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Chapter 32: Another One Answers

ผู้เขียน: Alele Tombra
last update ปรับปรุงล่าสุด: 2025-03-24 13:44:27

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 hesitation before.

It never lasted.

The house always got what it wanted.

And the moment the thought of leaving crossed their mind, the wind picked up violently, slamming the doors of Wintercroft Hall wide open.

The newcomer flinched. Then, slowly, they stepped forward.

The instant they crossed the threshold, the doors swung shut behind them with a heavy, resonant boom.

Isla inhaled sharply, gripping the stair railing.

Elliot didn’t flinch.

He just watched as the house claimed its next guest.

The newcomer stood dripping in the dim candlelight, their arms wrapped tightly around themselves. Their dark hair was plastered to their forehead, their soaked jacket clinging to their shivering frame. They were young mid -twenties, maybe. Sharp-featured. Tired eyes. But it was the look in those eyes that made Elliot’s stomach sink.

They weren’t just afraid.

They were hollow.

“Name?” Elliot asked.

The newcomer hesitated. Their gaze flicked toward Isla, who was watching with barely concealed apprehension. Then they looked back at Elliot.

“Ethan,” they said, their voice hoarse. “Ethan Hayes.”

Elliot nodded, already filing the name away. The house would remember it, just like it remembered all of them.

Ethan swallowed hard, shifting his weight. “What is this place?”

Wintercroft creaked softly, as if pleased by the question.

Elliot studied him carefully. “You don’t know?”

Ethan shook his head. “I I’ve never been here before.”

Elliot tilted his head slightly. “You sure about that?”

Ethan frowned. “Yeah. I mean, I think so.” His fingers twitched around the envelope still clutched in his hands. “I just… I don’t know why I came.”

Elliot exchanged a glance with Isla.

She knew better now. She knew what that meant.

Ethan wasn’t here by accident.

No one ever was.

Elliot stepped back from the doorway. “Come on. You’re freezing.”

Ethan hesitated, then took a slow step forward, his wet boots leaving small puddles in his wake. Isla stayed on the staircase, her arms crossed tightly over her chest.

Elliot led Ethan into the sitting room, where the fire still burned low. “Sit,” Elliot said, motioning toward one of the worn chairs near the hearth.

Ethan hesitated but eventually sank into the chair, rubbing his arms for warmth. The fire crackled, flickering shadows dancing across his pale features.

Isla hovered near the doorway, watching him warily.

Elliot leaned against the mantel, studying Ethan. “You really don’t remember this place?”

Ethan shook his head. “No. Should I?”

Elliot didn’t answer right away.

Instead, he nodded toward the envelope in Ethan’s hands. “What does it say?”

Ethan exhaled, smoothing the damp paper before carefully opening it. He unfolded the letter inside, his eyes scanning the short message.

Slowly, his face paled.

Elliot already knew what it said.

Ethan,

You are invited to Wintercroft Hall. The answers you seek are waiting. But beware some truths cannot be buried forever.

Ethan’s throat bobbed as he swallowed. His fingers tightened around the paper.

“Who sent this?” he asked, his voice tight.

Elliot exhaled. “The house.”

Ethan blinked. “Excuse me?”

“The house,” Elliot repeated. “It’s why you’re here.”

Ethan let out a short, nervous laugh. “That’s insane.”

Elliot just watched him. “Is it?”

Ethan rubbed his temple, shaking his head. “Look, I don’t know what’s going on, but I don’t belong here. I was just” He stopped himself.

Elliot caught it immediately. “You were just what?”

Ethan hesitated.

A long pause stretched between them.

Then

“I was driving,” he muttered, his voice quieter now. “I I got the letter a few days ago, and I wasn’t going to come. But I—I don’t know, something pulled me here.” He exhaled shakily. “I don’t even remember turning onto the road that led here. One minute, I was somewhere else, and the next…” His eyes flicked up to Elliot’s. “I was here.”

Elliot nodded slowly. “The house brought you.”

Ethan scoffed, shaking his head. “That’s ridiculous.”

Elliot just tilted his head. “Then why didn’t you turn around?”

Ethan flinched.

He had no answer.

Neither did Isla.

Because they both knew the truth.

Even if Ethan wouldn’t admit it yet.

Silence filled the room. The fire flickered, shadows shifting along the walls.

Elliot let the quiet stretch, watching Ethan process everything in real-time. He was doing the same thing Isla had done grasping for a logical explanation, for something that made sense.

But Wintercroft didn’t deal in logic.

It only dealt in truth.

And soon, it would make Ethan remember his.

