Trapped in the Labyrinth (Horror Story)
Detective Matthew Gray had seen death before — cold bodies, lifeless stares, blood pooling against concrete. But this? This was something else.
The underground corridors stretched before him like the guts of a forgotten beast, pulsing with damp air and the distant sound of something shifting in the dark. He pressed forward, his flashlight casting jagged shadows against the moss-covered walls. Every breath tasted like mold and rust, every step echoing too loudly in the suffocating silence.
Somewhere behind him, the exit had sealed shut.
He should have known this wasn’t a simple crime scene. The Architect had left his mark again — carved symbols on the floor, a corpse posed unnaturally, and a cryptic message left in a dead man’s mouth. The key unlocks more than a door. Every lock has its maker.
And now, Matthew was inside the Architect’s creation.
The first hour was a test of endurance. The corridors twisted unpredictably, branching into dead ends and looping back in impossible ways. The deeper he went, the more the walls seemed to shift, closing in, pressing against his skin like unseen hands. The air vibrated with something just beyond the edge of hearing — a whisper, a breath, a name spoken in a voice he almost recognized.
He wasn’t alone.
Matthew’s pulse hammered as he aimed his flashlight into the darkness. It barely cut through the thick air, illuminating only fragments — rotting beams, rusted pipes, what looked like claw marks etched into the stone.
Then the whispers became voices.
“You left me.”
He spun around, gun raised, but there was nothing. Just the empty corridor stretching back into the void. His grip tightened. His heartbeat thundered in his ears. He knew that voice. He had heard it before, in his nightmares.
James.
His partner, his friend. The man who had bled out in an alleyway nine years ago. The man Matthew had failed to save.
The air grew colder. The shadows thickened. The corridor ahead was different now — a single rusted door standing ajar, the faint glow of candlelight flickering from within. The whispers beckoned.
“Come inside.”
The room was a shrine to horror.
Newspapers covered the walls, their ink-smudged headlines recounting crimes too familiar to be coincidence. A single chair sat in the center, drenched in dried blood, shackles dangling from the arms. On the table beside it, a rusted scalpel gleamed under the candlelight.
And on the far wall, carved deep into the stone, were the words:
“I KNOW WHAT YOU DID.”
Matthew’s breath hitched. His mind raced. This wasn’t just a game. This was personal. The Architect wasn’t testing him. He was punishing him.
The candlelight flickered. A shadow moved.
Then the door slammed shut.
He turned, gun raised, his flashlight beam trembling as it caught the figure standing in the corner. A silhouette — tall, unmoving, hollow-eyed. The face was familiar, painfully familiar.
James.
But it wasn’t James.
The thing wearing his face tilted its head, lips curling into something almost human.
“You let me die,” it whispered.
Matthew took a step back. His fingers tightened on the trigger.
“You let all of us die.”
Then the lights went out.
And the screaming began.
When they found him hours later, Matthew was alone. His flashlight lay in pieces. His hands trembled. His breath came in ragged, uneven gasps.
And on the walls, carved into the stone with something sharper than any blade, were the words:
“SEE YOU SOON.”
This short story was taken from Horror Books — immerse yourself in terrifying tales that will keep you up at night. Download the app now: https://horrorstories.app/
