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 to
The stranger’s words cut through the air like a blade.“I’m saying you killed him.”Elliot froze, the candlestick in his hand trembling. His mind raced, rejecting the accusation even as memories clawed their way to the surface—fragments of his brother’s laughter, the flash of sunlight on that fateful day, the sound of something breaking.“You’re lying,” Elliot said, his voice low but unsteady.The stranger took a step closer, their presence calm and unnerving. “Am I?”“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”“I know more than you think,” the stranger said, their voice soft but firm. “I know what you’ve buried, what you’ve tried to forget. But the truth doesn’t disappear just because you refuse to face it.”Emma looked between them, her eyes wide and fearful. “What’s going on?” she whispered. “Elliot, what are they talking about?”“I didn’t kill him,” Elliot snapped, his voice sharp. “It was an accident.”The stranger’s gaze didn’t waver. “Are you sure about that?”The room felt col
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 sto
Vivienne’s frail figure stood at the top of the staircase, her face pale and weathered, but her eyes glinting with something sharp and knowing. The dim light cast long shadows across her features, making her look both otherworldly and eerily present.Emma took a step back, her hand clutching Elliot’s arm. “How… how is she even walking?”Elliot didn’t answer. His pulse raced, his mind grasping for an explanation. The last time they’d seen Vivienne, she’d been confined to her wheelchair, barely strong enough to lift her head. Yet here she was, standing upright, as though time or illness had never touched her.“You’ve made it farther than I expected,” Vivienne said, her voice low but clear, cutting through the silence.Elliot’s grip tightened on the flashlight. “What’s going on, Vivienne? What is this place? Why are we here?”Vivienne tilted her head, her faint smile deepening. “You’re here because you’ve been chosen.”“Chosen for what?” Emma demanded, her voice trembling.Vivienne’s gaz
The mansion seemed to groan with the weight of its secrets, every creak of the floorboards a sharp reminder of the danger lurking in its shadows. Elliot and Emma stood frozen in the dim corridor, the sound of shattering glass still echoing in their ears.“Where did it come from?” Emma asked, her voice barely above a whisper.Elliot’s grip tightened on the flashlight, the faint beam trembling as it illuminated the hallway ahead. “The west wing,” he said. “We need to move.”The words came out steady, but his chest felt tight, a growing weight of dread pressing down on him. He didn’t wait for Emma’s response—his feet were already moving, the light cutting through the oppressive darkness as they hurried toward the sound.The hallway stretched long and empty, its cracked walls lined with faded portraits of grim-faced Ashworth ancestors. Their painted eyes seemed to follow Elliot and Emma as they moved, the silence pressing down on them like a second skin.“It’s too quiet,” Emma murmured.E
The room felt alive.The grandfather clock’s steady ticking filled the air, each sound sharp and deliberate, like a pulse too loud to ignore. The photographs pinned to the walls seemed to stare back at Elliot and Emma, their captured moments frozen in time but heavy with meaning.Elliot stepped closer to the clock, his eyes locked on the photograph of himself and his brother. The image felt like a wound he couldn’t stop reopening, and the words beneath it—“You were always meant to return”—sank deep into his chest.“I don’t understand,” Emma whispered, her voice breaking the silence. She was standing near the wall of photographs, her fingers trembling as she traced the edges of an image. “These are from years ago. Who’s been watching us?”Elliot didn’t answer. He couldn’t. His mind was racing, fragments of memories clashing with the reality in front of him.The photograph of his brother seemed to mock him, its edges worn as though it had been handled too many times. He reached out and
The narrow passage beneath the fireplace loomed before them, dark and uninviting. The air wafting from within was cold and stale, carrying the faint scent of damp stone and decay. Elliot crouched down, his flashlight cutting through the shadows, revealing a set of steep, uneven steps descending into the depths of Wintercroft Hall.Emma hesitated, standing a few feet back. “You really think we have to go down there?”Elliot nodded, though the weight of the decision pressed heavy on his chest. “We don’t have a choice. This house—whoever’s behind this—is leading us somewhere.”Emma wrapped her arms around herself, her voice trembling. “And what if it’s leading us to our deaths?”Elliot turned to her, his jaw set. “Then at least we’ll know the truth before it happens.”The descent was slow and suffocating. The steps were narrow, forcing them to move single file, their breaths loud in the confined space. The flashlight beam flickered as they went, casting fleeting glimpses of the stone wall
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
