Between The Living and The Lost

Mikha, Colet, and Maloi stood rooted in place, watching as the rest of the group walked toward the stairs. The dim light from their flashlights flickered against the walls, stretching their shadows into eerie, elongated shapes. When the others reached the staircase, Aiah turned to glance at them one last time, giving a curt nod before leading the second group up the steps. The wooden boards creaked beneath their weight, the sound echoing uncomfortably through the hollow house.

Then, silence.

Colet exhaled deeply, finally breaking the tension. "Alright, let’s just get this over with. Since we’re already in the living room, we might as well start here."

Neither Mikha nor Maloi protested, though Maloi’s arms remained firmly crossed over her chest, as if she was physically restraining herself from bolting. Mikha exhaled sharply and nodded, running a hand through her hair before moving toward the nearest piece of furniture covered in a white cloth.

The living room was suffocatingly still, like the air itself had been undisturbed for years. The white cloths draped over the furniture looked like ghosts frozen in time, their wrinkled fabric swaying ever so slightly whenever one of them moved too quickly. Dust hung heavy in the air, illuminated by the pale beams of their flashlights. Every inhale carried the scent of old wood, mildew, and something rustic.

Colet stepped forward first, peeling back one of the cloths covering what looked like a coffee table. A puff of dust exploded into the air, making her cough. Maloi took a cautious step back, waving a hand in front of her face. "Oh, great. Now we have haunted tuberculosis."

"That’s not how that works," Colet muttered, brushing off the dust before inspecting the surface. Nothing. Just aged wood with a few scratches.

Mikha moved toward an armchair and lifted its cover with the edge of her flashlight. "Ugh. This thing looks older than my grandma."

Colet then reached for one of the larger pieces—probably a couch—and with a swift tug, yanked the cloth away. A cloud of dust exploded into the air, sending her stumbling back, coughing.

"Holy—!" She waved a hand in front of her face, scowling. "Damn, that thing hasn’t been touched in years."

Maloi, already gripping a different cloth, gave Colet a skeptical look. "Are we sure this is a good idea? I mean, what if something jumps out at us? Like, a rat? Or a demon? Or a demonic rat?"

Mikha snorted. "If a rat shows up, you can negotiate with it. You’re the only one here who speaks 'scared prey.'"

Maloi shot her a glare but didn’t argue. Instead, she turned back to the furniture in front of her, took a deep breath, and yanked the cloth away in one swift motion—

Only to scream as something tumbled toward her.

"OH MY GOD IT’S A—!"

Thud.

A dusty, half-rotted pillow landed on the floor at her feet.

Mikha doubled over, wheezing with laughter as Maloi clutched at her chest, looking one breath away from collapsing. "I hate this house. I hate all of you. I hate that stupid pillow."

Colet rolled her eyes. "Can you not have a heart attack every five seconds? We haven’t even found anything yet."

"Exactly!" Maloi huffed, bending down to poke at the abandoned pillow with the toe of her shoe. "And that’s the problem! I don't trust houses that pretend to be normal."

Ignoring her, Colet moved toward an old cabinet in the corner of the room. Its surface was coated in grime, the wood warped from years of neglect. She tried pulling the doors open, but they wouldn’t budge.

Mikha, watching from a few feet away, gestured at the top of the cabinet. "Check above. Sometimes people stash stuff up there."

Colet stretched onto her toes and ran a hand over the dusty surface. Her fingers brushed against something solid. She grasped it and pulled it down—

A sheet of paper, yellowed with age.

For a moment, none of them spoke.

"What is it?" Maloi asked, inching closer but still keeping a wary distance.

Colet squinted at the faded text. "It’s just…a grocery list."

Mikha groaned. "Seriously? All that tension for some expired shopping?"

Maloi exhaled in relief. "Good. That means we’re done, right? We checked the whole room. Time to move on. Preferably outside. Preferably home."

Colet and Mikha ignored her, and continue searching.

For the next few minutes, they worked in tense silence, uncovering one thing after another. An old grandfather clock stood solemnly in the corner, its hands frozen at some unholy hour. A display cabinet filled with long-forgotten trinkets sat against the wall, its glass fogged over with dust and grime. They found faded picture frames, but the photos inside were so deteriorated that none of the faces could be recognized. The television, bulky and ancient, stared back at them like a hollow-eyed corpse.

Then—

THUD.

(Once again) Maloi let out a scream so high-pitched it could shatter glass. She practically leaped onto the couch, clutching Mikha’s arm like a lifeline.

"WHAT WAS THAT?! WHAT WAS THAT?!"

Mikha groaned, looking down. "Maloi, you absolute coward. You just kicked a book off the table."

Colet bent down and picked up the offending object, dusting off its worn leather cover. "A diary?" she muttered, running her fingers over the embossed letters. There was no name. Just the faint outline of something that might have once been gold lettering.

Maloi, still clinging to Mikha, squinted at it. "Oh, hell no. That thing is 100% cursed. I refuse to be possessed by some Victorian ghost girl."

"It’s just a book," Colet sighed, flipping through the brittle pages. "And it’s empty."

Maloi visibly relaxed but didn’t let go of Mikha’s arm. Mikha, for her part, looked seconds away from physically removing her. "Maloi, I swear to god, if you don’t let go of me—"

"No. I’m vulnerable. I need moral support."

"You need therapy."

With nothing useful found, the group continued their search. They lifted more covers, peeked behind furniture, and even checked beneath the couch and chairs. The only sounds were their own footsteps and the occasional muttered complaint from Maloi. Every creak of the house made them freeze, their breaths hitching as they listened for anything unusual.

Eight minutes of searching and all they had to show for it was a useless list of old groceries.

Colet let out a breath, standing up straight. "Well, that was a waste."

Mikha shook her head. "Not necessarily. Now we know the living room doesn’t have anything useful."

"Yeah, great. Now we get to investigate even deeper into this hellhole," Maloi muttered, shivering slightly. "I can already feel the demons watching us."

Colet ignored her. "Let’s move on. The others are probably having more luck than we are."

Maloi let out a dramatic sigh. "Oh, sure. Let’s go even deeper into the murder house. Sounds fun."

"Would you rather stay here alone?" Mikha asked, raising an eyebrow.

Maloi immediately clung to her again. "Absolutely not. Let’s go. Now."

With one last uneasy glance around the room, the three of them turned and made their way toward the next part of the house, their footsteps the only sound in the suffocating silence.

Colet cleared her throat. "Alright," she said, adjusting her glasses. "Next stop: the kitchen."

No one moved at first.

Maloi gave the entrance to the kitchen a wary glance. The doorway yawned open beside the living room, leading into an even darker space. The dim morning light barely reached inside, leaving the room shrouded in shadow. "Are we sure about this? I mean, what could possibly be in there? Old haunted Tupperware? A cursed fridge?"

"Maybe some ghost leftovers," Mikha muttered dryly, stepping forward before Maloi could talk herself out of it.

With a deep breath, they all walked in, their footsteps creaking against the aged wooden floor.

The kitchen was a stark contrast to the dust-covered elegance of the living room—darker, more confined. The walls, once white, had faded to a sickly yellow, and the countertops were coated in a fine layer of dust. The cabinets loomed over them, their doors slightly ajar as if waiting for something—or someone—to reach inside.

“Okay, let’s… look around,” Colet said hesitantly, already regretting her words. "Let’s just check the obvious places—drawers, cabinets, maybe the fridge if it doesn’t reek of the underworld."

Maloi huffed, crossing her arms. “Looking for what, exactly? Ghost crumbs? Cursed utensils?”

Mikha sighed, ignoring her as she walked toward the nearest counter. She carefully reached for one of the cabinet doors, her fingers hesitating before she pulled it open with a creak. Inside, nothing but empty shelves and the remnants of what might have once been cobwebs.

Colet moved toward the old refrigerator. Its once gleaming exterior was now rusted, the handle slightly bent. “I hate this,” she muttered before gripping the handle and yanking it open.

A hollow pop.

The inside was pitch-black and empty. A foul, stale odor wafted out, making her gag. “Okay, nope.” She slammed it shut. “That was a mistake.”

They continued searching, opening drawers and cabinets, rifling through the dust-covered contents. A few stray utensils rattled inside one of them, causing Maloi to jump again.

"This house hates me," she muttered, backing up cautiously.

Colet sighed. "You’re fine. Just keep checking."

Maloi, against her better judgment, reached for the oven handle. The moment she pulled it open, a metal tray slid out with a deafening CLANG.

She screamed again, stumbling back so fast she nearly tripped over Mikha.

"FOR THE LOVE OF—" Mikha caught her with an exasperated sigh. "Maloi, you need to breathe. It’s literally a tray."

Maloi placed a hand over her heart. "That tray had ill will in it."

Colet pinched the bridge of her nose. "Okay, we are getting nowhere if you keep freaking out over inanimate objects."

