Detective Elliott Andrews walks through the heavy rain. He pulls up the collar of his leather jacket, trying to take the edge off the cold. He can’t help thinking that the city looks like something out of Blade Runner.

As he passes a dark alley, something feels off. He stops and turns toward it, squinting through the rain, but it’s hard to see anything. That’s when a strange fog starts to form.

Something’s not right here, he thinks.

Then it hits him—a long, distant, high-pitched scream, almost inhuman, echoing from deep inside the alley. The sound rises and falls, bending the air and twisting reality for a moment. Elliott freezes.

His breath clouds in the cold. The scream seems to echo inside his skull, writhing and stretching like it’s trying to grab hold of him. For a second, twisted shadows take shape, faces just as warped as the sound. Like the scream’s pouring out of their mouths. They reach for him. Then the scream slowly fades and melts away, until all that’s left is the steady sound of rain.

What the hell was that? he thinks. That scream! Most screams just disappear, but this one sticks. It’s like a whisper you were never meant to hear.

Elliott shakes his head and keeps walking, tense, confused, and trying to shake off whatever just happened. Behind him, a dark shadow lingers at the edge of the alley.

***

Like he does most nights, Elliott heads to the bar called Forgotten Relic. Tonight, for some reason, the name strikes him as especially weird and senseless. And when he greets the bartender, things get even stranger.

“You heard it, didn’t you?” Zed asks, almost in a whisper.

Elliott’s caught off guard by the question. “I hear a lot of things, Zed. You gonna be more specific?”

Zed leans over the bar, getting closer. His breath is heavy, and his voice comes out low and rough. “The long scream. The one that’s not from this world. The one that stays.”

“A scream’s just a sound. Sounds don’t stay.”

“You know what I’m talking about. And no, that scream isn’t just a sound, Detective. It’s a warning.”

Static cuts through the music playing in the bar. It’s like voices are crawling through the speakers—old, broken syllables, a whispering in some forgotten tongue. Elliott looks around, but it seems no one else notices. He turns back to Zed.

“What’s the scream warning me about?”

Zed hesitates. His eyes flick toward the door, like he’s expecting someone—or something—to be standing there. Then he looks back at Elliott and says, “Not you. The city.” A beat. “It’s waking up.”

The static builds in the speakers. Again, the other patrons don’t react. The air grows heavy, like something otherworldly just entered the room. Elliott tries to stay calm.

“You’re gonna have to drop the cryptic act and give me something more, Zed.”

The static intensifies, layering over itself, whispers piling on top of whispers. The lights flicker. A sudden crack, and then everything goes silent. Not just the music, everything. Like the world’s sound has been switched off, leaving only Elliott and Zed in the void.

Zed’s clearly panicking. He stares at Elliott and says, his voice barely audible, “You don’t want to know. Trust me.” He’s frozen with fear, struggling to breathe. Then his eyes shift, looking past Elliott at something behind him.

But Elliott doesn’t turn. He sees a shadow forming behind Zed, sliding across the wall and stretching into the shape of a twisted face with its mouth open wide, like it’s screaming. Just like the ones he saw in the alley minutes ago.

A warped, supernatural whisper echoes through the bar: “Stay out of this…”

The music snaps back on. The chatter of the patrons resumes like nothing happened. Zed locks eyes with Elliott and says, “You’ve had your warning, Detective. Let it go.”

“I’ve never been good at that.”

The bar door swings open by itself, and a blast of freezing air rushes in. The two men exchange a glance, but say nothing.

***

Elliott leaves the bar and decides to head back to his office. Maybe he can dig up something about the long scream, the shadows, all of it. As crazy as it sounds, he just can’t shake what happened tonight. But before he can unlock the door, he senses movement behind him. He spins around and comes face-to-face with a woman who looks to be in her early thirties.

“Jesus, you scared me!”

“For a detective, you seem kind of jumpy and careless,” she smirks.

“If you’d lived through my night, I bet you’d either be locked in a closet or hiding under the bed.” Elliott’s tone is sharp.

She laughs and holds out her hand. “Laura Reeve. Glad you came back, I’ve got something urgent to discuss. And judging by the look on your face, I think I know what happened to you tonight.”

Elliott frowns and opens the office door, and they head inside. He doesn’t waste time. “So, what brings you here?”

“Something that might save your life. Or all of our lives.”

Laura opens her laptop and shows him everything she’s dug up so far. She has clippings from newspapers and websites, all reporting an unexplained long scream heard by only a few people. The headlines vary, but they all end in the same unanswered question: Is the long scream an urban legend—or something worse?

