Horrific Shorts: Zombie Edition-Chapter 925 Story The Forsaken Gate

925: Story 925: The Forsaken Gate

925: Story 925: The Forsaken Gate

The moon loomed unnaturally large, bathing the twisted landscape in an eerie silver glow.

The air smelled of wet decay and old parchment, and in the distance, a familiar howl sent a chill through their bones.

Mira, Draven, Zara, and Elias stood before a monstrous iron gate, its bars woven like skeletal fingers, reaching hungrily toward the sky.

Beyond it, a dark mansion loomed—a cathedral of shadow and ruin.

“The Cursed Book led us here,” Elias muttered, gripping his revolver.

“That’s never a good sign.”

Zara knelt, running a gloved hand over the ground, where a circle of rotting corpses lay facing the gate, their mouths gaping in silent terror.

“Whatever’s inside,” she said, standing, “it doesn’t let people leave.”

Mira clutched the book tighter.

The pages fluttered, moved by an unseen force, until they settled on a single name, inked in blood-red script.

“The Forsaken Girl.”

A sudden cry split the night—a child’s voice, faint yet piercing, as if carried on the wind.

Draven’s jaw clenched.

“She’s in there.”

The gate groaned, shifting as though alive, and then—it opened on its own.

The wind screamed through the trees, and the house exhaled, as if it had been waiting for them.

“Not ominous at all,” Elias muttered.

They stepped inside.

The mansion was worse than the outside suggested.

The walls pulsed, the chandeliers dripped with wax like melting flesh.

The air was thick with whispers, curling through the halls like fog.

Then—laughter.

High-pitched.

Unnatural.

It echoed from every direction.

Zara tensed, gripping her daggers.

“I hate ghost kids.”

Mira turned a corner—and froze.

At the end of the hallway, a girl stood, dressed in a tattered white gown.

Her hair hung in tangled strands, her face hidden.

She cradled a book identical to theirs, its pages charred and smoldering.

Draven exhaled.

“The Forsaken Girl.”

The girl lifted her head.

Her eyes were hollow voids, endless and screaming with something ancient.

“You shouldn’t have come,” she whispered.

Her voice layered, as if spoken by thousands.

The walls cracked.

The floor broke apart beneath them.

And the house came alive.

Long, shadowed limbs exploded from the walls, grasping, pulling, clawing.

The paintings screamed.

The ceiling split, revealing hundreds of eyeless faces, grinning.

Zara dodged a lunging claw.

“WE NEED TO MOVE!”

The Forsaken Girl stretched out a hand, and the shadows obeyed, dragging Mira toward her.

“Give me the book,” she pleaded, her voice trembling.

“Before he takes me back.”

Behind her, something massive stirred, its laughter shaking the walls.

The Rotting King.

Mira threw the book open, searching for something, anything.

But the pages had changed.

And they were all blank.