"Inanimate objects can be possessed, Colet. Ever heard of haunted dolls? Haunted furniture? You’re acting like ghosts don’t have taste."

"Okay, but a baking tray? Really?" Colet deadpanned.

The kitchen had already tested their patience. Every cabinet they opened, every drawer they rifled through had turned up absolutely nothing. The eerie silence of the house, mixed with the occasional creak of the floorboards, made the whole experience unsettling, but the lack of any discoveries was somehow even worse.

Maloi let out a long, exaggerated groan as she leaned against the cold kitchen wall, arms crossed over her chest. "I swear, if Celeste made us come all the way out here for NOTHING, I'm gonna haunt her in the afterlife. I don’t care if she’s still alive, I’ll find a way!"

"You're not even dead," Colet muttered, scanning the dimly lit counter for anything out of place.

"Not yet! But give me five more minutes in this hell house, and I'll be knocking on heaven's—"

She barely had time to finish her sentence before the wall behind her gave way with a deep, mechanical creak.

There was a horrible thud, followed by a deafening, blood-curdling scream.

"AHHHHHHHHH!" Maloi wailed. "I'M BEING TAKEN! I KNEW THIS WOULD HAPPEN! I TOLD YOU GUYS! I TOLD YOU—"

Colet and Mikha, frozen in shock, stared at the gaping hole in the wall where Maloi had been just seconds ago. The dim light from their flashlights barely reached beyond the threshold, revealing only a yawning void of pitch-black darkness.

For a split second, neither of them moved.

Then—

"HOLY SH—" Colet stumbled backward, nearly knocking over a wooden chair as her eyes went comically wide.

"WHAT JUST HAPPENED?" Mikha shrieked.

"MALOOOOOIIIII!" Colet shouted, gripping her flashlight like a weapon.

"I'M DEAD! I'M DEAD! I'M—" Maloi's voice was suddenly filled with sniffles. "Oh my god, it's so dark in here. Please, PLEASE, I don't wanna die like this. Colet, Mikha, please—"

"Oh, for the love of—" Mikha finally scrambled forward, shining her flashlight into the secret passage. "Maloi, where the hell are you?!"

"IN HELL! I'M IN HELL!" Maloi cried dramatically. "Oh my god, something just touched me! SOMETHING JUST TOUCHED ME—"

"That was probably the floor, Maloi," Colet said dryly, though her voice trembled slightly. "Stay where you are, we're coming."

"OH REALLY, COLET? WHERE ELSE WOULD I GO? THROUGH THE WALLS?!" Maloi shrieked. "JUST GET ME OUT OF HERE, PLEASE!"

"Why—why is there a secret passage?!" Mikha whisper-shouted, her grip on Colet’s arm tightening. "Why does this house have a secret passage?! I DIDN’T SIGN UP FOR THIS."

Maloi wailed dramatically from inside the darkness. "Forget Celeste, I’m suing whoever built this house. Who just casually has TRAPDOORS IN THEIR KITCHEN?! I ALMOST DIED IN THE NAME OF—"

"Can you stop screaming?" Colet hissed, eyes darting around. "We don’t know if we’re alone in here!"

Maloi gasped, her voice trembling. "DO NOT SAY THAT. I REFUSE TO BE THE FIRST ONE TAKEN."

Mikha took a deep breath, rubbing a hand down her face. "Okay, okay. Let's just... help Maloi up and see what this is, okay?"

A long pause.

"...Do I have to go in there?" Colet asked weakly.

Maloi, still unseen, wailed again. "I SWEAR TO GOD IF YOU TWO ARE JUST STANDING THERE, I WILL HAUNT YOU BOTH IF I DIE!"

"We’re coming! Stop screaming!" Colet hissed, though she was gripping her flashlight so tightly her knuckles turned white.

Mikha took a step forward. "Maloi, reach out to me. Can you see anything?"

"I CAN SEE MY LIFE FLASHING BEFORE MY EYES, DOES THAT COUNT?" Maloi sobbed.

"Oh my god," Colet muttered under her breath.

Mikha, taking a deep breath, reached into the darkness. "Just grab my hand. Now. Before something else does."

A beat of silence. Then, a frantic grip latched onto Mikha’s arm so tightly it nearly yanked her forward. "PULL ME UP, PULL ME UP, PULL ME UP—"

With a grunt, Mikha and Colet heaved Maloi out of the opening. The moment she was back in the kitchen, she collapsed dramatically onto the floor, panting.

"I am NEVER leaning on walls again," she declared. "You hear me? NEVER. I don’t care if my legs give out, I will simply fall and accept my fate."

Mikha was still staring at the dark opening, her breathing uneven. "Guys… what the hell is that room?"

Colet swallowed hard. "I don’t know. But we just found something Celeste definitely wanted us to see."

The three of them turned to look at the gaping hole in the wall, the darkness inside it stretching like an open mouth, waiting.

With hesitant steps, Colet, Mikha, and Maloi approached the gaping hole in the wall, their flashlights trembling slightly in their hands. The darkness beyond the threshold seemed endless, a void that swallowed the light rather than reflected it.

"Oh hell no," Maloi muttered, crossing her arms. "You two go ahead. I'll stay here and—"

"Nice try, but we’re not splitting up. You’re coming whether you like it or not." Colet exhaled.

Mikha, ignoring the hysterics, took a careful step forward, shining her flashlight inside. "It just looks like an old room. Maybe storage or something?" she muttered, though the stale air made her doubt her own words. There was something heavy in the silence—an uneasy stillness, as if the room had been untouched for years, waiting for someone to disturb it.

Colet adjusted her grip on her flashlight and inhaled deeply. "We might as well check it out. The whole point of coming here was to find something. And if there's a secret passage, it's gotta be hiding something, right?"

Maloi groaned but didn’t fight back, though she did make sure to cling to Mikha’s sleeve as they stepped inside. As soon as they crossed the threshold, the temperature seemed to drop, and the air became thick with dust and age.

They clicked on their flashlights, sweeping the beams across the hidden room. What greeted them was a vast space lined with towering bookshelves, their once-polished wood now coated in cobwebs and grime. The air smelled of decayed paper and something else—something stale and old, as if the room itself had been sealed for centuries.

Rows of books filled every shelf, some barely holding together with their brittle pages, others looking strangely pristine despite the dust. A long wooden table sat in the middle of the room, flanked by chairs that seemed untouched by time. The walls, now visible under their flashlights, were lined with strange, intricate carvings that didn’t resemble any known language.

Mikha let out a low whistle. "A hidden library? Now that’s kind of cool."

"Cool? Cool?!" Maloi hissed, glancing around wildly. "I just got swallowed by a wall, and you think this is cool?! This is some horror movie level crap! We should leave before the books start whispering or some ghost librarian tells us we have overdue fees from the afterlife!"

Colet ignored her as she trailed her fingers along a dusty bookshelf, examining the spines of books with unreadable titles. "Some of these look really old. Maybe they have something about the house? Or... something about Jhoanna."

Maloi made a strangled sound. "Or, OR, they have some ancient curse in them, and if we touch the wrong one, we get transported to some nightmare dimension where we have to solve riddles to escape—"

"Maloi, shut up and help us look," Mikha muttered, squinting at a row of books with peculiar symbols on their spines.

Colet knelt by a fallen book, picking it up and flipping through the brittle pages. "Some of these looks ancient… but why would they hide a whole library?" she murmured.

Mikha was about to respond when her eyes landed on a small, rusted switch protruding from the side of one of the bookshelves. Her brow furrowed. Without saying a word, she reached out and flicked it.

In an instant, the room was flooded with dim yellow light from overhead bulbs, their flickering glow chasing away the darkness. The sudden brightness sent a jolt of shock through Colet and Maloi, who let out synchronized yells.

"MIKHA!" Colet shouted, whipping around. "WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT?!"

Maloi, who had instinctively leaped behind Colet, clutched her chest dramatically. "I swear to God, Mikha, if I die of a heart attack, you’re covering my funeral expenses!"

Mikha, completely unbothered, blinked up at the now-lit room. "Huh. It still has electricity. That’s interesting."

Colet exhaled sharply, placing a hand on her forehead. "Jesus. Next time, maybe give us a heads-up before you start flipping random switches in an abandoned house?"

Mikha simply turned to them, deadpan. “Well, now we can see.”

“Oh, so you think we wanted to see?!” Maloi shouted, clutching her chest. “What if that turned on some death trap?! What if you just awakened some ancient horror?! What if—”

“Oh, shut up already,” Mikha groaned, rubbing her temple. “We’re fine.”

Colet, still catching her breath, shot Mikha a glare. “Next time, you touch something, I’m putting you in the secret passage first. You can test it for booby traps yourself.”

