Part 1 HERE * Part 2 HERE * Part 3 HERE

The next day was a blur of restless energy. Meredith, usually so vibrant and full of life, seemed distracted, her usually keen eye for detail dulled. Kayla, though exhausted from her sleepless night, was driven by a need to understand, to uncover the truth behind Dante’s Entrance.

Their investigation took them to the local library, a small, dusty building that seemed to hold the weight of unspoken stories. The librarian, an elderly man with a knowing look in his eyes, watched them with a mix of curiosity and caution as they poured over old maps and faded newspaper clippings.

“What are you girls looking for?” he asked, his voice tinged with an accent that hinted at stories of its own.

“Dante’s Entrance,” Kayla replied, not looking up from a map of the area dating back to the early 1900s.

The librarian’s eyes narrowed, and he leaned in closer. “That place… it’s older than it seems. Built on land that’s seen more than its fair share of sorrow and strangeness. Be careful digging into its past. Some things are better left undisturbed.”

Their search revealed little more than cryptic references to the land’s history, tales of missing persons, and strange lights seen in the desert at night. Frustrated, they left the library as the sun began to set, casting long shadows across the desert town.

That evening, as they sat in their motel room, a knock came at the door. Standing outside was a man, his face weathered by the sun and wind, his eyes holding a depth of knowledge that seemed out of place in his simple appearance.

“I heard you’ve been asking about Dante’s Entrance,” he said, his voice low and steady. “I can tell you about it, but you might not like what you hear.”

He introduced himself as John, a former member of the community at Dante’s Entrance. Over cups of bitter motel coffee, he told them of the site’s true nature—a place of power, a gateway to something otherworldly and ancient. The rituals, the structures, they were all part of a larger design, one that fed on the energy of its visitors.

“The old lady, Mrs. Haverhill, she’s just a puppet,” John explained. “The real power is in the land itself, in the stairs that lead to nowhere good and the pyramid that sees into your soul. They take a piece of you, a fragment of your essence, and in return, they give you… visions, insights into things no human should know.”

Meredith listened, her face pale, her usual skepticism replaced by a dawning horror. Kayla felt that familiar chill run down her spine, the pieces of the puzzle clicking into place, forming a picture far more terrifying than they could have imagined.

That night, Kayla’s dreams were more vivid than ever. She saw the staircase, each step leading her closer to a fire-filled room that pulsed with a dark, hungry energy. She heard whispers, voices speaking in languages long forgotten, calling her to join them in the void.

She woke with a start, her heart racing, the feeling of being watched more intense than ever. Outside, the desert wind howled, a mournful cry that seemed to echo the despair and longing of lost souls.

As dawn broke, Kayla knew they couldn’t leave this mystery unsolved. They had to return to Dante’s Entrance, to face the truth of what lay within its shadows and, if possible, to reclaim the pieces of themselves they had unknowingly left behind.

Not. The. End.