well of anger.

The girl, Alma, had lost the last meaning in her life. Even though it seemed to her that it had never existed, before she had remained alive, and now it was hard to say the same. No feelings or emotions inside, just emptiness and a terrible fatigue that felt like it was twisting her bones. After losing the only close person in her life, she thought she had died along with him. Alma's mistake was that she didn't even try to cope with the guilt and the desire to follow her friend. Some might say she was simply stupid and weak — no, despite everything, she continued to exist, forcing herself to overcome her oppressive thoughts every day. Over time, not only emotions disappeared, but also feelings, the ones that temporarily made her understand that she existed, that she was on earth among other people. Life turned into a daily reminder to herself in the mirror that she had not yet turned into air, that unhappy cold wind that everyone disliked so much. People looked askance at Alma every time she left her house, or at least that's how it seemed to her. As if everyone saw right through her, feeling disgust. She no longer tried to fix her life until she realized just how much she did not want to die like this. I don't want to die; I'd rather never have been born. In search of lost sensations of life, she stumbled upon an article on the internet about an abandoned mansion on the outskirts of a small village. It said that fear lived in that house, its face hidden somewhere in the walls. Alma didn't feel a strong interest, but she understood that the only chance to bring herself back to life was to feel the fear of death at her very fingertips. Since the mansion was abandoned and far from any civilization, even crazy teenagers looking for fun didn't go there. She left everything in the city, taking only personal belongings and a little money. The journey there was long, but Alma was in no hurry. Looking through the window of the taxi that had reluctantly agreed to take her there, she thought about trying not to finally lose her mind there, already not running from her own thoughts. The taxi driver dropped her off near the forest, flatly refusing to go any further. She had to agree and give him a sufficient sum of money, listening to his parting words about being careful, because the story about the maniac in the walls of the house was not a fiction. She rolled her eyes, nodding without looking back, and continued with quick steps towards the mansion. Ten minutes later, Alma was standing in front of the massive door to the house, entering inside without any embarrassment or fear. Looking around, she noticed a surprisingly clean interior, although there was dust. Going up to the second floor, she quickly examined all the rooms, in one of which she found a porcelain doll sitting on a bed. Letting out a heavy sigh, Alma jerked her head towards the doll and closed the room again. Mental notes were made: where the bathroom was, the kitchen, the rooms that felt warmer to be in. She spent the day examining the entire house, also scanning the walls without much interest, but still with a faint hope for something frightening. Close to night, Alma wearily sank onto the leather sofa in the living room, feeling all her bones ache painfully. ... Opening her eyes a couple of hours later, she saw the following scene: thick books lay scattered by the sofa, their pages maliciously bent, a small desk lamp was flickering as if someone was deliberately pressing the switch every second, the mirror near the bookcase was shattered, dropping sharp shards onto the floor. Shifting her eyes to the wall, she saw a red inscription written in large, crooked letters: DIE. Alma raised her eyebrows slightly, licking her dry, cracked lips, and got to her feet. "This is all interesting, of course, but the letters are ugly," she said quietly and indifferently into the void, heading upstairs to the warm room. If only she knew that her clinical indifference had almost offended the perpetrator of the events. ... Bramhs was very surprised and simultaneously angered by the uninvited guest who had invaded his abode. At first, he observed the stranger, hoping she would leave as quickly as she had come, but that didn't happen. Displeased that someone had disturbed his quiet, embittered existence, he decided to unleash his anger upon the girl, creating a battlefield in the living room. The stranger was sleeping so soundly that for a second Bramhs thought she wasn't breathing, but after a while, she woke up. Bramhs stood on the other side of the wall, waiting for her to start running, which again did not happen. Her indifference and empty voice made him feel a fresh wave of anger, but for now, he didn't dare to reveal himself. For the first time, he had encountered something he couldn't break with fear.