"I hate both of you. And I hate this house. And I especially hate Celeste for sending us here. If I see her ghost, I don’t care if she’s still alive, I’m suing." Maloi muttering under her breath.

"You can’t sue a ghost, Maloi."

"WATCH ME!"

A few minutes later….

As they searched through the dust-covered bookshelves, their flashlights barely cutting through the thick shadows, Maloi continued her steady stream of complaints.

She shuffled along one of the bookshelves, her flashlight beam bouncing haphazardly over the dusty spines of forgotten books as she muttered complaints under her breath.

“I swear, if Celeste is here right now, I’d drag her and make her search this creepy-ass place herself,” she grumbled, brushing cobwebs off her shoulder with a dramatic shudder. “Like, ‘Oh, the answers are in the house.’ Yeah? Where? Hidden in the trauma we’re accumulating?”

Colet and Mikha were already too used to Maloi’s whining to pay her any mind. Colet was quietly flipping through a book, dust tickling her nose, while Mikha scanned the shelves, fingers brushing over the cracked leather covers. The room, though now illuminated by the overhead light Mikha so graciously turned on without warning, still had an eerie presence to it—as if the shadows lurking between the shelves were watching them back.

Maloi, too wrapped up in her tirade to pay attention to where she was walking, swung around the corner of a shelf when—

“WHA—!”

Her foot caught on something solid, and before she could even register what was happening, she went crashing forward with all the grace of a collapsing Jenga tower. The loud thud of her body hitting the floor was immediately followed by her ear-piercing scream, which, in turn, sent Colet and Mikha screaming too—because when one person in a haunted house scream, everyone else follows suit.

For a second, there was only dead silence. Then—

Laughter.

Uncontrollable, breathless, cackling laughter.

Colet and Mikha absolutely lost it.

Colet doubled over, clutching her stomach as she wheezed, “Oh my god—I can’t—”

Mikha was bent over with her hands on her knees, tears forming in the corner of her eyes. “Maloi, you good?” she gasped between cackles.

Maloi, still sprawled on the floor, propped herself up with shaking arms, her lower lip trembling dramatically. “Why,” she sniffled, eyes glassy with unshed tears, “is it always me?”

The laughter somehow got louder.

Colet wiped at her eyes, finally calming down enough to kneel beside Maloi and pat her shoulder. “Okay, okay, come on, drama queen. Let’s get you up before you curse this whole house with your misfortune.”

With Mikha and Colet’s help, Maloi was hoisted back onto her feet, though not without some exaggerated groaning from her part. “I hate it here,” she muttered, brushing dust off her jeans. Then, her eyes landed on the thing that had tripped her.

“And what the hell is this even doing here?” she grumbled, nudging the object with her foot.

They all turned their flashlights toward it, illuminating a large, dust-covered wooden box sitting right in the middle of the floor. At first glance, it seemed like an ordinary storage chest, but as Mikha crouched down and brushed off the thick layer of dust, she noticed something attached to the lid.

“There’s an envelope on top,” she said, narrowing her eyes.

“And it’s locked,” Colet added, pointing at the eight-letter combination lock securing it shut.

Maloi groaned, dramatically flopping onto the box. “Great. More creepy mysteries. My spine is shattered, my dignity is nonexistent, and now we have to solve a freaking puzzle?”

“At least this is something,” Mikha muttered, ignoring her.

The three of them stood around the mysterious box, staring at it as if it might sprout legs and run at them any second. The air in the secret library felt heavier now, the musty scent of ancient paper thick in their noses. Dust motes floated in the dim glow of their flashlights, the silence around them almost humming with tension.

“So… what do we do with it?” Mikha finally asked, her voice hushed.

“Leave it,” Maloi said instantly. “We pretend we never saw it. We go outside, we take a deep breath of fresh air, and we forget about this creepy-ass house and its creepy-ass secrets.”

Colet rolled her eyes. “We can’t just ignore it, Maloi. This could be important. There’s an envelope attached to it, and the box is locked. Doesn’t that make you curious?”

“No,” Maloi said flatly. “I like living a life where I don’t get cursed by old haunted boxes in abandoned houses.”

Before Colet could respond, her phone suddenly blared its alarm, the shrill beeping cutting through the silence like a blade.

All three of them screamed.

Mikha’s flashlight wobbled as she jumped, Maloi nearly tripped over her own feet, and Colet fumbled with her phone, her fingers clumsy with panic. The sound bounced off the walls of the hidden library, making it feel even more suffocating.

“OH MY GOD, COLET, TURN IT OFF!” Maloi yelled, clutching her chest as if her soul had just left her body.

“I'M TRYING!” Colet shouted back, wildly swiping at her screen until the alarm finally cut off. The ringing in their ears lingered.

A deep silence followed. Then Maloi exhaled shakily, pressing a hand to her forehead. “I swear to all things holy, I have aged ten years in this house.”

Colet took a breath, regaining her composure. “Well, that was the timer I set. Time to meet up with the others.”

Mikha let out a nervous laugh. “Oh, good. I thought that was the universe giving us a final warning to run.”

Maloi threw her hands up dramatically. “That IS a warning! I say we leave this creepy-ass box alone and get the hell out of here. Case closed, mystery solved. We found a box. That’s it. Now let’s go.”

Colet rolled her eyes. “Yeah, sure, let’s just ignore the ONE thing in this haunted house that actually seems important.”

Mikha tilted her head at the box. “It doesn’t even look that heavy. Let’s just bring it with us and figure it out with the others.”

Maloi gawked at her like she had just suggested summoning demons for fun. “Are you seriously suggesting we take a possibly cursed, locked, and ominous-looking box from a SECRET ROOM in a HAUNTED HOUSE? Have you ever watched a single horror movie? THIS is how people DIE.”

Colet crouched down and carefully lifted the box, testing its weight. She blinked in surprise. “It’s… weirdly light.”

Maloi backed away like the box had personally offended her. “Yeah, because it’s full of GHOST ESSENCE. Bad vibes and eternal torment probably weigh nothing.”

Ignoring her, Mikha reached out and tapped the envelope attached to the lid. “There’s a letter. Maybe it has the password or a clue.”

Maloi took another step back, pointing a shaky finger. “Nope. Nope, nope, nope. I’ve seen this movie before. You open the letter, and suddenly you hear whispers in Latin, then BAM! Congratulations, you’ve unleashed a demon.”

“I mean, it’s locked,” Mikha pointed out. “It’s not like anything's going to jump out at us.”

Maloi gave her an incredulous look. “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you were a professional on haunted objects. You should've told me sooner, Professor Montemayor.”

Mikha snorted. “Alright, drama queen, let’s go before the others think we disappeared.”

Colet sighed, already regretting everything about this. “We’ll open it when we’re with the others. Let’s just go.”

They made their way back into the kitchen, the dim lighting and eerie stillness making their footsteps sound unnaturally loud. As they emerged from the hidden passageway, Maloi kept glancing over her shoulder, as if expecting something to lunge out at them.

“Nope,” she muttered under her breath. “Absolutely not. I hate this place. I hate Celeste. I hate whoever built this house. I hate whoever decided to invent books because that library should not exist.”

Colet and Mikha exchanged amused looks but said nothing as they stepped back into the main part of the house. The feeling of unease still clung to them, but there was no turning back now. They had the box.

Now, they had to find out what was inside it..

At the same time…..

Each step they took up the stairs was unnervingly loud, the wood beneath them groaning with each hesitant movement, as though protesting their arrival. The air grew heavier the higher they ascended, an unseen weight pressing against their chests. Dust motes floated lazily in the dim beam of Gwen’s flashlight, disturbed by their movements, catching the light like tiny specters.

The creaking of the last step echoed down the hall, and they all stilled for a moment, standing shoulder to shoulder as their gazes adjusted to the sight before them. The second floor stretched out into a narrow hallway, flanked by four closed doors—two on each side. The air was stale, thick with the scent of aged wood and something indescribably musty, as though time itself had been trapped here, unmoving. The walls, once adorned with decorations, now bore the weight of forgotten things—framed paintings or photographs, their images long obscured beneath white cloths that draped them like shrouds.

At the end of the hallway stood a glass door leading to the balcony. Through it, they could just make out the tops of the iron gate they had entered through and the street beyond, the glass smudged and fogged with age, distorting the outside world into something warped and unreal.

A hush settled over the group, but not a comfortable one. Stacey and Sheena, who had been lagging at the back, started muttering under their breaths in voices barely above a whisper.

“This is how horror movies start,” Stacey mumbled, her hands gripping her flashlight as though it were a lifeline.

“We shouldn’t even be here,” Sheena agreed, glancing warily at the veiled frames on the wall. “What if one of those is a painting that follows you when you walk past?”

Stacey let out a nervous chuckle, but there was no humor in it. “I was thinking more of a creepy family portrait where the eyes are missing.”

