The Beijing 308: The Phantom Ride

The night was pitch black, a thick fog enveloping the city of Beijing like a shroud. The group of five friends had gathered at the old, abandoned building known as Beijing 308. The legend had been whispered through the city's narrow streets, a tale of unspeakable horror that had long since faded into the mists of time. But tonight, their curiosity had driven them to seek out the truth behind the chilling rumors.

Liang, the leader of the group, stepped cautiously through the broken gates of the decrepit building. The air was thick with dust and the scent of decay. His flashlight flickered weakly, casting long, eerie shadows across the walls. "Remember, we're here for answers, not to get scared," he called over his shoulder, his voice barely audible in the oppressive silence.

The others nodded in agreement, though none of them could shake the feeling of dread that had settled in their bones. They followed Liang into the darkness, each step echoing through the empty halls. The walls were covered in peeling paint, and the floors were a treacherous maze of broken tiles and uneven surfaces. The air grew colder as they ventured deeper into the heart of the building.

"Did you hear that?" whispered Xiao, his voice barely above a whisper.

A faint, ghostly moan seemed to echo from the darkness, sending a shiver down Liang's spine. He turned on his flashlight, scanning the shadows for any sign of movement. But there was nothing.

The group reached a large, creaking staircase that led to the second floor. Liang's flashlight beam danced across the walls, revealing faded portraits and broken furniture. "Let's go up," he said, his voice steady despite the fear that had begun to grip them.

They ascended the stairs, each step louder than the last. The air grew colder, and the moans seemed to grow louder. As they reached the top of the staircase, they found themselves in a large, dimly lit room. The walls were lined with shelves filled with dusty books and ancient artifacts. In the center of the room stood a large, ornate mirror, its surface cracked and covered in cobwebs.

"Let's look in the mirror," suggested Mei, the most adventurous of the group.

Liang hesitated but then nodded. They crowded around the mirror, their faces reflecting back at them. But as they peered into the depths, they saw not their own faces, but the twisted, contorted figures of the victims of Beijing 308.

"Who are you?" Mei called out, her voice trembling.

The mirror remained silent, and the figures in the reflection continued to twist and contort. Suddenly, a cold breeze swept through the room, and the figures began to move toward them. Liang's heart raced as he reached for Mei, pulling her to safety.

The room was now filled with the sound of footsteps, the echoes of a thousand screams bouncing off the walls. The group turned to flee, but they found themselves trapped. The doors to the room had sealed shut, and the mirror began to glow with a malevolent light.

"Run!" shouted Liang, his voice filled with urgency.

They bolted down the staircase, the sound of their footsteps growing louder with each step. But as they reached the bottom, they found the staircase had vanished, leaving them in a vast, empty space. Desperation set in as they realized they were trapped, the mirror's light growing ever brighter.

"Who's there?" Liang called out, his voice breaking.

The mirror's reflection shattered, and a ghostly figure stepped out of the darkness. It was the ghost of a man, his eyes filled with sorrow and betrayal. "You shouldn't have come," he said, his voice echoing through the empty space.

The figure reached out, and Liang felt a cold hand close around his neck. The world spun as the ghost pulled him closer, and then he was gone, leaving behind only the sound of his dying scream.

The others turned to see the ghostly figure retreating into the darkness. They ran after him, their hearts pounding with fear. But as they followed him through the empty space, they realized they were being led straight into the heart of the mirror.

The mirror's light grew even brighter, and the figures in the reflection seemed to come alive, reaching out for them. The group tried to fight back, but they were too weak, too scared. They were trapped, and the ghosts of Beijing 308 were coming for them.

As the light grew blinding, the group's last sight was of the figures in the mirror, their twisted faces contorted in a final, haunting scream.

In the morning, the bodies of the group were found in the ruins of Beijing 308, their faces twisted in a state of eternal terror. The legend of the Beijing 308 was proven true, and the city would never be the same.