Chapter 8: The Stranger

The hallway stretched long and dim, the flickering light casting jagged shadows along the walls. Elliot’s grip on the candlestick tightened as the figure stepped closer, their movements deliberate and unhurried.

“You’ve done well to get this far,” the stranger said, their voice calm, almost conversational.

Elliot’s throat tightened. There was something off about the way they spoke, as though they were rehearsing a part in a play.

“Who are you?” Elliot asked, his voice low, steady.

The stranger tilted their head, smiling faintly. “I suppose you could call me… the overseer.”

“The overseer of what?” Elliot demanded.

Their smile widened, but their eyes remained cold. “This,” they said simply, gesturing around them. “The judgment. The reckoning. Call it what you will.”

Elliot’s pulse quickened. “So you’re the one behind this. The notes. The deaths. It’s you.”

The stranger’s expression didn’t falter. “You’re quick to accuse, but I haven’t touched a single one of you. You’re doing this to yourselves.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“It means,” the stranger said, stepping closer, “I’ve only set the stage. The rest is up to you.”

Elliot’s grip tightened on the candlestick, his knuckles white. He felt the weight of the stranger’s words, the way they dripped with manipulation.

“I’m not playing your game,” he said firmly.

“Oh, but you already are,” the stranger replied. “You’ve been playing since the moment you stepped foot on this island. You and the others. Every choice you’ve made, every secret you’ve tried to bury—it’s all been leading here.”

Elliot took a step back, his mind racing. “Why us? What do you want from us?”

The stranger tilted their head again, their gaze sharp and calculating. “What I want doesn’t matter. What matters is what you’ll do next.”

Before Elliot could respond, the stranger turned and began walking away, their footsteps echoing down the hall.

“Wait!” Elliot called after them, but the figure didn’t stop.

Elliot hesitated for only a second before following, his heart pounding in his chest.

The stranger led him through the twisting corridors of the mansion, their pace measured, their silhouette always just ahead of him. The hallways seemed to grow darker the farther they went, the flickering lights casting eerie patterns on the walls.

Finally, they stopped in front of a door Elliot hadn’t seen before. It was smaller than the others, its surface scarred and weathered, as though it had been forgotten for decades.

The stranger turned to him, their smile faint but unsettling. “This is where you’ll find the truth,” they said.

Elliot stared at the door, the weight of their words pressing down on him. “What truth?”

“You already know,” the stranger said softly. “You just don’t want to admit it.”

Before Elliot could ask anything else, the stranger stepped back into the shadows, their figure melting into the darkness as if they’d never been there.

Elliot turned back to the door, his breathing shallow. The air felt heavier here, the silence oppressive. Slowly, he reached out and turned the rusted doorknob.

The room beyond was small and cramped, its walls lined with shelves filled with old books and dusty trinkets. A single candle burned on a wooden table in the center of the room, its light casting long shadows that danced across the walls.

On the table was a stack of papers, yellowed with age and tied together with a fraying ribbon.

Elliot approached cautiously, his eyes scanning the room for any sign of danger. When he was sure he was alone, he untied the ribbon and began flipping through the pages.

They were journal entries, written in the same meticulous handwriting as the notes he’d found throughout the mansion.

“June 12: They think they can escape their sins. They think they can bury them. But the past always has a way of catching up.”

“July 2: The liar, the thief, the coward, the betrayer… They are all the same, bound by their guilt. They will come to understand.”

“August 15: Elliot will be the hardest to break. But he will break, just like the others.”

Elliot’s breath caught in his throat. His name. They had known he would come here, long before he’d even received the invitation.

He flipped through the pages frantically, searching for anything that might explain why. His heart stopped when he reached the last entry.

“The truth is not what he remembers. He will see. He must.”

The words blurred in his vision as memories he had buried deep began to resurface—his brother’s face, the sound of his laughter, the day he’d fallen…

No. The day he’d been pushed.

Elliot staggered back, the journal slipping from his hands. The pages fluttered to the ground, their secrets spilling out like a dam breaking.

The sound of footsteps echoed in the hallway again, but this time, they were frantic, panicked.

Elliot turned toward the door just as Emma burst into the room, her face pale and her eyes wide with fear.

“Someone else is dead,” she whispered.