x-fil.es

In the basement of an old government building, nestled among dusty file cabinets and forgotten records, there was a file
labeled only with an "X." Its existence was rumored, whispered about by the few who dared to wander into the
deepest parts of the archives. No one remembered who created it or why. The file was said to contain something
strange, something that didn't fit neatly into the world as we understood it. But for years, no one found it
again. Or perhaps they had and just didn't come back to tell. The
file wasn't supposed to be where it was. It seemed to move, slipping between drawers, or maybe it stayed still
while the rest of the building shifted around it. Some claimed they had seen it, a glimpse of that ominous
"X" as they sifted through yellowed papers. They'd feel a pull, a creeping sensation at the back of their mind,
as if they were being watched, as if the file itself was alive, aware.
One day, a new archivist, drawn by these eerie tales, decided to find it. He descended into the basement,
flashlight flickering in the dim light, the air thick with the smell of mildew and time. As he rifled through
the cabinets, he began to feel a presence, something just out of sight. He wasn't sure if it was his
own breath or someone else's. After hours that felt like days, he found
a cabinet with a broken lock. The drawer slid open easily, almost too easily. And there it wasthe "X" file,
nestled among folders that seemed older than the building itself. The folder was brittle, its edges curling like ancient leaves.
He hesitated before opening it, and for a moment, he thought he heard a whisper, but it wasn't clear if
it came from the file or his own mind. Inside, the file was
empty. No papers, no notes, nothing. Just an empty folder with an "X." But as he stared at it, the
light in the basement flickered, and he felt the temperature drop. The darkness deepened, closing in around him, and the
walls seemed to groan. He suddenly couldn't move, couldn't breathe. It was as if the file was sucking the air
from the room, from his lungs. He dropped the file and ran, leaving
it behind as he fled the basement. When he returned with help, the cabinet was gone, and so was the
file. The others dismissed his story, chalking it up to an overactive imagination and too much time spent in the
dark. But the archivist knew what he had seenwhat he had felt. Weeks
later, he was found at his desk, staring blankly at a spot on the wall, his face pale and eyes
wide. On his desk was an empty file, marked with an "X," though no one knew how it had gotten
there. After that, the building was closed off, the basement sealed. No one
spoke of the file again, though some say if you listen closely, you can still hear the faint rustling of
papers in the dark, whispering secrets that were never meant to be found. And the "X" file? It waits, somewhere,
biding its time until someone is foolish enough to seek it out again.