The wind howled through the deserted streets as the lone figure trudged through the snow. She clutched her coat tightly around her, trying to shield herself from the bitter cold. She had been wandering for hours, lost in the blizzard, with no idea where she was or how to get home.
As she turned a corner, she saw a faint light in the distance. She quickened her pace, her heart pounding with hope. As she drew closer, she saw that it was a small, run-down house nestled between two abandoned buildings. Without hesitation, she knocked on the door, praying that someone was inside.
The door creaked open and an old woman with a kind face greeted her. The woman invited her in, and the girl gratefully stepped into the warm, dimly lit living room. She sat down in front of the fire, feeling the heat slowly seeping into her bones.
But as she looked around the room, she saw something that made her blood run cold. Hanging on the walls were dozens of photographs of missing people, all with a small red X marked over their faces. The girl realized with a sinking feeling that she was not the only one who had knocked on that door seeking refuge from the storm.
The old woman noticed her looking at the photos and chuckled. “Don’t worry dear, they’re all just guests who never left.”
The girl tried to run, but the door was locked. She was trapped, and the old woman was closing in, her eyes alight with a mad gleam. The girl knew she was going to be the next victim, forever trapped in the house with the missing people.
The last thing she heard was the old woman’s cackle as the door closed behind her, and the sound of the wind howling through the deserted streets outside.
