Uncover Tartaria’s Lost Secrets: The Hidden History They Don’t Want You to Know

**The Rift Beneath Rosewood**

It was just past 8 p.m. when the earthquake hit. A quick jolt, a rumble, and then silence. The kind of silence that feels heavier than it should. Over on Rosewood Avenue, a small, unassuming street lined with bungalows and palm trees, the residents stepped outside to check for damage. Cracked sidewalks, a few fallen roof tiles, but nothing catastrophic. Just another Tuesday in LA.

Except for the house at the end of the block. 1428 Rosewood.

The tremor had split the ground in front of the house clean open a jagged fissure about three feet wide, stretching from the curb to the front porch. It wasn’t deep, maybe six feet, but it was… strange. The edges of the crack glistened, as if wet, though no water was visible. And the air around it smelled faintly metallic, like pennies and ozone.

The neighbors gathered, phones out, snapping pictures and murmuring theories. “It’s just the earthquake,” someone said. “Happens all the time.” But no one could explain the faint, rhythmic *thumping* coming from below. Like a heartbeat, slow and steady, rising from the depths.

By midnight, the crowd had thinned. Only a few stragglers remained, drawn by curiosity or something darker. Among them was Mia, a 24-year-old barista who lived two doors down. She’d always been the skeptical type, the one who rolled her eyes at ghost stories and conspiracy theories. But even she couldn’t deny the pull of that fissure. It felt… alive.

She crouched at the edge, shining her phone’s flashlight into the darkness. The beam caught something, a glint of movement, like scales sliding over stone. Her breath hitched. “Did you see that?” she asked, turning to the man beside her. But he was gone. In fact, everyone was gone. The street was empty, the houses dark, as if the entire block had been abandoned.

The thumping grew louder, more insistent. Mia stood, her heart racing, and took a step back. That’s when she saw it a hand, pale and slender, gripping the edge of the fissure. Then another. And another. Dozens of hands, clawing their way to the surface.

She wanted to run, but her legs wouldn’t obey. The hands were followed by faces smooth, featureless, and glowing faintly, like moonlight on water. They had no eyes, no mouths, but Mia could feel them *watching* her, *hungering* for her.

The figures pulled themselves free, their bodies fluid and shimmering, as if made of liquid mercury. They moved in unison, gliding toward her, their silence more terrifying than any scream. Mia finally found her voice, but the sound that came out wasn’t hers. It was a low, guttural growl, echoing from the fissure below.

The last thing she saw before the darkness took her was the fissure closing, sealing itself as if it had never been there. The street was quiet again, the houses lit, the neighbors milling about as if nothing had happened.

But Mia was gone. And if you listen closely on quiet nights, you can still hear the thumping, faint but steady, rising from beneath 1428 Rosewood. Some say it’s the earth settling. Others say it’s something else, something waiting.

Either way, you might want to avoid that end of the block. Just in case.

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