Sheena shuddered, shaking her head quickly. “Nope. I take it back. Worse. A mirror. A covered mirror. We should not—under any circumstances—uncover anything.”

Gwen, who had been running her flashlight along the doors, sighed. “You two need to stop narrating every horror scenario that pops into your heads.”

“That’s literally how we stay alive,” Stacey shot back, voice hushed.

Aiah exhaled, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Alright, listen. We check the rooms, we look for anything useful, and we get this over with. Stop scaring yourselves.”

Sheena scoffed, crossing her arms tightly over her chest. “We’re not scaring ourselves. We’re just being realistic about the fact that we are literally in an abandoned house that’s probably haunted.”

A gust of wind rattled the glass of the balcony door slightly, and all four of them tensed, eyes flickering toward the end of the hallway. No one spoke.

“…No one else heard that?” Sheena finally whispered, eyes wide.

Gwen cleared her throat. “It’s just the wind.”

Stacey shot her a deadpan look. “It’s always ‘just the wind’ before someone dies.”

Aiah took a deep breath, forcing herself to steady her nerves. “Let’s move. The longer we stand here, the worse you two are going to make this.”

With that, she took a step forward, leading the group into the hallway, each of them unconsciously pressing closer together, their gazes darting toward the veiled frames, the closed doors, and the waiting darkness beyond.

When they reached the first door, Aiah reached out and grasped the doorknob, the cool metal sending a faint shiver up her spine. The others stood a step behind her, their breaths barely audible in the stillness of the upper floor. With a slow, deliberate turn of her wrist, she pushed the door open.

The door creaked open with a long, agonizing groan, revealing a bedroom frozen in time. A faint scent of dust and something stale lingered in the air, as if the room had been sealed off for years. The walls, once likely vibrant, were now dull and yellowed with age. Posters of some pop artist were still clinging onto the walls, their edges curling, the faces faded as though time had sucked the life out of them. The bed, a once cozy single-sized with a wooden frame, was covered in a dust-coated floral blanket, slightly wrinkled as if someone had left it in a hurry. A small nightstand sat beside it, a tarnished lamp on top, its bulb long dead. A wooden desk was pushed against the opposite wall, an old, boxy radio sitting lifelessly atop it, its once bright buttons now dulled. A bookshelf leaned slightly to the side, some of its books spilling onto the floor, their spines broken, pages yellowing and curled at the edges. A dresser with a dusty mirror stood at the far side of the room, its reflection coated in grime.

Sheena let out a breath and muttered, "This is exactly how horror movies start. First, we find some old, cursed bedroom, then suddenly, the door slams shut, and we all get picked off one by one."

"Honestly? I’d rather be picked off first than spend another second in this dusty hellhole," Stacey grumbled, covering her nose with the sleeve of her hoodie. "I think I just inhaled someone’s dead skin cells."

Aiah ignored them, stepping inside with Gwen right behind her, both of them scanning the room as if piecing together a puzzle. The floor creaked under their steps, causing Sheena to jolt slightly.

"Nope, nope, nope," Sheena shook her head rapidly, hesitating at the doorway. "You guys hear that? That’s the sound of 'get out while you still can.'"

"Oh my God, Sheena," Gwen sighed, stepping closer to the bookshelf. "If the house wanted to eat us, it would’ve done it already."

"That’s such a stupid argument, Gwen!" Sheena whisper-yelled. "Ever heard of suspense? Horror movie logic? The ghost is waiting for us to separate!"

Stacey waved a dismissive hand. "If anything jumps out at me, I’m throwing you first, Sheena. Survival of the fittest."

"Wow. Betrayal. In our time of crisis," Sheena scoffed, crossing her arms.

Aiah, still tuning them out, exhaled sharply. "We should start looking for clues. Celeste said the answers are here somewhere."

Sheena looked around and deadpanned. "Yeah, Aiah, because nothing screams 'important information' like a decaying One Direction poster."

Gwen ignored the sarcasm and crouched near the fallen books. She picked one up, shaking off the dust, flipping through the pages. "There might be something hidden in here. People used to stash things in books."

"Or under the bed," Aiah added, stepping toward it and kneeling down to peek underneath.

Stacey grimaced. "I swear if something grabs you, I’m out of here."

Sheena clutched her flashlight tightly. "Me too. This is a bad idea. We should just—"

"Help search," Aiah cut her off flatly, giving her an expectant look.

Sheena groaned dramatically but finally stepped inside with Stacey. The air felt heavier as they spread out, reluctantly beginning their search in the abandoned bedroom.

The four of them spread out, cautiously searching through the abandoned bedroom. The air was thick with dust, every movement sending small clouds floating into the dim light.

Sheena and Stacey clung to each other as they shuffled toward the bookshelf, their footsteps hesitant. Aiah, on the other hand, strode toward the desk, opening each drawer with slow precision. Gwen went straight for the closet, pushing the creaky door open with the back of her hand.

Just as Gwen reached out to move some old clothes aside, a loose hanger slipped off the rod and clattered onto the wooden floor.

"AHHHHHH!" Sheena screamed, clutching Stacey’s arm like a lifeline.

"OH MY GOD, GWEN!" Stacey gasped, heart pounding as she dramatically clutched her chest.

Gwen gave them both an unimpressed look. "It's a hanger."

"Yeah? And this is a crime scene! Or, like, a ghost scene!" Sheena shot back, rubbing her arms as if warding off chills. "We don't know what kind of—of haunted energy this room has!"

Aiah sighed from where she was flipping through a dusty notebook. "The only energy in here is coming from your screaming."

Sheena huffed and turned toward the bedside table. She hesitantly pulled open a drawer, peeking inside like she expected a severed hand to be waiting for her. Instead, she found a few old receipts, a broken necklace, and a dead cockroach.

She shrieked. "NOPE. Nope, nope, nope! I am so done with this room."

Stacey immediately backed away from the table as well. "Okay, so we've established that this room contains nothing but  pop star posters and trauma. Can we leave?"

"We haven't checked everything yet," Aiah muttered, tapping her fingers on the desk as she scanned the surface. The dust had settled thickly over the wood, untouched for years. "Celeste wouldn’t tell us to come here for nothing. There has to be something."

Gwen, still sifting through the closet, glanced over. "Yeah, well, so far all we've found is evidence that someone had terrible taste in posters."

Sheena nodded dramatically. "Who even puts this many pop idols in their room? It’s like they were making a shrine."

"You two aren't helping," Aiah said, rubbing her temples. She straightened up and looked around the room again, scanning the walls, the floor, the furniture. Despite all their searching, there was nothing useful. No hidden notes, no old letters, no mysterious items pointing them toward any answers.

After another few minutes of fruitless searching, Gwen sighed and leaned against the closet door. "Okay, I hate to say this, but maybe there's really nothing here."

Aiah pursed her lips but didn’t argue. The room, despite its eerie stillness and abandoned state, didn’t seem to be hiding any secrets.

Stacey exhaled in relief. "So, can we leave now? Before I start inhaling ghost dust?"

Aiah hesitated, then finally nodded. "Yeah. Let’s check the next room."

Sheena practically bolted for the door, dragging Stacey with her. Gwen followed at a more measured pace, and Aiah was the last to leave.

As they stepped out of the previous bedroom, the four of them gathered in the dimly lit hallway. Aiah took a moment to close the door behind them, the soft click echoing ominously. The hallway stretched before them, the remaining three doors standing like silent sentinels. The air felt heavier, as if the house itself was holding its breath, watching them.

“So… where to next?” Aiah asked, her voice steady, though she couldn't deny the slight chill running down her spine.

“Sheena and I vote for outside,” Stacey immediately said, raising a hand.

Sheena nodded furiously. “Yeah, I think we did enough investigating. We should go back downstairs, wait for the others, maybe make sure Maloi hasn’t summoned a ghost.”

Aiah exhaled, long and slow, pinching the bridge of her nose. "You two are exhausting."

"And alive!" Sheena shot back. "Which we’d like to stay!"

Aiah ignoring them. “Gwen?”

“We should check that one next.” Gwen, who had been staring at the other doors in quiet contemplation, finally pointed at the one directly across from them. "It's symmetrical. If this one was a bedroom, that one might be too."

Aiah nodded. “Okay.”

Stacey groaned. “Of course you agree.”

Sheena threw her hands up. “Do we even get a vote in this team? Or are we just here for comedic relief?”

“If you want to go outside so bad, then go,” Aiah said simply, already stepping toward the door.

Sheena and Stacey instantly scrambled after her. “No, thanks! Strength in numbers!”

Gwen reached the door first, her fingers brushing the handle, but she hesitated, exchanging a glance with Aiah before the latter took over. With a slow, deliberate motion, Aiah twisted the knob. A long, drawn-out creeeeeak filled the air as the door inched open, revealing the room beyond.

