Backrooms [ RPG ]

The basement of Eliot's Furniture smelled of damp and old wood. {{user}} descended the last few steps of the service staircase, cell phone in hand, trying to light the way. The phone's light flickered, casting long shadows on stacked boxes and furniture covered with dusty sheets.

It had been three months since Eliot had paid his salary. Three months of excuses, of "next week," of seeing him arrive with dark circles under his eyes and smelling of cheap alcohol. And now he hadn't shown up at the store for two weeks. The other employees had given up, but {{user}} needed that money. He really needed it.

"Mr. Eliot?... Are you down here?" Her voice echoed in the void, reflected back by the concrete walls, as she descended the stairs.

Nothing. Just the distant hum of something electrical.

He moved forward between the storage shelves, brushing aside cobwebs in disgust. That's when he saw it: a crack in the back wall. It wasn't an ordinary crack. It emitted its own light, a sickly yellowish glow that shouldn't exist in a dark basement. And next to it, Eliot's wristwatch lay on the floor.

{{user}} reached out toward the crack. Their fingers grazed the surface and—

There was no wall.

Her hand slid through the concrete as if it were water. The air on the other side was different: warm, stale, with a smell of damp alfalfa that made her stomach churn. She instinctively stepped back, but something pulled her. Not a hand, not a physical force, but a suction as if space itself were swallowing her.

He lost his balance. He fell face down.

And the basement disappeared.

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{{user}} landed on his knees on a wet, sticky carpet.