Ethan hit the ground hard.He groaned, rolling onto his side, the air knocked from his lungs. His palms scraped against rough stone, and for a moment, everything was still—too still. No footsteps. No voices. Just the echo of his own ragged breathing in the vast, open space.He sat up slowly, blinking against the haze that clung to the air. The room or wherever he was was dimly lit, the walls pulsing faintly with an eerie, internal glow, like the inside of something breathing. The ground beneath him wasn’t smooth like the hallway above it was cracked, ancient, and etched with markings that pulsed beneath his hands when he touched them.He was alone.“Isla?” he called out, then louder, “Elliot?”No answer. His voice didn’t echo, like the space was swallowing sound as quickly as it could make it.He pushed himself to his feet, wincing. A fresh ache bloomed in his shoulder from the fall. The silence pressed around him like a second skin. He turned in a slow circle, searching for any sign
The doorknob turned.Ethan’s breath caught, his body locking up. Isla’s grip on his wrist tightened. Elliot took a step back, his face unreadable.The door didn’t creak. Didn’t groan.It simply opened.Silently.Smoothly.Like it had been waiting.A gust of cold air rushed past them, carrying the scent of something old and forgotten.Ethan’s stomach twisted.Because the space beyond the doorIt wasn’t just another room.It was something else.Blackness stretched endlessly ahead. A vast, open void where the walls, the floor everything just stopped.The air inside the doorway shimmered, like the surface of a lake disturbed by a single ripple.And at the center of it allA figure stood.Watching them.Ethan’s breath hitched.The figure was tall. Shadowed. Its features blurred, shifting like smoke, flickering between something human and something not.And yetHe knew it.Somehow, he knew it.It was him.But wrong.Elliot swore under his breath. Isla took a slow step forward, her knife rai
Ethan couldn’t breathe.The voice was right there, too close, the whisper curling into his ear like smoke.He spun around, heart slamming against his ribsBut there was nothing.Only darkness.“Who said that?” Isla’s voice was sharp, low.No answer.Elliot exhaled slowly. “Keep moving.”Ethan’s fists clenched. He could still feel the whisper against his skin, the lingering sensation of someone something standing just behind him.Watching.Waiting.But there was no time to hesitate. The darkness pressed in on all sides, thick as fog, and he could barely see Isla’s outline just ahead.So he forced himself forward.One step.Then another.But the feeling didn’t leave him.The presence was still there.Just out of reach.The corridor seemed endless.The air was damp, heavy with something rotten, and every step felt like it led them deeper into something they weren’t meant to find.The lanterns had gone out, but there was still light—a strange, pulsing glow from the cracks in the stone wal
The silence was unbearable.Ethan’s breath came in short, ragged gasps, his pulse still hammering from the encounter outside the door. Isla’s grip on the knife hadn’t loosened, her knuckles white. Elliot stood motionless, eyes locked on the door as if expecting it to move again.Nothing did.But the house had shifted.It was subtle almost imperceptible but Ethan felt it, like a change in air pressure before a storm. The shadows were darker now, stretching further, the walls seemed to breathe, as if the entire house had become something alive.And worseHe was certain the house was aware of them in a way it hadn’t been before.Elliot exhaled, breaking the tense stillness. “We can’t stay here.”Isla glanced at him sharply. “You think I don’t know that?”“There’s a way out,” Elliot said.Ethan looked up at him, throat still dry. “How do you know?”Elliot’s gaze flickered toward the bookshelf against the far wall. “Because I’ve been here before.”Silence.A slow, sinking feeling settled i
Ethan followed Elliot down the long hallway, his mind still spinning. The air around him felt heavier now, charged with something unseen. His pulse hadn’t slowed, his breath still uneven from what had just happened in the room.Tyler.His brother had been there. He had spoken to him.Or at least, something pretending to be his brother had.The thought made Ethan’s stomach twist violently.Because if the house could pull out memories twist them, shape them, make them real then what else could it do?They reached the grand staircase. Isla was waiting at the bottom, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. She looked tense, like she could feel the shift in the air, the way the house was closing in around them.“You were in there too long,” she said, her voice sharp.Ethan barely heard her. His eyes flickered toward the massive chandelier overhead, the way the dim light barely reached the upper floors. Shadows pooled in the corners, stretching unnaturally. The house felt alive in a way it
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
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
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 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