The stale scent of aged wood and dust greeted them. The flashlight beams swept across the interior, illuminating what could only be described as a master bedroom. But unlike the first room, this one was grander—wider, taller, more suffocating. The walls, covered in faded wallpaper, bore intricate floral patterns that had long lost their vibrancy. Heavy curtains, once a deep shade of burgundy, hung lifelessly over a large window, their fabric coated in dust so thick it dimmed even the outside light.

The bed stood in the center of the room, an imposing four-poster draped with white sheets that had gathered years’ worth of grime. The wooden frame was carved with intricate details, its craftsmanship evident even beneath the neglect. To the right, a tall, antique dresser loomed, its mirror hidden beneath another ghostly cloth, its presence eerily human-like in the shadows. An armchair, positioned near a small reading table, sat untouched, as if its owner had simply stepped out for a moment and never returned.

Every piece of furniture in the room was cloaked in white sheets, resembling a collection of forgotten phantoms frozen in time.

The smell was stronger here—an unpleasant mix of mildew, old wood, and something faintly metallic.

Sheena and Stacey hesitated at the doorway, their faces contorted in twin expressions of absolute dread.

"Nope," Sheena deadpanned. "This is where people die. This is exactly where people die."

"You’ve been saying that about the entire house," Aiah said, stepping inside, feeling the thick layer of dust soften under her shoes.

"Yeah, because this entire house is where people die!" Stacey hissed. "And why does it smell like that? I don’t like that. I don’t trust that."

"We don't need to trust it. We just need to search it." Gwen moved past them, her eyes scanning the covered furniture.

"What are we even looking for? A ghost's diary? An official haunted house license?" Sheena crossed her arms tighter, but stayed pressed against Stacey, neither of them daring to step further in.

Aiah ignored her and pointed at the armoire. "Let’s start over there."

"I don't want to touch anything," Stacey muttered, eyeing the shrouded furniture. "What if something touches back?"

"Then we’ll have an answer to whether ghosts exist, and you’ll have bragging rights," Aiah said dryly, making Gwen smirk.

Sheena inhaled sharply, glaring at Aiah. "I will fight you."

"You can try."

Sheena grumbled something under her breath but finally stepped inside, dragging Stacey with her.

The old wooden floor groaned beneath their weight, as if each step unsettled something long dormant. The house didn’t just look abandoned—it felt abandoned, like whatever had once lived here had left something behind. Something unseen. Watching.

"Ugh, why is it always the creepy rooms? Why couldn't rich people have normal furniture?" Sheena groaned, pulling her hoodie tighter around her as she reluctantly stepped further in.

"Yeah, seriously. Who even buys stuff like this? Look at that chair—it looks like it belongs to a haunted doll collection," Stacey muttered, eyeing a rocking chair that sat ominously by the far wall, unmoving yet filled with an unsettling presence.

"Or maybe it’s just a normal chair, Stacey," Aiah deadpanned, already examining the heavy oak dresser against the side wall.

Gwen, ever methodical, moved to the large wooden wardrobe, running her fingers over the ornate carvings on its doors before giving them an experimental pull. "Locked," she murmured.

Sheena, sighing dramatically, waved her flashlight around the room. "Fine. Let’s get this over with. The sooner we find whatever stupid clue Celeste thinks is here, the sooner we can get out. I swear if something jumps out at me—"

As she muttered, she absentmindedly gripped the edge of a large cabinet covered in a heavy sheet. With a grunt, she pulled it down in one motion, revealing a tall, antique wardrobe with an oval mirror embedded in the front. Still looking over her shoulder at the others, she didn’t notice the mirror at first. But when she finally turned back—

A reflection.

A figure staring back at her in the dim lighting.

Sheena shrieked.

A piercing, bloodcurdling scream that ripped through the room like a gunshot.

Stacey, caught off guard, let out her own panicked scream and threw whatever she was holding—an old decorative box—straight into the air. It crashed onto the wooden floor, splitting open with a loud bang.

Aiah and Gwen, who had been quietly focused on their search, whirled around, hearts pounding.

"What?! What happened?!" Aiah demanded, gripping her flashlight tighter.

Sheena, now halfway across the room, pointed a trembling finger at the wardrobe, chest heaving. "I—I—" she stammered.

Gwen stepped forward, scanning the space. "Sheena… is that just… your reflection?"

Sheena blinked rapidly, still frozen in place. Slowly, she turned back to the wardrobe. There, staring back at her in perfect synchronization, was her own terrified face.

A long silence followed.

Then—

"Are you kidding me?" Stacey groaned, rubbing her temples. "You screamed like we were about to be murdered over your own damn reflection?!"

"H-how was I supposed to know it was a mirror?!" Sheena shot back, still visibly shaken. "I was looking at you guys! I didn’t see it! I just uncovered it and—BOOM! THERE I WAS!"

Aiah exhaled sharply, pinching the bridge of her nose. "I swear, Sheena…"

"This is why I didn’t wanna come here! This house is evil! Evil, I tell you!" Sheena dramatically pointed at the ceiling. "It's cursed! It's—"

"It’s dusty, that’s what it is," Gwen interrupted flatly, stepping past the fallen box and kneeling to pick up its spilled contents. "And we’re wasting time. Let’s just keep looking."

After a few more grumbles and Sheena dramatically declaring that she’d likely have nightmares for weeks, they resumed searching.

Despite another ten minutes of rifling through drawers, flipping over cushions, and checking under the bed (which was done with extreme reluctance by Stacey), they came up with nothing.

"Okay, I’m officially over this," Stacey finally declared, tossing a tattered notebook back onto the dresser. "There’s nothing here. Can we go now? Before Sheena has another near-death experience with herself?"

"You know what? I’m not even gonna fight you on that," Sheena said, still glaring at the wardrobe.

Aiah sighed, glancing around one last time before nodding. "Alright. Let’s check the next room. Maybe we’ll have better luck there."

“Finally,” Stacey muttered, rubbing her arms as if she were cold. “Can we not pick another room that has surprise reflective surfaces?”

Gwen smirked. “No promises.”

Sheena shot her a glare before dramatically shivering. “I hate this. I hate all of this.”

Aiah ignored the continued protests, already making her way back toward the hallway. She opened the door, stepping out first, and the others followed close behind—Sheena and Stacey clinging just a little closer than before.

With one last wary glance at the mirror, they made their way back toward the hallway, Sheena and Stacey making sure to stay in the middle, as far away from any more "unexpected" reflections as possible.

They stood in the dimly lit hallway again, the weight of the house pressing down on them. The old wooden floor groaned beneath their hesitant steps, every creak slicing through the silence. Stacey and Sheena stood close together, their arms nearly tangled in their mutual refusal to let go of one another.

“I’m just saying,” Stacey whispered, eyes darting around, “maybe we should take this as a sign to leave.”

Sheena nodded furiously. “Exactly. We tried. We searched. Nothing’s here. Let’s pack it up, say we gave it our best shot, and get the hell out of here.”

Aiah, unfazed, rolled her shoulders back. “We’re not leaving until we’ve searched every room.”

“Why do we have to be so thorough?” Sheena whined, hugging herself. “What do you think this is? A police investigation?”

Gwen, ever silent, merely tilted her head toward the door next to the master bedroom. Aiah nodded in agreement. The decision was made. Without another word, they started to walk towards it, their footsteps muffled against the dust-laden floor.

As they approached, the dim glow filtering in from the glass door at the end of the hallway caught their attention. The outside world was bright, almost unnaturally so, as if it belonged to an entirely different reality. Sunlight spilled through the glass, golden and warm, in complete contrast to the suffocating darkness of the house’s interior. It felt wrong—like they had stepped into a place where time had fractured, where the normalcy of daylight did not belong.

Sheena shivered. “That’s unsettling.”

Stacey nudged her. “Everything about this place is unsettling.”

Aiah ignored them, her fingers brushing against the cool brass handle of the door. With measured caution, she turned it, the mechanism groaning in protest before the door finally gave way. A slow, heavy creak filled the hallway, a drawn-out wail that sent goosebumps racing up their arms. The door swung open, revealing the room beyond.

And then—silence.

No protests. No sarcastic remarks. No breathless complaints from Sheena or Stacey.

Because in front of them was a playroom.

The air felt heavier here, thick with the scent of aged wood and something faintly sweet—like old, decayed flowers. Against one wall stood a crib, small, delicate, as if still waiting for an infant to be laid inside. What once was white paint now peeling and discolored. The bars cast long, warped shadows across the floor, mimicking skeletal fingers reaching out toward them.

But it was the dolls that stole their attention.

They were everywhere.

On the shelves, neatly arranged in rows. On the rocking chair by the window, slumped over as if they had just been playing. On the floor, some lying face-up, some face-down, as if frozen mid-movement. Their beady, glassy eyes caught the glow of their flashlights, making them seem disturbingly lifelike. Some had missing limbs. Others had cracked faces. One particularly large one, sitting on a tiny chair, was missing an eye, its stitched mouth curved into a permanent, eerie grin.

