The Haunted House Mist: Echoes of the Blood Gate

Night fell like ink, spilling across the winding mountain road. The old bus crawled along like a rotting corpse. Moonlight streamed over its rust-covered body, but could not illuminate the empty driver’s seat. An invisible hand was turning the wheel, carrying a busload of “sacrifices” toward the abyss. The passengers huddled in their seats, their eyes vacant. Invisible threads had already ensnared their fates, and there was no escape.

The bus stopped in a mountain hollow. The haunted house crouched there in the darkness like a beast lying in wait. Trees rustled in the night wind, as if countless ghosts were whispering in their ears. When the door opened, the stench of blood was so thick it made their eyes water. The blood-red door deep inside was the most terrifying of all. Its dark crimson surface looked like a scream frozen in place, and every so often an invisible force reached out, dragging people into a hell of twisted time and space.

Ren Qianqian clenched her fist, digging her nails into her palm. She had deciphered evil prophecies in chambers where bloody words shifted and changed, and in the corridors, icy fingers had reached through the walls to claw at her ankles. Each time, she had crawled back across the line between life and death, sustained by a will harder than steel. When she finally found her footing amid piles of corpses, she realized this haunted house wasn’t a prison of curses at all. It was more like a sieve, filtering human nature while concealing the truth.

Late that night, a fire suddenly lit up deep within the haunted house. Wood crackled in a brazier, casting shadows on the walls that wavered like human figures. “Friend, come warm yourself by the fire,” a hoarse voice drifted out of the darkness. “I’ll tell you the story behind this blood door…” Ren Qianqian watched the dancing flames and tightened her grip on the dagger hidden in her sleeve. She knew the real answer was locked away at the end of these layers of mist.