Elliott stares, stunned. How had he never come across any of this? And more importantly, how did this Laura know to come to him? Before he can ask, she keeps going.

“I know what you’re thinking. But it gets better. Or worse, depending on how you look at it.” She pulls out a grainy photo and hands it to him. The image shows a symbol carved into what looks like a concrete wall, surrounded by strange marks.

“What’s this supposed to be?”

“No idea. I’m a ghostwriter. I was researching ancient civilizations for a book, and I stumbled on it.”

Elliott flips the photo over. On the back, faded ink scribbles show more symbols he doesn’t recognize.

“I found out this was the last thing someone saw before they started screaming.”

The office lights flicker. Elliott catches something move, stretching in a corner of the room where nothing should be. Laura doesn’t seem to notice.

“Who’s ‘they’?” he asks.

“No clue.”

“Where’d you get this?”

“From a guy who’s not gonna be answering any questions anytime soon.”

“Let me guess—he vanished into thin air?”

“No. He’s in a psych ward, repeating the same thing over and over—The long scream won’t stop.”

A violent bang hits the window, making them both jump. They rush over and look down. Despite the rain and the fact they’re on the third floor, they both clearly see a shadowy figure standing across the street. Its face is hidden. And then it vanishes.

Elliott and Laura look at each other. No words, but they both saw it. They go back to the laptop. As they watch a video of the man who had the photo being restrained and taken to the asylum, Elliott freezes. He recognizes the location. It’s the same alley where he heard the scream and saw the twisted shadows.

Laura doesn’t look surprised at all.

***

Elliott and Laura decide to go to the alley and check it out for themselves. When they get there, they stop at the entrance, both feeling a chill crawl down their spines. But neither of them says a word. They walk side by side, quietly and carefully. It’s a long alley, naturally dark, and with the heavy rain coming down, visibility is even worse.

At the very end, they find a wall. It’s a dead-end. As they move closer, they see a massive rusted metal door. Elliott points his flashlight at a sign bolted to it—AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY. The paint’s peeling, and underneath, they can make out faded writing in some strange language, old and worn away by time.

Laura scrapes off more of the paint and reveals markings carved into the metal door. “These match the symbols from the old photo. If there’s a connection, it starts here.”

Elliott nods.

Laura reaches out, tracing the grooves of the markings with her fingers. “These symbols… They’re older than the city itself.”

“And how the hell do you know that?”

“Because they were buried in research that never should’ve seen the light of day.”

Elliott rolls his eyes, takes a breath, and steps forward. He tries the rusted handle—nothing. He throws his shoulder into the door, but it doesn’t budge.

Then they hear a sharp buzzing behind them. They turn and freeze. Even with the rain pouring down, they can clearly see the figure standing at the alley’s entrance. Tall, motionless, face hidden in shadow. The same one they saw from the window.

Elliott slowly moves his hand toward his gun. “You see that?”

“Yeah.”

The flashlight flickers, and when it steadies again, the figure is closer. A lot closer. Still unmoving, still watching. Everything goes silent. Then, just like that, it vanishes.

“I think we have to go in, Elliott. The answers have to be inside.”

“I don’t know why, but I agree with you.”

Elliott slams his shoulder into the door again. This time, the lock snaps and the door creaks open with a low, eerie groan. Inside, it’s pitch-black. They can only see as far as their flashlights reach. Just past the entrance, they find a staircase leading down into deeper darkness. The air drifting up feels… Wrong. Static, ice-cold.

Laura hesitates. “I don’t think we’re supposed to be here.”

Elliott nods. “Definitely not.”

He steps in first. Laura follows close behind. As soon as they’re both inside and start heading down, the metal door slams shut behind them with a deafening clang.

***

The staircase is narrow and descends into pitch blackness. The air is heavy and still freezing. The only sound is the slow drip of water echoing from somewhere deep below. They move down cautiously—not just because they can barely see, but because of what might be waiting at the bottom.

Something feels off. Even their footsteps sound strange. The echoes are oddly muffled, like the walls are swallowing the noise. A faint whisper rises from below, and they freeze. Then more voices follow, layered over each other, but there’s something unnatural about the way they sound.

“That’s not just wind,” Laura says.

“No. It’s not.”

The staircase seems endless. Minutes pass before a dim light appears below. Finally, a sign they might be reaching something. At least, that’s what they hope.

At the bottom, even with the weak lighting, they see a long industrial corridor. Pipes line the ceiling, some dripping and forming shallow puddles across the floor. The walls are old and peeling, dotted with faded safety signs. And just like on the door, those same ancient symbols are carved into the walls.

