Amara found a diary on a rickety table. The pages were filled with handwriting she recognized as hers—but the dates were wrong. Entries she didn't remember writing described moments she had forgotten, decisions she never made, and fears she had never felt.
Footsteps echoed upstairs. The shadows seemed to crawl along the walls, gathering, watching.
A mirror reflected her image. Or what she thought was her.
The reflection smirked. Eyes black, skin peeling in patches. It mouthed:
"Join us."
Amara realized the horrifying truth: every choice she made, every fear she had, had been feeding something. Something patient, something eternal. She wasn't just trapped in the car. She was trapped in a place where reality bent around her, a liminal space where her soul could never leave.
The faceless passenger whispered one final warning:
"Let them in… and you'll never leave. Resist… and maybe you can still escape."