The group stood motionless, staring into the room, their unease thick enough to taste.

"Nope," Sheena blurted out immediately, turning on her heel. "Nope. Nope. Absolutely not."

Stacey was gripping Gwen’s arm so tightly her knuckles turned white. "What kind of horror movie bullshit—" she whispered, her voice barely audible.

"Why is this even here?" Gwen murmured, stepping further into the room, though the unease in her expression was evident.

"No one touch anything," Aiah instructed firmly, eyes scanning the eerie collection of toys.

"Oh, don't worry. I have absolutely zero plans of touching anything," Stacey muttered.

Sheena shook her head violently. "I swear, if any of those dolls move, I am launching myself out that balcony."

"You’d rather fall to your death?" Gwen asked dryly.

"A quick fall is better than being haunted forever, Gwen. Priorities."

Aiah took a cautious step forward, eyes darting to the shadows pooling in the corners of the room. The air felt heavier here, thicker, as if something was watching them. She hated the feeling. Hated the way the silence pressed against her ears.

She turned back to the others. "Alright, let’s search quickly."

"Quickly?!" Sheena hissed. "How about not at all?"

Stacey nodded rapidly. "For once, I agree with Sheena. This room is cursed. I can feel it in my bones."

Aiah sighed, ignoring them as she gestured for them to spread out. Reluctantly, Gwen followed, keeping her flashlight steady as she examined the shelves, while Sheena and Stacey stuck to each other, eyeing every doll with deep suspicion, as if one might lunge at them at any second.

The room was silent. Too silent.

Despite their hesitations, the group began searching the room. Aiah inspected the crib, running her fingers over the decaying blanket before lifting it to reveal… nothing but dust and a brittle old pillow. Gwen checked a rickety drawer, carefully sifting through discolored baby clothes and rusted rattles.

Sheena stayed as close to the door as possible, glancing over her shoulder every two seconds. "I swear, if one of these dolls moves, I am setting this house on fire."

"Noted," Gwen murmured dryly, opening another drawer.

Stacey picked up a stuffed rabbit from a nearby shelf, only for its head to loll unnaturally to the side. She shrieked and tossed it across the room.

"STOP THROWING THINGS!" Sheena yelped, ducking instinctively. "What if that thing curses us?!"

Before anyone could argue further, Gwen’s hand brushed against something smooth and wooden inside a drawer. Curious, she pulled it out—

A delicate, intricately carved music box. It was small, painted in faded pastel colors, with golden detailing along its edges.

"Hey, I found something," Gwen said, turning it over in her hands.

"What is it?" Aiah asked, stepping closer.

"I think it’s a—"

Click.

The second Gwen flicked the latch open, the lid popped up—and a piercingly eerie lullaby screeched out from within, echoing through the silent room like a ghostly wail.

Sheena screamed.

Stacey screamed louder.

Aiah jumped but quickly composed herself, while Gwen nearly dropped the box in shock. The haunting melody filled the air, tinny and broken, as if the music box had been playing this same song for decades, warped and stretched by time. The tune was almost recognizable, but the way the notes warbled made it sound disturbingly off-key, like something that was never meant to be heard by human ears.

Sheena was already halfway to the door. "BURN IT. THROW IT OUT THE WINDOW. I DON’T CARE, JUST MAKE IT STOP."

Stacey clutched her chest. "I think my soul left my body for a second."

Gwen, still holding the music box, hurriedly snapped the lid shut. The lullaby cut off abruptly, leaving behind a tense silence.

Aiah sighed heavily. "Alright. Everyone calm down. It’s just a music box."

Sheena whipped around to glare at her. "JUST a music box?! It sounded like the background music to a demonic summoning!"

Stacey nodded. "Yeah, that’s the kind of thing that plays right before the lights go out and someone gets possessed."

"Well, good thing that didn’t happen," Gwen said dryly, tucking the box under her arm.

Sheena narrowed her eyes. "You’re keeping it?!"

Gwen shrugged. "We’re here for clues, right? This could mean something."

"Yeah," Stacey muttered, "it means we’re going to die."

Aiah rubbed her forehead, clearly exhausted by the sheer amount of dramatics happening around her. "Let’s just keep looking. We still haven’t checked that wardrobe."

"No," Sheena groaned. "No more opening things. Every time we open something, we almost have a collective heart attack."

"Then stop screaming," Aiah said flatly, already moving toward the antique wardrobe in the corner.

Sheena scowled. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t be scared right now."

"Because," Aiah said, gripping the wardrobe’s handle, "we haven’t found anything dangerous yet."

As soon as she said that, a loud creak echoed through the room—

Sheena and Stacey both bolted for the door.

Aiah sighed and shot Gwen a look. "I swear to God, if they run out and leave us—"

"I’m not going back down there alone!" Sheena hissed from the doorway, arms crossed. "I just needed an escape route ready."

Stacey nodded quickly. "Yeah, it’s called survival instincts. You should try it sometime."

Gwen snorted, shaking her head. "Let’s just finish looking so we can get out of here."

They continued their search, despite the lingering tension in the air. But after several more minutes, all they had to show for their efforts was the unsettling music box and a room full of dolls that watched them with their empty, painted eyes.

Aiah finally stood up straight, exhaling in frustration. "Nothing. Just like the last room."

Sheena raised a hand. "Oh no, we definitely found something. The fact that this place is cursed. Can we leave now?"

Aiah rolled her eyes but nodded. "Yeah, let’s check the last room."

Sheena groaned loudly as they filed out, but she still stuck close to the group. Stacey, still wary, shot one last glare at the crib before shuffling out with them.

The dolls sat in silence as they left, their empty eyes reflecting the dim light of the flashlights as the door creaked shut behind them.

With heavy steps, the four of them made their way toward the final door at the end of the hallway. The air felt heavier with each step, as if the house itself was anticipating their next move. The only sound accompanying them was the slow creak of the wooden floor beneath their feet, an ever-present reminder that they were not in a place meant to be disturbed.

"I swear, if we don't find anything in here, we better just leave already," Sheena muttered, her arms crossed tightly over her chest as she eyed the door warily. "Three rooms, Aiah. Three rooms, and what do we have? Dust, disappointment, and probably some lung disease."

"Yeah, what makes this one special?" Stacey added, hugging herself. "It's probably just another waste of time. Can we just call it a day?"

Aiah, unsurprisingly, ignored them. She didn’t even spare them a glance, which only encouraged more complaints from the two.

"Oh my god, she's actually not listening to us," Sheena whispered dramatically to Stacey. "We’re gonna die in here."

"Dibs on haunting Colet," Stacey muttered back. "She’s got the best gaming setup."

Before they could spiral further into their dramatics, the moment Aiah’s fingers wrapped around the door handle, both Sheena and Stacey immediately silenced themselves. A heavy breath passed through Aiah’s lips before she turned the knob. The latch clicked, and as she pushed the door open, an excruciatingly loud groan echoed from the hinges, much louder than any of the doors they had opened before. It sent a chill down their spines, their shoulders tensing as the noise dragged on for what felt like forever.

Their flashlights swept over the interior, revealing what appeared to be a study or office. A large wooden desk sat in the center of the room, its surface barely visible beneath layers of dust. Behind it, towering bookshelves lined the walls, filled with aged tomes and stacks of paper, their edges curling with time. Some books lay haphazardly on the floor, as if they had been pulled from the shelves in a hurry.

A large, antique armchair stood behind the desk, its leather cracked and discolored. Papers were scattered around its legs, their contents faded beyond recognition. The entire room was suffocated under a thick layer of dust, disturbed only by the slight breeze from the open door.

To the right, an old grandfather clock stood against the wall, its hands frozen at an uncertain hour, its pendulum unmoving. The glass covering the clock face had a long crack running diagonally across it, as if struck by something with great force.

The dim light from their flashlights cast long shadows on the walls, making the room appear even more vast and unwelcoming. Papers lay scattered on the desk, some edges curling from age. A broken quill pen rested in an ink bottle long dried up. The desk drawers were slightly ajar, as if left that way in haste.

The walls bore the same eerie decor as the hallway—portraits and framed documents covered with white cloth. One of the frames had the cloth slightly slipping off the corner, revealing the faint outline of a blurred face beneath.

Sheena let out a shaky breath. "Nope. Nope, nope, nope, this is the worst one yet. You know why? Because someone actually worked in here. Someone actually sat in that chair. Probably plotting our demise."

"I swear I feel someone watching us," Stacey whispered, rubbing her arms.

"This room definitely has murder vibes," Sheena muttered, her eyes flicking to the chair as if expecting it to spin around on its own. "I mean, at least in the other rooms, I could pretend no one ever used them. But here? This room has history. And I don't like it."