“Something’s not right here,” Elliott mutters, aloud this time.

Laura crouches and touches one of the puddles. The liquid is dark, and thicker than water. She wipes her fingers on her pants. “This isn’t water.”

Elliott crouches next to her, rubbing the liquid between his fingers. It smells odd, metallic and old. Before he can say anything, a new sound echoes down the corridor. Something’s scraping something.

They both shoot to their feet, eyes fixed on the far end of the hallway, straining to see what’s making the noise. The flickering emergency lights don’t help. Something moves in the shadows. It’s nearly invisible, but whatever it is, it’s not walking. Not stepping, just moving.

Laura can barely breathe. She whispers, “Tell me you saw that.”

“I saw it,” Elliott replies, drawing his gun and keeping it ready. “I just don’t know if I believe it.”

Then all the lights go out, including their flashlights. Laura grabs Elliott’s arm instinctively as the darkness swallows them whole.

The detective holds his weapon steady. Their own heavy breathing is the only sound. Then a scream cuts through the black—a long, shrill scream that seems to go on forever. A flood of overlapping whispers follows, filling the space.

It’s a disturbing sound. Suddenly, every light snaps back on. Now there’s silence, and the corridor is completely empty.

***

Elliott and Laura move forward, cautiously stepping through the corridor that stretches endlessly ahead. The air is thick, icy, and deeply unsettling. The emergency lights flicker unevenly, casting warped, unstable shadows that don’t feel quite real.

They stay on high alert, their eyes constantly scanning the dark spaces beyond the weak light. The silence is deafening. Then a distant crash echoes from somewhere deep down the corridor. Something moved.

“We’re not alone down here,” Laura says.

Another low sound, again like something scraping, comes from behind them. They spin around. Nothing.

Elliott looks down. The puddles on the floor ripple slightly. “Let’s keep going.”

They press on, deeper into the corridor. The light above them flickers again, and for a split second, a shadow moves just at the edge of their vision. They focus, and there it is once more. A tall figure, perfectly still, watching them.

“Elliott,” Laura whispers, like she’s afraid the thing might hear her.

“Keep walking.”

As they move, a set of pipes above seem to shift slightly. A drop lands on Elliott’s shoulder. He stops, looks up, and points his flashlight. Nothing, just rusted pipes. He takes a step forward. Another drip, but again, no leaks above. The drop is dark in color. Then a loud, metallic groan echoes through the corridor, vibrating under their feet.

Laura instinctively reaches for Elliott. “This place isn’t empty.”

He nods. They move ahead, but then something stirs behind them again. A low, distorted breathing sound materializes. And then a voice, barely audible: “Turn… Around…”

They don’t. They keep walking. But their shadows on the walls start to lag behind.

“Elliott! Our shadows.”

He watches as their silhouettes flicker oddly, just slightly out of sync. His arm’s shadow moves before he does. The emergency lights buzz louder, then go out.

Total darkness. They hear movement in the black. Both are breathing hard, and standing close together. Then the long scream rises again, echoing for what feels like minutes.

The lights flicker back on. The hallway is empty. But something’s changed. The walls look older now, weathered and crumbling, and they’re covered in those strange symbols, now far more visible. And on the floor, where only their footprints should be, there are more. Footprints that don’t belong to them.

“Maybe those files were, let’s say, buried for a reason,” Elliott mutters.

“Maybe. But now it’s too late to turn back. We have to keep going.”

They push forward, shadows stretching oddly around them. Behind them, the twisted figure reappears. It never left, it was just waiting.

***

The farther they go, the more unreal everything around them feels. The corridor seems endless. No doors, no breaks—just those strange symbols etched into the walls.

The air is thick and icy, and Elliott and Laura start to struggle for breath. Or maybe it’s just the fear messing with their heads. The only sounds are the occasional drip of that black liquid hitting a puddle, their footsteps, and their shallow breathing. The emergency lights keep flickering erratically. But that’s not what’s making their shadows move in such strange, unnatural ways.

“How far do you think this hallway goes?” Elliott asks.

“No idea. But these markings on the walls… This isn’t just a tunnel. It’s something older.”

“Like a bunker or something?”

“No, I mean ancient. Older than the city.”

A sound echoes through the tunnel, a deep, rhythmic pulse. Not metallic, not mechanical. Something alive.

“You heard that, right?” Laura says.

“Yeah.”

The pulsing grows louder. It’s a resonant, heavy thump, like a heartbeat—but not a human one. The walls shake. Dust falls from the cracks in the ceiling.

“It’s coming from below,” Laura says.

