was thin, almost swallowed by the thick, oppressive atmosphere.
"We don't have a choice," Nancy replied, though even she didn't sound convinced.
Mason opened the door. A rush of moisture, dust, and something else—something that smelled of stale earth and long-dead things buried under layers of forgetfulness—hit them. They descended one by one: Jake, Jennifer, Betty, Olivia, Will, and Nancy. Mason stayed at the end, leading them like a silent guide through a place he knew better than he cared to admit.
The stairs were narrow and creaked under their weight. Flickering bulbs barely lit the walls, and the light did not reflect as it should—it was swallowed by the walls, dark and damp, absorbing every ray like something alive. Each step down felt like descending deeper into someone's dream. Or nightmare.
At the bottom, a hallway awaited. But it wasn't just any underground corridor. It was something more—a labyrinth with walls covered in cracked, peeling paint. The floor was tiled, once white but now gray, broken, and soaked with moisture. Along the sides stretched rows of doors, some ajar, others bricked up, as if someone had tried to trap something inside. The plaques on the doors bore numbers, and some had names—many of which repeated, as if those names belonged to someone who was more than just one person.
"They were patients," Jake whispered, leaning close to one of the plaques. "A psychiatric hospital?"
"Yes. It was here before our grandparents turned it into a hotel," Mason confirmed, without a hint of doubt. "And some of them weren't locked up because they were sick. They were just... different. Forgotten. Rejected. People the world didn't want. This island was perfect for it."
A sound came from one of the cells. Scratching. Then a whisper. Long, drawn-out, as if someone were speaking through water.
Jennifer moved closer to Jake.
"Something's in there."
The door swung open by itself. Silent. Nothing came out, but the air grew so thick it was almost solid. Inside the room, there was only a chair and a mirror. Handprints smeared the mirror—from the inside. As if someone had been trying to get out with all their strength.
"That's the mirror we saw in our room," Olivia said, her voice trembling. "It was the same one."
Will stepped forward, his jaw clenched.
"We need to destroy it. Before it opens."
"You can't," Mason warned. "It's a gateway. Not fully open yet, but already cracked. If you smash it, it might open completely. And then nothing will be able to stop them."
Before Will could reply, something stirred farther down the corridor. A deep shadow tore itself away from the wall and began moving toward them. It had no face—just a hollow where one should have been. Its long, twisted fingers writhed like snakes.
"Run!" Jake shouted.
They bolted—through the darkness, through the hallway, stumbling over one another. The old, flickering bulbs threw unstable beams of light, revealing more doors, more shadows, more reflections in shiny surfaces that weren't always their own.
Olivia fell, her hand slipping across the wet floor. Will turned back, grabbed her, and dragged her along. Behind them came the sound of shuffling—something running on all fours, closing in fast.
They reached the stairs. Nancy helped Betty and Jennifer scramble up. Jake bolted the door behind them. Only Mason stayed back.
He stood in the dark, staring at the shadow now almost touching his face.
"Go!" he shouted. "My grandfather was here. He brought them!"
Before the door slammed shut, Nancy caught a glimpse of the shadow standing before Mason.
And Mason... was smiling. As if he had been waiting for this. As if this were his home.And maybe... it was.
*
In the depths of the basement, beyond another turn, the shadow spoke. Its voice was a blend of many voices—male and female, young and old.
"Welcome, grandson of James…"
A figure emerged from the darkness. A man. Old, broken, with eyes as black as pitch.
"Who are you?" Mason asked, though he already knew the answer.
"I am hunger. I am vengeance. I am what your ancestor left here to devour."
Mason's grandfather—the original owner of the hotel—and Jake's grandfather had known the secret of this place. They performed rituals here. Seeking power. Wealth. Trying to control what lived beneath the hotel.
They failed. The demon possessed their friend—Jack—who, in a frenzy, slaughtered innocent hotel guests, feeding on their souls.
Now, the demon was free. And it knew Mason. Because there was a bond between them. Because the blood of the summoners still ran through Mason's veins.
Mason took a step forward. And the shadow... bowed to him.
"Son of sin. Welcome home."