In the quaint town of Cherrywood, there lived an elderly woman named Mrs. Agnes Thompson. Agnes was known for her sweet demeanor and her unwavering obsession with bingo. Every Friday night, she would make her way to the local community center, her eyes gleaming with anticipation. Bingo was more than a game to her; it was her lifeline, her escape from the loneliness that had crept into her life after her husband’s passing.


One particularly stormy evening, the community center was unusually empty. The rain poured down in sheets, and the wind howled through the trees. But nothing could keep Agnes from her beloved bingo night. She arrived, drenched but determined, and took her usual seat at the front of the hall.


As the game began, Agnes noticed something strange. The usual crowd was missing, replaced by unfamiliar faces with hollow eyes and eerie smiles. The bingo caller, Mr. Jenkins, seemed different too. His voice was deeper, almost otherworldly, as he called out the numbers.


Mr. Jenkins: “B-13… G-47… O-66…”


Agnes’s heart raced as she marked her card. She was close to winning, but a sense of unease settled over her. The room felt colder, and the air grew thick with an unsettling tension.


Suddenly, the lights flickered, and the room plunged into darkness. When the lights came back on, the hall was empty. Agnes was alone, her bingo card clutched tightly in her trembling hands.


Agnes: “Hello? Is anyone there?”


Her voice echoed through the empty hall. She stood up, her legs shaky, and made her way to the exit. But the door wouldn’t budge. Panic set in as she realized she was trapped.


Mr. Jenkins’s voice echoed through the hall, though he was nowhere to be seen.


Mr. Jenkins: “You wanted to win, didn’t you, Agnes? Well, now you have.”


Agnes turned to see the bingo board glowing with an eerie light. The numbers on her card began to rearrange themselves, forming a message: “WINNER.”


Agnes: “What is this? What’s happening?”


The room grew colder, and shadows danced along the walls. The faces of the other players appeared, their hollow eyes staring at her.


Player: “Welcome to the eternal bingo game, Agnes. You can never leave.”


Agnes’s heart pounded as she backed away, but the shadows closed in around her. She felt a cold hand on her shoulder and turned to see Mr. Jenkins, his eyes glowing with a sinister light.


Mr. Jenkins: “You wanted to win, and now you have. Forever.”


Agnes screamed as the shadows enveloped her, pulling her into the darkness. The community center was silent once more, the only sound the rain pounding against the windows.


The next morning, the townspeople found the community center empty, save for a single bingo card on the floor. It was marked “WINNER” in bold letters, but Agnes was nowhere to be found.


From that day on, the community center was abandoned, and the legend of Agnes Thompson’s eternal bingo game became a chilling tale told to keep children away from the old building. They said that on stormy nights, you could still hear the faint sound of bingo numbers being called, and if you listened closely, the desperate cries of Agnes, forever trapped in her obsession.