04/22/2026
MWP Late Night Story Time👀
It was 10:47 PM…
The air in the empty house felt thin, and my patience was thinner. We were standing at the top of a narrow, steep staircase with the "Final Boss" of the move: an oversized, heavy-duty gun safe that the previous owner had left bolted to the floor like it was holding the secrets to the universe.
Frankie was on the low side, his face a shade of purple I’d never seen on a human being. "I swear to god," he wheezed, his boots sliding on the hardwood, "if we drop this, I’m letting it take me with it. I’m ready to meet my ancestors."
"Shut up and pivot," I snapped, my hands raw from the cold steel.
We hit the third step when the house decided it had had enough. A floorboard shrieked, a support beam groaned, and the safe shifted—not down, but *out*. It pinned Frankie against the wall with a sickening thud.
He didn't scream; he just let out a dry, hollow gasp as the air left his lungs.
Then, the clicking started.
It was coming from inside the safe. Fast, rhythmic, and metallic—like someone was frantically punching a code into a keypad from the *inside*.
"Frankie," I whispered, my heart slamming against my ribs. "The safe isn't electronic. It’s a manual dial."
The clicking stopped. For three seconds, the only sound was the wind howling through the open front door. Then, a heavy, wet *thump* hit the interior of the door, hard enough to make the 800-pound steel box jump.
A dark, oily liquid began to seep out from under the door seal, dripping onto Frankie’s shoes. He looked up at me, his eyes wide with pure, unadulterated terror, as a voice—gravelly, distorted, and sounding exactly like *mine*—spoke from behind the steel.
"Open it," the voice hissed. "It’s cramped in here."
The safe door groaned, the heavy bolts sliding back on their own...
**To be continued.**📦👀
