Chapter 17: The Sacrifice

The whispers followed them up the twisting staircase, a rising tide of voices that seemed to echo from the stone walls themselves. They were faint at first, like murmurs carried on the wind, but as Elliot and Emma climbed higher, the voices grew louder, sharper, as though demanding their attention.

Emma clung to the railing, her breaths ragged. “Elliot, it’s like the house is… alive.”

“It’s been alive,” Elliot muttered, his jaw tight. “We just didn’t want to see it.”

They emerged into the main corridor, the oppressive air of the passage still clinging to them. The once-familiar mansion now seemed foreign, its halls darker, its shadows deeper. It felt as though the house had shifted while they were below, twisting into something unrecognizable.

The whispers faded as they stepped into the grand foyer, replaced by a suffocating silence.

Elliot turned to Emma, his voice low but urgent. “We need to figure this out before it’s too late.”

Emma nodded, though her hands trembled. “You said the book mentioned a choice. What kind of choice?”

Elliot hesitated, the weight of the truth pressing down on him. “A sacrifice,” he said finally. “The house… it wants someone to stay. It wants one of us to die.”

Emma recoiled, her eyes wide. “No. That can’t be true.”

“It’s the only thing that makes sense,” Elliot said. “All the deaths, all the warnings—it’s been leading to this. The house needs someone to pay its price.”

Emma shook her head, her voice rising. “But why us? What did we do to deserve this?”

Elliot didn’t have an answer. He thought of the journal, the photographs, the cryptic notes. Every piece of the puzzle pointed to one thing: they had been chosen, their lives tied to Wintercroft Hall in ways they didn’t fully understand.

“We were brought here for a reason,” he said finally. “And if we don’t figure it out, we’re not leaving.”

A sudden noise broke the silence—a deep, resonant chime that echoed through the house.

Elliot and Emma froze, their eyes snapping to the source of the sound. The grandfather clock in the east wing had struck again, its toll heavy and deliberate.

“It’s close to midnight,” Emma whispered.

Elliot checked the time on his watch: 12:07. Six minutes until the mysterious 12:13 etched into the clock’s face.

“We need to go back to the study,” Elliot said, his voice firm. “There’s something we missed.”

Emma hesitated, her fear palpable, but she nodded and followed him down the dim corridor.

The study felt colder than before, its shadows darker and its silence heavier. The portrait above the fireplace loomed over them, the man’s piercing eyes seeming to follow their every move.

Elliot’s flashlight beam swept over the desk, the journal, the scattered papers. The coordinates scrawled in the journal nagged at him, but there was no time to decipher them now. His attention returned to the words etched into the page: “The subject must choose. Only one may leave.”

“What if we don’t choose?” Emma asked, her voice trembling.

Elliot frowned, his mind racing. “Then I think the house will decide for us.”

Emma’s eyes widened, her breath hitching. “Elliot… I don’t want to die.”

Her words hung heavy in the air, raw and desperate.

Elliot met her gaze, his own fear mirrored in her tear-filled eyes. “Neither do I,” he said softly. “But we’re not dead yet. There has to be a way out of this.”

The chime of the clock echoed again, louder this time, its sound reverberating through the room.

Elliot checked his watch: 12:10.

Three minutes.

He moved to the fireplace, crouching low to inspect the narrow passage they had discovered earlier. The air seeping from within was colder now, carrying with it the faintest sound of whispers.

“Elliot…” Emma’s voice trembled.

He turned to see her staring at the portrait, her face pale. The man in the painting seemed… different. His expression, once stern and composed, now twisted into a faint smile.

“It changed,” she whispered.

Elliot stepped closer, his heart pounding. The longer he looked, the clearer the change became. The man’s eyes seemed alive, his gaze sharp and mocking, as though he were watching them.

And then, slowly, the faint sound of footsteps echoed behind the walls.

Elliot spun around, his flashlight beam darting across the room. The footsteps grew louder, deliberate and unhurried, coming closer with each passing second.

“Someone’s coming,” Emma whispered, her voice barely audible.

Elliot nodded, his muscles tense. He grabbed the candlestick from the desk, gripping it tightly as the footsteps stopped just outside the study door.

The doorknob turned slowly.

“Get behind me,” Elliot said, his voice low.

Emma hesitated but obeyed, her trembling hands clutching the edge of the desk.

The door creaked open, revealing a figure standing in the dim hallway.

It was Vivienne.

Her frail body was upright, her face calm, her eyes gleaming with an intensity that sent a chill down Elliot’s spine.

“You’re almost there,” she said, her voice soft but commanding.

Elliot tightened his grip on the candlestick. “What do you want from us?”

Vivienne stepped into the room, her movements slow and deliberate. “It’s not what I want,” she said. “It’s what the house wants. And the house always gets what it’s owed.”

Vivienne’s gaze shifted to the clock, its chime striking again, louder than ever.

12:12.

She smiled faintly, her eyes locking on Elliot. “The moment is almost here. Are you ready to decide?”