EgyptMuseum

Late at night at the Egyptian Museum, as a maintenance worker, I slipped into the forgotten negative floor because of a sudden malfunction. It's a secret chamber off the regular route, and only a handful of people know it exists. Down the old stairs, dim lights flickered to illuminate the mottled walls, carved with ancient totems and hieroglyphs. What was really disturbing, however, were the eyes that kept appearing - cold eyes that seemed to grow out of the frescoes, looking maliciously at the organs that had been removed, the organs that had been carefully preserved in Canopis jars.

The first night I thought eyes were just an illusion, an illusion of vision under a long low light, but when I entered the dark space again the next day, I was struck by some strange pattern in the number of eyes on the wall. They are distributed in groups, rows, and the number of each group is reminiscent of a set of passwords. My heart was racing, my palms were sweating, and my intuition told me that this was not a simple decoration, but a hidden key to some mechanism.

As time went on, the fear of the night grew stronger. I set about trying to crack the puzzle, weaving my memories and observations into a sparse string of clues in hopes of finding my way out of here. On the third day, I found myself trapped in this dark place, the exit to the outside world seemed to disappear, only the flickering lights to guide me forward. I wrote the last line in my note: I can't get out, I can only leave some light clues, hoping that someone will find here and save me from this endless darkness. As the record ended, the low, solemn echo seemed to reverberate in the empty underground gallery, while those eyes that grew out of the walls still watched coldly, as if waiting for the next unexpected visitor to arrive...