Chapter 10: The Revelation

Elliot stared at the photograph on the wall, his younger self frozen in time outside Wintercroft Hall. His heart thundered in his chest as he traced the lines of the web, each red string connecting him to the Ashworths, to the others, to this place.

“He knows.”

The words beneath the photograph seemed to pulse with their own dark energy, and Elliot felt the weight of them pressing against his chest.

“Elliot,” Emma whispered, her voice trembling. “What does it mean? What do you know?”

He shook his head, his voice strained. “I don’t… I don’t know. I’ve never been here before. At least… I don’t think I have.”

“You’re in the photo,” she said softly. “That’s you, isn’t it? Standing outside this house.”

Elliot’s fingers twitched. The boy in the photo was undoubtedly him—his features, his posture, the worn jacket he remembered wearing as a kid. But no matter how hard he tried to recall, the memory wouldn’t come.

“I don’t remember this,” he said finally, his voice tight.

Emma’s eyes flicked toward the wall of photographs and strings. “You’re at the center of it,” she said. “Everything leads back to you.”

Elliot turned his attention back to the desk. There was more here—there had to be. His hands moved quickly through the scattered papers, flipping through ledgers and journals that were old and brittle with age.

One journal caught his attention. Its cover was plain, but the handwriting inside was the same precise script as the notes he had found.

“June 5: The boy has arrived. He doesn’t remember what happened. That’s good—it will make him easier to manage.”

“July 20: His presence unsettles the others. They think he doesn’t belong, but they’re wrong. He’s more tied to this than any of them.”

“September 1: The truth will come out eventually. It has to.”

Elliot’s hands trembled as he read. These entries weren’t about someone else. They were about him.

“Elliot?” Emma’s voice broke through his thoughts. “What does it say?”

He hesitated, the words swirling in his mind. “Someone’s been watching me,” he said finally. “Since I was a kid. They knew I was coming here before I even got the letter.”

“But why?” she pressed.

Before he could answer, the sound of footsteps echoed above them, heavy and deliberate.

Elliot shot Emma a look, motioning for her to stay quiet. He reached for the flashlight, killing the beam. The room plunged into darkness, and they stood frozen, listening.

The footsteps grew louder, descending the stairs toward the hidden room.

“Elliot…” Emma whispered, barely audible.

He gripped her arm gently, guiding her toward the corner of the room where the shadows were deepest. They pressed themselves against the wall, their breaths shallow as the footsteps came closer.

The door creaked open, spilling faint light from the hallway. A figure stood silhouetted in the doorway, their features obscured.

For a moment, they didn’t move. Then, slowly, the figure stepped inside.

Elliot’s heart raced as the intruder moved toward the desk. The lantern’s faint glow illuminated their features—a face he didn’t recognize.

The stranger was tall, with sharp features and an air of calm authority. They scanned the room with a clinical gaze, their eyes pausing briefly on the wall of photographs and strings before settling on the journal Elliot had been reading.

The stranger picked it up, flipping through its pages with detached curiosity.

Elliot’s grip tightened on the candlestick he’d picked up earlier. He could feel Emma trembling beside him, her fear palpable in the dark.

“Who are you?” Elliot finally demanded, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade.

The stranger didn’t flinch. They turned slowly, holding the journal in one hand, their expression unreadable.

“You don’t recognize me, do you?” they said, their voice calm.

Elliot stepped forward, keeping the candlestick raised. “Should I?”

The stranger smiled faintly. “No. You were too young to remember. But I remember you.”

Emma stepped forward, her voice shaking. “Are you the one doing this? The notes, the deaths… is it you?”

The stranger’s gaze shifted to her, their smile fading. “The deaths were inevitable,” they said. “Your guilt brought you here, not me. I simply… ensured the truth would be revealed.”

“What truth?” Elliot demanded.

The stranger’s eyes returned to him, and for the first time, their calm demeanor cracked, revealing something darker beneath.

“The truth about your brother,” they said.

Elliot’s breath hitched. The room seemed to close in around him, the walls pressing closer, the air thick and suffocating. “What do you know about my brother?”

“I know he didn’t fall,” the stranger said, their voice sharp. “And I know you’ve spent your whole life running from the truth. But you can’t run anymore, Elliot. It’s time to face what really happened that day.”

Elliot took a step forward, his knuckles white around the candlestick.

“What are you saying?” he whispered.

The stranger tilted their head, their gaze steady.

“I’m saying you killed him.”