Chapter 12: The Chase

The scream pierced the silence, cutting through Elliot’s thoughts like a blade. He froze, Emma clutching his arm as the sound echoed down the hallways of Wintercroft Hall. It was raw and desperate, full of terror, and it didn’t stop.

“We have to go,” Emma said, her voice trembling.

Elliot nodded, shaking off the fog in his mind. He grabbed the flashlight and turned toward the door, but when he looked back, the stranger was gone—vanished into the shadows.

“Where did they go?” Emma asked.

Elliot didn’t answer. There wasn’t time.

The scream came again, fainter now, as if whoever was screaming was moving deeper into the mansion. Without another word, Elliot and Emma bolted out of the room and into the dark, twisting halls.

The mansion seemed to close in around them as they ran. Shadows stretched long across the walls, and the air grew colder the farther they went. The flickering flashlight beam barely pierced the gloom, and the sound of their footsteps echoed like gunshots against the stone floors.

“Who do you think it is?” Emma asked breathlessly as they rounded a corner.

“I don’t know,” Elliot said. “But we need to find them before it’s too late.”

Another scream, this one cut short, like someone had been silenced mid-cry.

Elliot stopped in his tracks, his chest heaving. He turned the flashlight toward the source of the sound, illuminating a door at the end of the hallway. It was slightly ajar, swinging gently as if inviting them inside.

“Do you think they’re in there?” Emma asked, her voice trembling.

“Only one way to find out,” Elliot said grimly.

The room beyond the door was vast and cavernous, its high ceilings disappearing into darkness. The faint light from the flashlight caught glimpses of old furniture, dusty paintings, and a massive fireplace lined with cold, blackened stone.

Elliot’s stomach twisted. Something about this room felt wrong, like it was holding its breath.

“Hello?” he called out, his voice echoing.

Silence.

Emma clung to his side, her eyes darting nervously around the room. “What is this place?”

Elliot didn’t answer. His eyes were drawn to the center of the room, where something glinted in the light—a small, ornate mirror resting on the floor. Its frame was intricately carved, the silver tarnished with age.

“What is that doing here?” Emma asked, her voice hushed.

Elliot stepped closer, his flashlight beam catching his own reflection. His face stared back at him, pale and drawn, but something about the image was off. The longer he looked, the more distorted it became, as though the mirror itself was shifting.

“Don’t touch it,” Emma whispered, her voice tight.

Elliot knelt beside the mirror, his hand hovering just above the surface. There was something written on the glass in faint, almost invisible letters:

“Who do you see?”

The words sent a chill down his spine.

A sudden noise shattered the silence—a heavy thud from the far corner of the room.

Elliot sprang to his feet, his flashlight darting toward the sound. For a moment, the beam caught movement—something quick, almost too fast to see.

“Did you see that?” Emma hissed, her voice rising in panic.

“I saw it,” Elliot muttered, his pulse pounding.

They moved cautiously toward the corner of the room, where the shadows were thickest. Elliot could feel Emma’s breath on his shoulder, her fear mirroring his own.

The light caught something on the floor—a shoe.

Elliot crouched down, his heart hammering in his chest. He recognized the shoe immediately: it belonged to Jonah.

“Oh no,” Emma whispered.

The beam of light traveled farther, revealing Jonah’s body slumped against the wall. His head lolled to one side, his eyes wide and glassy. A thin stream of blood trickled from his temple, pooling on the floor beneath him.

Elliot felt a wave of nausea roll over him. “We’re too late.”

Emma knelt beside Jonah, her hands trembling as she checked for a pulse. After a moment, she shook her head, tears streaming down her face.

“Why is this happening?” she whispered.

Elliot didn’t have an answer. His eyes traveled over Jonah’s body, searching for any clues. That’s when he saw it—a piece of paper tucked into Jonah’s hand.

He pried it loose carefully, his hands shaking as he unfolded it.

The note was short, written in the same precise handwriting as the others:

“The truth is in the light, but the light won’t save you.”

“What does that mean?” Emma asked, peering over his shoulder.

Elliot shook his head. “I don’t know. But it’s another clue. Whoever’s doing this—they’re still toying with us.”

Emma stood, wiping her tears angrily. “We have to stop them. Before anyone else dies.”

Elliot nodded, his jaw tightening. “We will. But we need to figure out what this means first.”

They left the room, their movements tense and hurried. Jonah’s death weighed heavily on both of them, and the mansion seemed even more oppressive now, its shadows darker, its air heavier.

As they moved through the halls, Elliot replayed the stranger’s words in his mind: “You’ve been running from the truth your whole life.”

He didn’t want to admit it, but there was a part of him that wondered if they were right.

Elliot and Emma reached the staircase leading back to the main floor, their footsteps echoing in the silence.

As they ascended, a figure appeared at the top of the stairs, waiting for them.

It wasn’t the stranger.

It was Vivienne.

Her eyes gleamed in the dim light, her frail body upright and steady. “You’re almost there,” she said, her voice like a whisper carried on the wind.

Elliot froze, his breath catching.

Vivienne smiled faintly. “But the hardest part is yet to come.”