Up ahead, they can see the corridor begin to slope downward. It leads to an open archway where the shadows grow thicker and darker. It’s like they’re swallowing the light instead of reflecting it.

A sudden, sharp breath echoes through the tunnel. Not theirs. They both spin around. A shadow stands at the far end, motionless and watching. The emergency lights flicker violently. For a split second, the shadow vanishes.

Then the long scream erupts from below, this time deeper and more agonized. Dozens of other voices join in, maybe hundreds, all screaming at once. The noise is deafening. The walls, the pipes, the lights—everything shakes violently.

They press their hands over their ears, trying to block out the horrible sound. But the scream doesn’t stop. It pulses, like it’s part of the structure itself. Like it’s alive. The passage ahead goes dark. The emergency lights go out.

Total blackness. Then, the sound of movement. Not one thing, but many. The emergency lights flicker back, erratically, just enough for Elliott and Laura to catch glimpses of what’s around them.

Figures start to emerge from the shadows—shapeless, featureless, constantly shifting. The scream distorts, unraveling into fragmented, corrupted whispers that are layered and broken, and almost impossible to hear.

“Too late… Too deep… Knows you…”

“Elliott!” Laura calls out in panic.

No response. Elliott’s staring ahead, his eyes locked on something at the end of the tunnel. It’s a massive circular door, surrounded by symbols and deep carvings. And it’s open. Beyond it—an endless, black abyss.

But it’s breathing, and something inside is moving. The pulsing heartbeat grows louder. The long scream intensifies. The whispers stop.

Laura grabs Elliott’s arm. “We need to get out of here!”

But Elliott doesn’t move. His eyes stay locked on the void. “It’s not just a sound. It’s calling to someone. Or something,” he says quietly, like he’s hypnotized.

A sudden gust of freezing air blows past them. The shadowy figures begin to move. The heartbeat stutters. Then—absolute silence.

Laura grips his arm tighter. “Run!”

They turn and sprint—just as the darkness behind them begins to move.

***

Elliott and Laura run, frantic, their footsteps echoing in jagged rhythm. The walls around them seem to stretch and contract, like the space itself is warping. The air is dense, freezing, and behind them there’s total silence.

Then the scream, long and supernatural. And then others, joining it. Voices in unison, just as inhuman. The darkness moves.

Laura glances back, eyes wide. And what she sees isn’t just behind them anymore, it’s everywhere.

Up ahead, the corridor splits into three tunnels. But none of them feel right. The walls don’t match, as if they belong to different places, different times. One tunnel is pristine, white and clinical like a laboratory. Another is in ruins, ancient, its walls lined with symbols that pulse faintly. The third is pure void—dark, endless, no floor, no walls. Just an abyss.

They exchange a look. “Pick one—fast,” Elliott says.

A whisper glides through the air, but it’s no longer coming from behind them. It’s inside their heads, layered and warped.

“You were never here… This isn’t real…”

“Elliott!”

The air ripples and the walls shift. Elliott blinks. Suddenly, Laura isn’t next to him anymore. She’s on the other side of the corridor, staring at him, dazed and confused.

The space between them is wrong. It’s too long, too warped, like a bad illusion twisting reality. He steps toward her, but the floor beneath him changes. It’s not the corridor anymore, it’s something else.

A different place, a different time.

***

Elliott is in his apartment. Rain taps softly against the window. A glass of whiskey sits on the table. There’s the sound of a woman laughing. He turns and sees Laura. But not that Laura.

She looks at him and says, “You always make things harder than they have to be.”

His throat tightens, and his eyes dart around the room. “This isn’t real.”

The light flickers violently. He blinks—and she’s gone.

***

The next second, Elliott is back in the tunnels. He’s gasping for breath, hands gripping his head. Laura stands in front of him, panicked.

“Elliott! Snap out of it!” she yells, shaking him and pulling him back somehow.

“Whatever this is,” he says, “it’s playing with us, Laura. Messing with our heads.”

They turn toward the corridor and it’s changed again. The three paths are gone. Only one remains now. The tunnel ahead curves unnaturally, twisting like it’s alive. The shadows shimmer, forming shapes that are almost human, but not quite. Figures that shouldn’t exist.

Elliott and Laura share one last look. There’s no choice. They step forward, and the walls close behind them.

***

Elliott and Laura move cautiously. The air is heavy and freezing. The tension is crushing.

The corridor is even narrower now, more twisted, like the walls are breathing. The symbols etched into them glow faintly. The eerie figures at the end of the passage remain still. Everything feels unreal. They can hear a pulse, slow and deep, reverberating through the space like a heartbeat —but not a human one.