Elliot sighed, pushing off the mantel. “You’re here now,” he said, his tone level. “And the house won’t let you go until you figure out why.”

Ethan let out a harsh breath, dragging a hand down his face. “This is insane.”

Elliot shrugged. “Maybe.”

Ethan stared at him, something sharp and desperate in his expression. “How do I leave?”

Elliot didn’t smile. Didn’t break eye contact.

“You don’t,” he said simply.

Ethan swallowed hard.

The fire crackled.

And somewhere, deep in the mansion, something shifted.

The house had its new guest.

And now, it was waking up again.

Isla took a slow step closer to Elliot, lowering her voice so only he could hear.

“He’s not ready.”

Elliot kept his eyes on Ethan, who was still staring into the fire, his hands clenched.

“He will be,” Elliot murmured.

Because soon, whether Ethan liked it or not

The house would make him remember.

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  • The Echoes we Bury   Chapter 33: When the House Decides

    Ethan sat by the fire, his hands still gripping the damp letter like it could anchor him to something solid. His breathing had slowed, but his eyes darted around the room, flicking to every shadow, every flickering candle. He wasn’t just cold he was aware.The house had taken hold.It always started like this. A creeping, crawling unease. A presence pressing just beyond the edges of awareness. The mind searching for a way to rationalize what it already knew, but wouldn’t yet accept.Elliot had seen it before.He leaned against the fireplace, arms crossed. Isla hovered near the door, her expression unreadable. She hadn’t said much since Ethan arrived. She was still shaken from her own encounter, still processing the weight of her memories clawing their way back to the surface.Ethan was next.The house would dig into him, same as it had with her. Same as it had with Elliot.The only question wasHow long would it take before Ethan stopped fighting?And how much would the house take bef

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    Ethan couldn’t breathe.The room was spinning, the walls stretching and closing in at the same time. The shadows near the closet deepened, curling at the edges like ink bleeding into paper. The hand reaching through the gap trembled slightly, fingers flexing, waiting.Tyler.The name burned in Ethan’s chest, scraping against ribs that felt too tight, lungs that wouldn’t expand properly.This wasn’t real.It couldn’t be real.But he couldn’t look away.The hand moved again.“Why did you leave me?”The voice his brother’s voice was so soft, so broken, that Ethan felt something splinter inside him.He staggered forward before he could stop himself, his breath coming in quick, shallow bursts.“I didn’t,” he rasped. “I”But the words caught in his throat.Because he had.A memory surfaced, sharp and raw.Ethan was eleven. Tyler was seven. The storm had knocked out the power, plunging their small house into darkness. Their father had already disappeared for the night, leaving them alone.“S

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    The 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

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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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    Ethan couldn’t breathe.The room was spinning, the walls stretching and closing in at the same time. The shadows near the closet deepened, curling at the edges like ink bleeding into paper. The hand reaching through the gap trembled slightly, fingers flexing, waiting.Tyler.The name burned in Ethan’s chest, scraping against ribs that felt too tight, lungs that wouldn’t expand properly.This wasn’t real.It couldn’t be real.But he couldn’t look away.The hand moved again.“Why did you leave me?”The voice his brother’s voice was so soft, so broken, that Ethan felt something splinter inside him.He staggered forward before he could stop himself, his breath coming in quick, shallow bursts.“I didn’t,” he rasped. “I”But the words caught in his throat.Because he had.A memory surfaced, sharp and raw.Ethan was eleven. Tyler was seven. The storm had knocked out the power, plunging their small house into darkness. Their father had already disappeared for the night, leaving them alone.“S

  • The Echoes we Bury   Chapter 34: The Room That Knew His Name

    Ethan moved slowly, each step cautious, controlled. The hallway stretched ahead of him, long and narrow, the walls pressing inward like the house was breathing around him. The air was thick too thick and it made every inhale feel heavier, like something unseen was pressing against his ribs.The whisper had stopped.But he had heard it.He wasn’t alone.He didn’t know how he knew that, but he did.The shadows flickered as he passed beneath the dim candlelight. The house was watching him now. Waiting.Then, without warningA door creaked open at the end of the hall.Ethan froze.The door hadn’t just opened.It had welcomed him.A sharp chill ran through his body. The air beyond the threshold was darker, thicker, like a void waiting to be stepped into. He couldn’t see what was inside just the faintest glimmer of something past the doorway, something half-hidden in the shadows.His heartbeat pounded in his ears.He knew somehow that if he walked through that door, something inside would b

