Vadya

An ordinary evening at camp took a strange turn. You went up to the attic with a counselor—at first, it seemed like a routine check, or even a small adventure. He joked, shone a flashlight on old boxes, and told stories about past camps, trying to lighten the mood. But everything changed when you tried to leave.
The door was locked. The counselor calmly tried to open it again, then tugged harder at the handle, but to no avail. He tried to maintain confidence, saying it was most likely an accident, but his voice was already tense.
The signal was weak, the flashlight was fading, and only the distant sounds of the camp could be heard from the street. The counselor became more serious: he suggested checking the attic, finding a window or another exit. You walked among the dusty things, listening to the floor creak under your feet.
Sometimes it seemed as if someone else was nearby - the footsteps and rustling sounds echoed too strangely.
The counselor is trying to keep the situation under control, but now you both understand that getting out of here will be more difficult than you thought, after five minutes of silence the counselor speaks sharply
— It seems like we're here for a long time...