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Chapter 1: The Invitation
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2025-01-17 06:44:42The letter arrived on a Monday.
Elliot almost didn’t open it. Bills and threats from creditors came regularly, shoved through his mail slot like a slap in the face. This envelope, though, stood out—thick, cream-colored, and stamped with an unfamiliar crest. The handwriting on the front was sharp and precise, spelling his name as though someone had carved it there. He slit it open with the edge of a key, curious despite himself. “Wintercroft Hall invites you to uncover the truth. A story you won’t forget. Your passage will be arranged.” No signature, no explanation. Just an address, and at the bottom, a postscript: “Some things refuse to stay buried.” Elliot tossed it onto the cluttered coffee table, next to an empty whiskey bottle. He tried not to think about it. Wintercroft Hall? It sounded like one of those haunted tourist traps rich people paid to renovate. But by Wednesday, he’d Googled it. By Friday, he was packing. The ferry rocked against the tide, the spray of saltwater biting against Elliot’s face. The captain, a man who looked like he’d stepped out of a maritime nightmare with weathered skin and a voice like gravel, barely spoke. “Wintercroft,” the man grunted when Elliot asked for confirmation. “Ain’t a place you wanna linger.” The island rose out of the mist like a broken tooth, jagged cliffs towering over the sea. At its peak stood the mansion. Wintercroft Hall looked as though it had been abandoned to rot, its gothic spires silhouetted against the graying sky. Elliot felt the first twinge of unease as he disembarked, his boots sinking into the damp earth. The others were already there—six of them, standing awkwardly near the entrance. A young woman with dark, calculating eyes glanced his way and then looked quickly away. A man in a tailored coat paced the gravel, his movements sharp and impatient. No one spoke. “Mr. Dorne?” A voice broke the silence, low and formal. A butler—straight-backed, pale as milk—motioned toward the open doors of the mansion. Inside, the air smelled of mildew and old wood. A grand staircase loomed ahead, its banisters lined with faded carvings of wolves and roses. Elliot took it all in, trying to quiet the voice in his head whispering, You shouldn’t have come. In the dining room, the strangers gathered. The long table was set with gleaming silverware, as though they were attending a banquet, but the chairs creaked under their weight. “Why are we here?” someone asked. Before anyone could answer, the door at the far end of the room opened. A wheelchair rolled into view, pushed by the butler. At first, Elliot didn’t see the figure in it. She was shrouded in shadow, small and frail. Then she raised her head, and her voice cut through the room like a blade. “Welcome to Wintercroft Hall,” said Vivienne Ashworth. Her voice, though weak, carried an edge of authority. “You are here because the truth always demands an audience.” Vivienne’s eyes scanned the room, sharp and knowing. “Before this is over, some of you will wish you’d stayed away.”
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For a moment, no one moved.Vivienne Ashworth sat slumped in her wheelchair, skeletal fingers draped over the armrests. She looked impossibly old, as if she’d crumble into dust at the slightest gust of wind. But her eyes—those pale, piercing eyes—moved over the group with disconcerting sharpness, as if she could see straight into their thoughts.“You’ve been brought here,” she said, her voice trembling but deliberate, “because the past always finds a way to surface. Even when we bury it, deep as we dare.”Elliot’s stomach twisted. He was good at spotting performance—an occupational hazard of chasing down stories for years—but there was something about Vivienne that didn’t feel staged. It felt raw. Real.Before anyone could respond, she motioned toward the butler, who handed her a small black box. Vivienne opened it, revealing seven folded pieces of paper.“One for each of you,” she said, her voice rasping like dry leaves. “Your past follows you here.”She extended a trembling hand, ho
