Horrific Shorts: Zombie Edition
Chapter 73: Story 73: The Red Room

The dim glow of the red light bathed the room in an eerie, almost suffocating hue. Shadows danced along the damp walls, flickering like ghosts in the hazy darkness. A heavy scent of decay mingled with the sharp tang of iron, assaulting the senses and making it difficult to breathe.

In the center of the room, pressed against the cold, wet glass, was a woman. Her eyes were wide with terror, her breath coming in shallow gasps. She could feel the oppressive heat of the red light burning into her skin, making her feel as if she were trapped in a living hell.

A sinister figure loomed behind her, his face obscured by the shadows. His hands were wrapped tightly around her throat, his grip unyielding and cruel. She tried to scream, but only a strangled whimper escaped her lips, lost in the suffocating darkness.

He whispered into her ear, his voice a low, chilling murmur that sent shivers down her spine. "You shouldn't have come here," he hissed. "This is where nightmares are born."

Tears streamed down her cheeks as she struggled against him, her hands clawing desperately at the glass. But there was no escape. The room was a labyrinth of terror, designed to ensnare and consume the souls of those who dared to enter.

Her mind raced, trying to remember how she had ended up in this forsaken place. It had started as a dare, a foolish game to explore the abandoned hotel on the edge of town. The rumors of the Red Room had been too tantalizing to resist—a place where the lines between reality and nightmare blurred, where the spirits of the damned were said to linger.

But now, trapped in the grip of the malevolent figure, she realized too late that the stories were true. The Red Room was not just a legend—it was a prison for the lost and the damned, a place where the living became the playthings of the dead.

As her vision began to fade, the last thing she saw was her own reflection in the glass, distorted and twisted by the crimson light. Her captor's face finally came into view, a grotesque mask of madness and malice, his eyes gleaming with unholy delight.

With a final, desperate gasp, she succumbed to the darkness. Her soul was swallowed by the Red Room, her screams echoing through the corridors of the forsaken hotel, a warning to those who might dare to follow in her footsteps.

And so, the Red Room claimed another victim, its insatiable hunger for terror and despair never sated. The legend would live on, drawing the curious and the brave into its nightmarish embrace, forever trapping them in its hellish grip.