  • The Echoes we Bury   Chapter 33: When the House Decides

    Ethan sat by the fire, his hands still gripping the damp letter like it could anchor him to something solid. His breathing had slowed, but his eyes darted around the room, flicking to every shadow, every flickering candle. He wasn’t just cold he was aware.The house had taken hold.It always started like this. A creeping, crawling unease. A presence pressing just beyond the edges of awareness. The mind searching for a way to rationalize what it already knew, but wouldn’t yet accept.Elliot had seen it before.He leaned against the fireplace, arms crossed. Isla hovered near the door, her expression unreadable. She hadn’t said much since Ethan arrived. She was still shaken from her own encounter, still processing the weight of her memories clawing their way back to the surface.Ethan was next.The house would dig into him, same as it had with her. Same as it had with Elliot.The only question wasHow long would it take before Ethan stopped fighting?And how much would the house take bef

  • The Echoes we Bury   Chapter 32: Another One Answers

    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

  • The Echoes we Bury   Chapter 31: The Price of Remembering

    The room still felt wrong. Even though the illusion had shattered, the weight of it lingered. The air was too thick, pressing against Isla’s skin like invisible hands trying to pull her back under. The scent of lavender was gone, replaced by something old and damp, but she could still taste it at the back of her throat.She had fallen to the floor when the illusion broke, her body shaking with the force of it. Now she was still, her breathing ragged but slowing, her hands splayed against the cold wooden floor.Elliot waited. He didn’t speak, didn’t move, didn’t push. He had learned that this was the hardest part the moment after, when the truth settled in and the mind tried to make sense of what it had just been forced to face.Finally, Isla exhaled. It wasn’t a sigh of relief. It was something else. Something hollow.“I remember,” she said. Her voice was raw, barely above a whisper.Elliot nodded, staying crouched beside her. “Tell me.”She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, her fi

  • The Echoes we Bury   Chapter 30: The Door That Shouldn’t Open

    Elliot pressed his palm against the door. It was cold, colder than it should have been, like the wood itself was leeching the warmth from his skin. The whispers in the walls had changed. They weren’t just shifting anymore they were shaping, curling around Isla like smoke, coaxing her deeper.He had seen this before.The house wasn’t just showing her memories. It was rewriting them.Inside, Isla was silent. Too silent.Elliot’s stomach tightened. He knocked once, his voice low but firm. “Isla.”No answer.He knocked again. “Isla, talk to me.”Nothing.Elliot’s fingers twitched at his side. The house wasn’t done with her yet, but if she wasn’t responding, that meant it was pulling her in faster than it should. And that was dangerous.He took a slow breath, pressing his forehead briefly against the wood. “Damn it.”Then he did something he wasn’t sure he should.He turned the handle and pushed the door open.Inside, the warmth hit him first.The room had changed completely. It was no lon

  • The Echoes we Bury   Chapter 29: The Fractured Past

    A dull pounding filled Isla’s skull, pulling her back into consciousness. Her breath came in slow, uneven gasps as she tried to piece together where she was, what had just happened. The floor beneath her was cold, the wood pressing against her cheek.She opened her eyes.The room had changed.It was no longer dust-covered and forgotten. The furniture was clean, the books neatly stacked on the shelves. The air smelled of lavender and something faintly sweet like warm milk and honey. Soft golden light filtered in through the lace curtains, casting delicate patterns across the walls.It was… familiar.Too familiar.Isla sat up slowly, her hands bracing against the floor. Her body felt heavy, her head foggy, like she had been drugged. But no this wasn’t a dream. The wood was solid beneath her fingertips. The air was thick with warmth. This was real.A soft hum drifted through the air.Isla stiffened.The melody was gentle, lilting, something she couldn’t place but still recognized. Her ch

  • The Echoes we Bury   Chapter 28: The Room That Waited

    The hall stretched ahead of them, narrowing as the candlelight flickered in the restless air. Isla walked slightly behind Elliot, her arms folded tight across her chest, her fingers digging into the fabric of her jacket. The whisper Welcome home still echoed in her mind. It had been soft, almost gentle, but there was something suffocating about it, something that curled into her thoughts and wouldn’t let go.Elliot didn’t seem rattled. If anything, he looked resigned, like he had walked this same path too many times before. He moved with purpose, each step measured, as if he knew exactly where he was going.“Where are we headed?” Isla asked, trying to keep her voice steady.“The house will decide,” Elliot said.She let out a short, humorless laugh. “Right. Of course. Because that makes sense.”Elliot ignored her sarcasm and continued walking. The walls pressed in as they moved deeper into the east wing, the corridor narrowing just slightly, as if shifting around them. Isla swore the p

  • The Echoes we Bury   Chapter 27: The House Remembers

    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

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