Aiah, already tuning them out, stepped inside without hesitation, her flashlight sweeping across the space. Gwen followed, her face unreadable as she studied the shelves with intrigue. Seeing that they were being left behind, Sheena and Stacey reluctantly trailed after them, still clinging to each other.

"I'm just saying," Sheena continued, voice hushed but firm, "if a book flies off one of these shelves, I'm throwing hands."

"I’ll throw the whole shelf if I have to," Stacey added, eyeing the books as though they would suddenly start moving on their own.

The group slowly spread out, their footsteps muffled by the thick carpet. The bookshelves towered over them, their dark wood casting looming shadows in the dim light. Dust particles swirled in the air, disturbed by their movements, giving the room an almost hazy effect.

Aiah walked toward the desk, brushing away some of the dust to see what was written on the papers. Gwen moved toward the bookshelves, her eyes scanning the titles, while Sheena and Stacey hesitated in the middle of the room, glancing around as though expecting something—or someone—to jump out at them.

"Let's make this quick," Sheena whispered. "I already feel like I regret being born.

As the group delved deeper into the study, the weight of dust and time settled over them like a thick, suffocating blanket. Every movement sent tiny clouds of dust swirling in the dim light of their flashlights. The air was stale, tinged with the faint scent of old paper and rotting wood. Bookshelves loomed over them, their spines cracked and faded, holding forgotten knowledge that hadn’t been touched in years.

Sheena and Stacey were not pleased.

"This is a waste of time," Sheena grumbled, swiping a hand over the surface of a bookshelf, only to immediately recoil as dust coated her fingers. "Ugh, this place is a biohazard. We’re gonna need, like, ten vaccines after this."

"You know what we’re not gonna need? A ghost possessing us because we touched something we weren’t supposed to!" Stacey shot back, shuddering. "We should leave this cursed library alone."

"It’s not a library; it’s a study," Gwen corrected absently, her fingers running along a shelf as she examined the titles.

"Oh, my bad. A cursed study," Stacey corrected sarcastically. "That makes me feel so much better."

Aiah, as always, ignored them, focused on the large wooden desk at the center of the room. It was a heavy, ornate piece, its polished surface now dulled with dust and time. Papers were strewn haphazardly across it, faded ink bleeding into the yellowing pages, rendering them almost unreadable. Some were curling at the edges, their brittle texture making them crumble slightly under her fingertips.

She reached out carefully, sifting through the papers, but they were illegible. Smudged ink, faded words—nothing useful. With a sigh, she turned her attention to the drawers, running her fingers over the brass handles before gripping the first one and pulling it open.

Nothing. Just old stationery supplies—fountain pens with dried ink, empty notebooks, a rusted paperclip holder.

Sheena sighed dramatically behind her. "Wow, amazing. We found a drawer full of useless garbage. Truly groundbreaking work, Aiah."

"Why don’t you actually search instead of just complaining?" Gwen muttered, flipping through the pages of an old book.

"Because if I die in a haunted house, I at least want my last words to be valid complaints," Sheena shot back.

Aiah ignored them again and moved to the second drawer. More junk—faded letters that she could barely make out, old envelopes, and what looked like a broken pocket watch. She pushed them aside, frustration creeping in.

Then she reached for the last drawer.

This time, as she pulled it open, a subtle resistance fought back, as if the wood itself didn’t want to give up its secrets. It finally slid open with a soft creak, revealing something different from the rest. A box.

Inside was a medium-sized box, about the size of a thick hardcover book. Unlike the rest of the desk’s contents, this box didn’t seem as old—it wasn’t covered in dust like everything else. Instead, it was pristine, its dark wooden surface smooth and polished, as if someone had placed it there recently. Attached to the top was an envelope, sealed, its paper slightly yellowed but otherwise intact.

What caught Aiah’s attention most, however, was the lock.

A five-letter combination lock secured the box shut, the dials slightly rusted but still functional.

She stared at it for a moment, a sinking feeling settling in her gut.

“What did you find?” Gwen asked, stepping closer.

Aiah lifted the box carefully from the drawer and set it on the desk. “This.”

Sheena and Stacey, who had been standing a safe distance away, instantly tensed.

“Nope,” Sheena said. “Absolutely not. It’s locked for a reason. Let’s not open it.”

“I second that,” Stacey added. “If horror movies have taught me anything, it’s that locked boxes in creepy houses should stay locked.”

Gwen ignored them and leaned in. “There’s an envelope attached.”

Aiah ignoring them too, her fingers brushing over the envelope taped to the top of the box. The paper was yellowed, edges curled from time, but it looked strangely well-preserved compared to the brittle documents in the drawers.

“This is definitely important,” Aiah murmured, narrowing her eyes as she studied the lock.

“Important for what? A curse? A demon summoning ritual?” Sheena retorted, still clutching her flashlight like a weapon.

“I don’t like this,” Stacey muttered under her breath. “I don’t like this at all.”

And then, piercing through the heavy tension, came the sudden, sharp beep of Gwen’s phone alarm.

“GAH—” Stacey shrieked, nearly dropping her flashlight.

“FREAKING HELL!” Sheena yelled, leaping back so violently she nearly tripped over a chair.

Aiah, though startled, immediately exhaled in exasperation as Gwen quickly silenced the alarm. “Relax,” Gwen muttered, though her own heartbeat had jumped. “It’s just the timer. That means it’s time to meet the others.”

A tense silence filled the room before Sheena exhaled shakily. "Your stupid timer nearly shaved five years off my life."

Stacey groaned, leaning against the desk for support. "I swear, if I have a heart attack in this cursed house, my ghost is gonna haunt you forever, Gwen."

Ignoring them completely, Aiah straightened up and nodded at the box. "We should take it with us. We can check it out together."

Sheena’s eyes widened in horror. "Are you serious?! We are not taking some sketchy, haunted box from a haunted house!"

"Yeah! Leave it here! Maybe it’s cursed! Maybe it has ghost energy trapped in it! Or worse—what if something follows us home?!" Stacey added, stepping back as if the box might lunge at her.

Gwen, already tucking the box under her arm, rolled her eyes. "Too late, I’m bringing it. You guys can run off screaming if you want."

Sheena and Stacey gawked at her in betrayal. "YOU DIDN’T EVEN HESITATE?!" Sheena cried.

"Why are you like this?!" Stacey added, throwing her hands in the air.

But their protests were ignored as Aiah and Gwen were already heading toward the door, stepping back into the dimly lit hallway.

"Nope, no way, you are NOT leaving us behind!" Sheena shrieked, scrambling after them.

Stacey nearly tripped over her own feet trying to keep up. "DON’T LEAVE ME HERE!"

With hurried steps, the four of them descended the creaky stairs, the heavy air of the house pressing down on them as if it, too, was watching them leave. The shadows seemed to stretch with each flicker of their flashlights, the silence of the house only broken by the nervous mutterings of Sheena and Stacey as they desperately tried to keep pace with Aiah and Gwen.

As they neared the bottom of the stairs, the eerie feeling in their chests refused to fade. Whatever secrets this house held, they were carrying a piece of it with them now.

---------------

As footsteps echoed through the silent house, the two groups made their way back to the living room from opposite directions, their flashlights cutting through the dim, dust-filled air. Aiah and Gwen descended the stairs first, their movements purposeful. Behind them, Sheena and Stacey lagged, muttering protests under their breath, still occasionally glancing over their shoulders as if expecting something to emerge from the darkness.

From the other side of the house, Colet, Mikha, and Maloi emerged from the kitchen hallway, carrying the locked box they had found. Maloi, looking slightly disheveled, huffed dramatically, while Colet appeared deep in thought. Mikha, on the other hand, walked with an air of self-satisfaction, though her expression quickly shifted the moment she spotted the other group.

The moment both groups locked eyes, there was a brief pause—then chaos.

"OH MY GOD!" Maloi wailed as she lunged forward, dramatically embracing Sheena and Stacey, who immediately returned the gesture with equally exaggerated energy.

"I THOUGHT I WOULDN’T SURVIVE THAT HELL!" Sheena cried, clutching Maloi like they had both just emerged from a battlefield.

"WE HAVE SEEN THINGS!" Stacey added, eyes squeezed shut as if haunted by unspeakable horrors.

"You think you had it bad?!" Maloi argued, pulling back just enough to throw a hand in the air. "I fell into a secret passage! A SECRET ROOM!"

"At least you didn’t have to deal with possessed dolls staring into your soul!" Sheena shot back, shuddering at the memory.

"Dolls?" Mikha perked up, her curiosity piqued. "Like creepy, glass-eyed ones?"

"DON’T TALK ABOUT THEM!" Sheena and Stacey screamed in unison, covering their ears.

Aiah rolled her eyes and turned to Colet and Gwen, who had completely ignored the theatrics in favor of setting the locked boxes on a dust-covered coffee table.