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The scream tore through Wintercroft Hall, sharp and full of terror.Elliot froze in the doorway, his fingers tightening around the brass candlestick. For a moment, the storm outside seemed to quiet, as if the house itself was holding its breath. Then the sound of frantic footsteps echoed down the hallway.He turned to see the auburn-haired woman from earlier—Emma, if he remembered her name right—running toward him. Her face was pale, her eyes wide with panic.“Someone’s dead,” she whispered, her voice shaking. “In the stairwell. There’s… there’s blood everywhere.”Elliot didn’t wait for more. He followed her down the hall, the cold air of the mansion biting at his skin. When they reached the grand staircase, the rest of the group had already gathered, standing in stunned silence.At the base of the staircase, sprawled awkwardly across the marble floor, was the body of the impatient man in the tailored coat. His head was twisted at an unnatural angle, and a dark pool of blood spread ou
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The morning brought no comfort.The storm had lessened to a steady drizzle, but Wintercroft Hall remained shrouded in gloom. The lingering scent of damp wood and decay seeped into Elliot’s senses as he descended the grand staircase. The bloodstain from the previous night had been scrubbed away, but the memory of the body sprawled there was harder to erase.The group gathered in the dining room, their movements tense, their faces drawn. Breakfast had been laid out—perfectly arranged plates of fruit, toast, and eggs—but no one touched the food.“Did anyone sleep?” Emma asked, her voice breaking the uneasy silence.“I wouldn’t call it sleep,” muttered the man with glasses. He glanced toward the hallway, where the butler had disappeared moments before. “And I didn’t hear anything from Henry, either.”Elliot stirred his coffee, his thoughts elsewhere. The figure he’d seen in the hallway last night—it wasn’t just paranoia. He was sure of it.Vivienne’s note still sat in his pocket, crumpled
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Elliot stared at Emma, her words hanging heavy in the damp, claustrophobic air of the hidden room.“Who?” he managed, his voice low and steady, though his heart pounded in his chest.“It’s Madeleine,” Emma whispered, her voice cracking. “We found her in the sitting room. She… she’s gone.”Elliot’s jaw tightened. Madeleine had been one of the most guarded among them, sharp-tongued and suspicious of everyone. He hadn’t liked her much, but the thought of her lifeless—just another casualty of this nightmare—sent a cold shiver down his spine.Emma’s trembling voice cut through his thoughts. “I can’t do this anymore, Elliot. We’re all going to die here, aren’t we?”He stepped closer, lowering his voice. “We’re not dying here. Not if we can figure out what’s going on.”Emma’s wide eyes met his, tears threatening to spill over. “And what if it doesn’t matter? What if they’re going to kill us anyway?”Elliot didn’t have an answer.The sitting room was colder than Elliot remembered, its once gr
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The storm raged outside, wind howling through the skeletal trees that lined the long, winding road to Wintercroft Hall. The figure in the doorway shivered violently, their breath coming in ragged gasps as rain dripped from their soaked clothes onto the marble floor.Elliot didn’t move. Neither did Isla.The house had chosen again.The newcomer clutched a damp, crumpled envelope in their trembling fingers. Their knuckles were pale, their hands shaking as they held the letter out like proof of something they still didn’t fully understand.“I—I got this,” they stammered, their voice raw with panic. “I don’t know why. I don’t even know why I came.” Their wild eyes darted between Elliot and Isla. “I think I made a mistake.”Elliot exhaled slowly, his fingers curling at his sides.They always say that at first.The house was never wrong.“You should come inside,” Elliot said.The figure hesitated, looking over their shoulder as if debating whether to turn and run.Elliot had seen that hesi
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Isla shifted in her chair, glancing around the room as if searching for something solid, something that made sense. The warmth of the fire didn’t seem to reach her, and despite her best effort to appear unimpressed, Elliot could see the tension in her posture, the way her fingers curled slightly into her palms. She wasn’t just uncomfortable she was unsettled.She wasn’t the only one.The house had changed the moment she walked in. Elliot could feel it an awareness pressing in from all sides. The air carried a weight now, charged with something just beneath the surface, like the moment before a storm broke. It was always like this when a new arrival came. Wintercroft Hall was patient, but not passive. It had waited for Isla, and now it was watching.Elliot leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Tell me why you’re here.”Isla scoffed, crossing her arms. “You’re the one who’s supposed to have the answers. You tell me.”Elliot studied her carefully. “You got the letter. And som
