Whispers of the Final Cell: The Unseen Torments of Death Row

In the shadowed confines of the decrepit penal institution, a cell number 13 had long been the subject of whispered fears and shudders. It was the last resting place of Mark, the man destined to be the final execution by lethal injection. The day of his execution was one of the darkest in the institution's history, as Mark, with eyes wide with the fear of the unknown, was led to the chamber that would end his life.

As the night after his execution descended upon the institution, a cold wind seemed to sweep through the halls, chilling the bones of the guards and inmates alike. The cell number 13, once a place of solitude, now became a focal point of unease. It was said that Mark's final words were a silent scream, and the echo of those words seemed to linger in the air, even as the cell lay empty.

The next day, a new prisoner, Alex, was assigned to cell number 13. His arrival was met with a mix of curiosity and dread. Alex had been in the system for years, but he was no ordinary criminal. He was a man who had always been fascinated by the supernatural, a man who had spent his days researching the unexplainable and the forbidden.

As Alex settled into his new cell, he couldn't shake the feeling that he was not alone. The cell was barren, save for a wooden chair, a small table, and a narrow window that let in the meager light of the dimly lit corridor. He spent his first night in the cell, trying to focus on the books he had brought with him, but the whispers grew louder, more insistent.

"What's your name?" a voice called, and Alex turned to find no one. He laughed it off as the sound of the wind outside. But the next night, the voice returned, clearer, more direct.

"Mark. I'm Mark."

Alex's heart raced. He had read enough of the supernatural to know that this was no trick of the mind. Mark was here, in the cell, with him. Alex tried to speak, to rationalize the situation away, but the words would not come. He was trapped in the cell with the ghost of a man who had met his end only hours before.

The days passed, and Alex found himself becoming more and more attached to the spirit of Mark. They spoke of life, of death, of the regrets and the dreams that Mark had left behind. But as the bond between them grew, so did the unease. Mark spoke of a darkness that was coming, a darkness that would consume the cell, and by extension, consume Alex.

One evening, as the moon hung low in the sky, casting a silver glow on the walls, Mark's voice became urgent.

"You must leave, Alex. You must get out of here before it's too late."

Alex tried to argue, to find a way to make Mark's presence in the cell real. But as the night wore on, the whispers grew louder, the cold more biting. The cell seemed to twist and turn, as if trying to trap Alex within its walls.

Desperate, Alex made a decision. He would confront the spirit of Mark, demand answers, and if necessary, face the darkness that Mark spoke of. He opened the door to the cell, and there, standing in the hallway, was a shadow, a dark, swirling mass that seemed to seep from the walls.

"Mark?" Alex called, but the shadow did not respond. It moved, flowing around him, and in that moment, Alex realized that Mark was not the one to fear. It was the darkness, the thing that Mark had called the "final torment."

With a scream, Alex turned to run, but the darkness was fast. It closed in around him, wrapping itself around his legs, pulling him down to the floor. As he fought to escape, the cell door slammed shut, locking him in. The whispers grew louder, the cold seeped into his bones, and the darkness closed in around him.

In the end, it was not the execution that marked Mark, but the lingering presence that haunted the cell. It was not the darkness that consumed Alex, but his own fear. And in the silence that followed, the institution of death row, cell number 13, remained a place of eternal shadows, a place where the unseen torments of the last death row inmate continued to linger.