"What did you find?" Aiah asked, her voice cutting through the noise.

Colet gestured to the box they had carried out. "We found this in a hidden room behind the kitchen. Locked with an eight-letter code. There's an envelope attached, but we didn’t open it yet."

"And you?" Mikha asked, arms crossed as she looked toward Aiah.

Gwen placed the second box on the table beside the first. "A study room. We found this in the desk drawer. It’s locked too, but this one needs a five-letter password. Also has an envelope."

"Both locked," Aiah murmured, analyzing them. "That’s not a coincidence."

"Yeah, well, neither is the fact that I almost died!" Maloi interrupted, still leaning dramatically against Sheena and Stacey. "This house is cursed!"

"It’s not cursed, Maloi. We just need to figure this out," Colet said with a sigh.

"Figure what out? That we should leave before something grabs our ankles?!" Stacey snapped, her grip tightening on Sheena’s arm.

"Oh, my God, that’s such a horror movie thing!" Sheena yelped, immediately pulling her feet up onto the couch.

Aiah pinched the bridge of her nose. "Alright. Before you three collapse from the weight of your own terror, let’s just take a breath. We have two locked boxes, and the answers are in this house. We just need to think."

Sheena looked at her like she had just suggested playing hide-and-seek with a demon. "The answer is to GET OUT."

"Too bad. We’re staying until we open them," Aiah countered firmly.

Colet nodded, reaching out as if ready to tear the envelope from the box when—

CRASH!

Something fell in the darkness.

A heavy, deafening noise. It echoed through the hollow space of the house, sending a shiver down their spines.

Sheena, Stacey, and Maloi didn’t even hesitate.

“NOPE!” Maloi screeched, already bolting toward the door.

“WE’RE GONNA DIE!” Sheena howled, following right behind her.

“FORGET THE BOXES, RUN!” Stacey shrieked, shoving past the others with the kind of speed that only pure terror could grant.

Aiah barely had time to react before the three were already halfway out the door, their panicked footsteps thundering against the wooden floor.

“Wait—”

Too late. The trio was gone, and the remaining four had no choice but to scramble after them, the eerie house looming behind them as they fled into the outside world.

Sheena, Stacey, and Maloi did not just run—they sprinted, bolted, and all but flew toward the van, their screams echoing into the day. It was a level of speed none of them had ever seen from each other, fueled purely by primal terror. Stacey was ahead, legs moving like a cartoon character trying to escape a collapsing building, her arms flailing dramatically. Sheena was right behind, mumbling half-prayers and curses under her breath, while Maloi, the shortest of the three, somehow kept pace, shrieking incomprehensible words that could’ve been either warnings or just raw, unfiltered fear.

Meanwhile, the other four—Aiah, Gwen, Colet, and Mikha—had barely made it out of the front door. They watched in stunned silence as the trio continued their breakneck sprint across the yard.

Mikha whistled. “I’ve never seen Maloi move that fast in her life.”

“Same, she’s definitely breaking some kind of record,” Gwen added, eyes tracking their figures.

“I swear, if a ghost was really after them, it’d be struggling to keep up,” Colet deadpanned.

Aiah sighed, rubbing her temple. “We should go before they actually leave us behind.”

As if on cue, Sheena, Maloi, and Stacey, already at the van, started slamming their hands against the vehicle as if demanding it to open like a magical portal. “HURRY UP, WE ARE LEAVING. NOW!” Maloi practically screeched, looking back toward the house like something was about to drag her back inside.

Shaking their heads, the four finally made their way down at a much calmer pace. When they caught up, they found the trio still panting, clutching their chests as if they had run a marathon.

Mikha smirked, crossing her arms. “Wow. I had no idea you guys could move like that. Honestly, kind of impressive.”

Sheena, still hunched over, shot her a glare. “I was literally in survival mode. That wasn’t running—that was divine intervention.”

“Forget divine intervention,” Stacey wheezed, “that was pure self-preservation. My body wasn’t even under my control.”

“Yeah, well, I think you left your souls behind in there,” Gwen teased. “I swear I still hear them screaming inside the house.”

Maloi groaned, dramatically throwing herself against the van. “Can we PLEASE just leave? This isn’t funny. I refuse to be a horror movie statistic.”

Aiah, finally catching up, sighed again. “Alright, alright. We’ll head to my dorm—”

“NOPE. NO MORE INSIDE PLACES. WE DRIVE. WE NEVER LOOK BACK,” Sheena cut in, still frazzled.

Mikha chuckled, pulling out the van keys. “Relax. We’re not staying here. We’ll head to Aiah’s dorm and—”

“Wait.” Colet suddenly held up a hand, halting everyone in their tracks.

Aiah frowned. “What now?”

Colet turned to her, an almost hesitant look on her face. “Your dorm is inside the campus, right?”

Aiah blinked, confused. “Yeah…? Why?”

Before Colet could reply, Maloi scoffed. “Seriously, Colet? This is new information to you?”

Colet ignored her, her expression turning serious. “Do you guys not remember Celeste’s warning?”

That caught everyone’s attention. “What do you mean?” Stacey asked, suddenly uneasy.

Colet crossed her arms. “Celeste said ‘they’ have eyes and ears everywhere.”

Silence fell over the group.

“And if this,” Colet gestured to the boxes they were carrying, “is related to Jhoanna… then what if ‘they’ are watching the dorms too?”

Aiah’s eyes narrowed slightly as the weight of Colet’s words sank in.

“So if we take these to Aiah’s dorm,” Colet continued, “we might be walking straight into a trap.”

A chill settled over them as the realization dawned. The van, which had been a place of relief just moments ago, suddenly felt like a cage.

The group fell into a suffocating silence, the weight of Celeste’s warning settling on them like an anchor. Aiah crossed her arms, staring at the ground in thought, her brows furrowed. The others, for once, weren’t cracking jokes. Even Maloi, Sheena, and Stacey—who had just been practically climbing over each other to get into the van—stood still, absorbing the implication.

Finally, it was Mikha who broke the silence.

“My dorm,” she said quietly, her voice hesitant. “We could go there. It’s… at least a fifteen-minute drive from campus.”

Colet turned to her, arms still crossed. “That’s still near the campus,” she pointed out.

Aiah sighed, rubbing her temples. “We don’t have much of a choice. Either we take it to Mikha’s dorm or to one of our places.”

Another silence fell over them, and that’s when they all realized—their options were limited. Mikha’s dorm was already the farthest from the university. Any other choice meant bringing the boxes even closer to whatever forces were lurking within their school.

“Okay,” Colet said finally, her voice reluctant but resolved.

Then came the outburst.

“OH MY GOD, FINALLY!” Maloi threw her hands in the air dramatically. “I thought I was gonna grow old and die in front of this house while you guys had a debate club meeting!”

“I swear, if we stood here for one more minute, I was gonna scream,” Sheena added, aggressively yanking open the van door. “Let’s go before that house decides it’s not done with us yet.”

“I second that motion,” Stacey muttered as she practically launched herself into the vehicle.

The rest of the group just shook their heads at them, the brief moment of tension finally diffusing as one by one, they climbed into the van. Mikha took the driver’s seat, still looking slightly troubled, but she didn’t say anything as she started the engine. The sound of the ignition turning over felt louder than it should have, echoing unnaturally in the silence of the deserted street.

As they pulled away from the house, Aiah glanced at the rearview mirror, watching as the abandoned home slowly disappeared from sight. Something about it felt unsettling, like the house itself was watching them leave, as if it knew they were taking something from it.

She let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding and turned back around. They had left the house—but she had the sinking feeling that whatever they had just uncovered was far from over.

------------------

As the van rumbled down the cracked pavement of the long-forgotten street, the house stood in solemn silence, as if the air itself had stilled in its wake. The laughter and bickering inside the vehicle faded into the distance, swallowed by the empty neighborhood and the whispering trees swaying with the afternoon breeze.

From the second-floor balcony, a figure stood motionless—unnoticed, unseen. The old man, the same one they had spoken to before stepping into the house, watched with unreadable eyes. His face was expressionless, deep-set wrinkles carved into his skin like the very wood of the decaying house he guarded. His hands, weathered and bony, rested lightly on the rusting iron railing, though his grip never tightened, never moved.

His gaze did not follow the van in desperation nor in curiosity—it was the look of someone who already knew what was to come.

And then, when the last trace of their presence had disappeared down the road, he moved.

Not with the slow shuffle of age nor the weight of weary bones, but with a fluidity that defied the years his body claimed to bear. He turned, not bothering to reach for the handle of the glass door. There was no need.

Without a sound, without resistance, he stepped forward—and walked through it.

The glass did not ripple. The air did not shift. It was as though the barrier had never existed for him at all.

And then, just as he had appeared, the old man vanished into the shadows of the house, swallowed whole by the emptiness within.