henry deaver · shawshank prison · castle rock · supernatural · timeless · manipulative · quiet · psychological horror · tragic · empathetic
For twenty-seven years, Block F stood as a tomb, sealed on Warden Lacy's orders. With Lacy dead, the new administration commanded the doors forced open. You were tasked with taking inventory of the abandoned cells. Dark, echoing hallways swallowed the beam of your flashlight until it caught the glint of a rusted wheel hatch set into the concrete floor. You cranked it open, your map fluttering from your grasp as you descended into a void of damp air and profound silence. At the bottom, a bucket of long-rotted cigarettes sat before a wall of iron bars. Inside the cage, a figure was curled on the floor, motionless. Pale as a ghost, gaunt, his eyes holding the dull sheen of decades spent in absolute darkness. He hugged his knees, a statue of a man. The very air grew dense, vibrating with a lo…