The Storm and the House That Never Sleeps

That evening, the forest was not itself.

The trees they used to laugh beneath seemed taller, closer, as if bending to eavesdrop on their footsteps.

Layan walked in the middle, pulling her coat tight around her slender body, her eyes watching the sky that had begun to thicken with heavy black clouds.

To her right was Adam, sarcastic as usual, trying to hide his anxiety behind a provoking smile,

and to her left was Younis, the quietest of them, walking in silence as if something in the place were triggering an unerring alarm inside him.

"I told you... this forest is not a good idea before sunset," Younis muttered.

"Relax, it's just a summer storm," Adam replied, but his voice was not as confident as he wanted it to be.

Then...

The first bolt of lightning struck the sky.

Then came the rain.

It was no ordinary rain, but torrents pouring down violently, and wind howling like a starved creature. Within minutes, turning back became impossible.

And then Layan saw it.

"Look... over there!"

Between the trees stood a house.

Old, leaning slightly, its windows black like dead eyes, and its wooden door swinging with the wind with an irritating creak.

No one debated the idea.

Fear of the storm was stronger than fear of the unknown.

They went inside.

Inside, they were met by cold air and the smell of old dampness, as if the house had not been opened in decades.

The walls were cracked, and the ceiling groaned with every gust of wind.

"We'll just spend the night here," Layan said, trying to reassure herself before the others.

But curiosity...

that silent enemy, began to whisper.

A small wooden door in the floor of the hall.

The basement.

"Did you see this?" Adam said, his eyes gleaming with a strange excitement.

"Don't open it," Younis said at once. "I don't like this place."

But the door had already been opened.

They went down the stairs slowly, the darkness swallowing the light little by little, until their breath caught.

In the middle of the basement...

there was a clock.

Large.

Old.

Covered in dust... but it was working.

Tick... Tock... Tick... Tock...

Layan reached out her hand without thinking.

And the moment she touched it—

the house shook.

The ground trembled.

And the light went out.

Then...

The Voice rang out.

A hoarse, slow voice, as if coming from the very bowels of time itself:

"The first game... begins now."

The sound of the clock stopped.

And silence fell...

more dangerous than any scream.