In a small, rain-soaked town where secrets gathered like fog in the alleys, a peculiar man named Gideon opened shop. His sign, simple but strange, read: “For a price, I can take your guilt. What I do with it is my business.”
People whispered about him but stayed clear. Yet, for those who carried unbearable guilt, Gideon’s offer was the only option. Word spread that his service came with conditions: you had to confess fully, not just what you’d done, but why, the darkest corners of your mind laid bare. Only then could he take your guilt.
One night, a woman named Lila arrived, eyes hollow from the weight she bore. She had caused an accident years ago, and her guilt had haunted her dreams and every waking moment since. Gideon, with a voice as soft as smoke, listened, drawing out her confession in such a way that even things she hadn’t realized she felt came to light. When she finished, her guilt lifted like a shadow peeling away. She felt lighter, free even, for the first time in years.
But as the days passed, a strange unease gripped her. Dreams came first—distorted scenes of her past, now interwoven with a sinister figure lurking in every memory. Soon, visions followed her in daylight, familiar faces twisting in fear, their voices faintly echoing her deepest, hidden thoughts.
Desperate, she returned to Gideon’s shop, only to find it empty. The sign now read, “Closed for renovations.” She asked around town, but no one knew where he had gone. As days turned to weeks, Lila became obsessed, consumed by her need to know where Gideon had taken her guilt—and what he intended to do with it.
In her final days, as she lay feverish and trembling, neighbors whispered that the woman who sought to rid herself of guilt had paid a terrible price. For as Gideon had said, what he did with guilt was his business, and no one had dared ask what became of those who sold their souls to be rid of it.
Lila’s obsession turned into a fever that gnawed at her mind and spirit. She searched everywhere, hoping to find Gideon and reclaim her peace, but it was as if he had vanished into thin air, leaving only her unraveling sanity in his wake.
One stormy night, as lightning lit up the streets, Lila found herself drawn to an abandoned warehouse on the edge of town. Shadows danced in the flickering light, and she could swear she heard whispers, eerie echoes of her past regrets and secrets. As she stepped inside, the door slammed shut behind her, leaving her in pitch darkness.
A faint glow appeared at the far end of the room, and in the dim light, Gideon stood waiting, his face hidden in shadow. Lila’s voice cracked as she pleaded, “Please, give it back. I can’t live like this. Take whatever you want—just give me my mind back.”
Gideon stepped closer, his eyes gleaming with an unnatural light. “What’s been given cannot be returned, Lila. Your guilt now feeds a darker purpose. I take what others seek to bury, and I weave it into something new, something that finds life of its own.”
With those words, Lila saw dark shapes slithering from the corners of the room, shadows merging and taking form. They were people she recognized—faces twisted by despair and terror—figures from her memories brought to life in spectral form. They reached out, whispering her regrets back to her, their cold touch drawing out any warmth left in her soul.
In a final act of horror, Gideon raised his hand, and the shadows closed in around her. They claimed her, piece by piece, until she became nothing more than a shadow herself—a new ghost among the many who had come seeking his help. And as her final breath slipped away, Gideon turned to leave, his sign hanging now in the warehouse’s empty doorway.
The townsfolk would later say that, on quiet nights, you could still hear whispers echoing from the warehouse, desperate voices calling for mercy. But no one dared go near it, for they knew that Gideon’s promise was not a gift but a curse, a hunger that would never be satisfied.