“Feels like they’re waiting for us,” Elliott says.

“If only we could read these symbols… Maybe we’d know what they want. Or what we’re supposed to do.”

The shadows shift quickly, but not forward. They swirl, forming a kind of vortex in front of the tunnel. The emergency lights flash wildly, projecting fragmented images. One second, the shadows are ahead. The next, they’re closer. Then, they’re gone.

It’s a terrifying paradox. Elliott and Laura are visibly shaken. Their bodies are tense with fear, eyes darting, scanning every inch around them. Then the whispers return, from everywhere. Distorted, with hundreds of overlapping voices.

“You don’t belong here… You were never here… You’ll never leave…”

The walls begin to darken, like blood is seeping from within them. Figures emerge from the surfaces, and now they’re more than shadows. They have form.

Their bodies seem fused to the corridor itself. Their movements are fragmented, wrong. It’s like watching something through broken glass.

One of them reaches for Laura. She recoils, but the hand is already on her shoulder. There’s no weight. No feeling. The figure is inside her own shadow, twisting unnaturally, moving independently of her body.

“Elliott!”

He turns and sees her shadow convulsing, tearing, stretching along the wall. Then his own shadow starts moving on its own. Elliott stands frozen, but his shadow steps forward. He doesn’t know what to do.

A strange, powerful wind blows from deep within the tunnel. The corridor shatters, not physically, but visually. Like it’s cracking apart like broken glass, though it remains intact.

The shadows are no longer on the walls or at the tunnel’s mouth. They surround Elliott and Laura, their bodies moving in unnatural, jarring motions. The whispers grow frantic. Then the long scream tears through the air again.

Their bodies tremble under the pressure of the sound. Their ears feel like they’re going to burst. They watch as the shadows shift, distorting and changing, flickering between identities—or something worse.

Then one of the figures stops and stabilizes. Elliott sees its face. It’s his own face. His shadow stares back at him and for one unbearable second, he hears it thinking. And feels it pulling him forward.

Laura watches in horror—not just at what’s happening, but at what she sees in Elliott’s eyes. Not fear. Something worse—recognition. “Elliott… No!”

He jerks violently, fighting it, until his body snaps back under his control. The shadows surge toward them. Laura doesn’t hesitate. She grabs Elliott’s hand and they run, the corridor collapsing behind them. A deafening roar swallows the space behind as they sprint. The walls stretch and distort. The tunnel isn’t caving in, it’s dissolving. The whispers follow, but now they aren’t words—they’re memories.

“You’ve been here before… The city forgets you… The long scream never ends…”

Elliott and Laura run as fast as they can. The corridor narrows into one final threshold, a doorframe that shouldn’t exist in any underground ruin. Beyond it lies the exit. The void unleashes one final scream as they cross through. And then darkness consumes everything behind them.

Elliott and Laura stumble out into the alley they entered through. The heavy rain crashes down on them. The sounds of the city return, like nothing ever happened.

They turn and look back. All they see is a brick wall. Not even the rusted metal door with strange inscriptions remains.

“It’s over,” Laura says.

“Yeah. And I need a drink.” Elliott breathes. “We both do.”

***

The two step into the Forgotten Relic and head straight for the bar, where Zed is busy wiping the counter.

They sit down. Elliott calls out, “Hey Zed, two whiskeys please.”

The man keeps cleaning, completely ignoring them.

“Zed?”

Nothing. He doesn’t even blink. It’s like they’re not there at all.

“What the hell…” Elliott doesn’t get to finish the sentence.

Zed freezes. His fingers tighten around a glass. Slowly, he lifts his head—not to look at them, but past them. His eyes go wide. His lips move, but no sound comes out. His gaze follows something, something that’s moving. The glass slips from his hand and shatters as he stumbles back, knocking over bottles and glasses behind the bar. A few patrons rush to help.

“Zed, you okay?”

Zed’s entire body is locked up, his breathing fast and shallow. Then, his face twists into pure terror.

“You don’t hear it?” he shouts wild-eyed at the crowd.

What no one hears is a whisper, faint and distant at first, coming from everywhere. And then rising, louder and louder, until it becomes that same long, twisted scream.

“It’s here! It’s here! The long scream is here!”

Zed sees warped shadows moving across the bar, hears overlapping whispers, feels the scream drilling into his skull. He’s losing it. The others in the bar stand frozen, confused. They don’t see anything. They don’t hear anything. Everyone—except Elliott and Laura.

And then it hits them, and the horror settles in. They didn’t escape. Whatever it is, they brought it back. Or worse, they are themselves part of it now. The long scream never ended. And now, they’re its echo.